#or you would over panic and hold him down with you and he would never finish his character arc and actually be happy

[sugarikiz]

MOOD SWINGS

୨ৎ ─── when the mood swings and cramps get too much, your down bad lover’s always there to help you deal with it…

&&엔하이픈니키 ✦ 𝑏𝑓. niki x 𝑓. reader ��� l’avis . . . est. relationship fluff crying periods pda wc384

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mick’s 注記 ─── first day of my period and ive already cried once and rage quit on homework… (so annoying istg) im so annoyed with myself and everything and everybody else that I just can’t even anymore. so, to make me feel better, here I am presenting you with my man and how he would be when he makes you cry on accident!

NIKI NEVER EXPECTED TO MAKE YOU ACTUALLY CRY.

today did not have a wonderful start; you realised your period started as soon as you woke up in the morning, and called off your date with niki because of your crappy mood and cramps. him, being the sweetheart he is, insisted on coming over and cuddling with you, totally fine with helping you out if you needed it.

one moment, you were just debating on what was better — chinese food or korean — when suddenly tears welled up in your eyes for no reason. damn mood swings.

his eyes widened as a sudden panic set in, immediately taking a step closer and cupping your cheeks in his hands with a touch so gentle, one could think you were made of glass. ( read more below the cut >< )

he knew how bad your mood swings and cramps during your period were, sometimes making you a raging ball of fire and tears once a month, but he didn’t expect to make thick tears start to form in the corners of your eyes.

“baby… what’s wrong? did i do something wrong?” his tone was soft — so soft it was barely above a whisper. you shook your head slightly, signalling that it wasn’t his fault.

he gently wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you let out a few, small sobs. his heart ached with each one, even knowing that he didn’t do anything to cause it.

even when your sobs stopped sounding, he continued to hold you, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back that he knew would somewhat help the relentless stabbing pain in your abdomen.

you pulled away from his chest, eyes still teary. “i’m sorry, I just couldn’t control it…” you mumbled, slightly embarrassed at having cried for absolutely no reason like this. “it’s not your fault, y/n. in fact, it’s good that you let it out,” he spoke, voice gentle as ever. “so, how about some of your beloved chinese takeout and a movie? and cuddles, of course.”

a smile room over your features in an instant, a stark contrast from the tears that were just beginning to dry on the apples of your cheeks.

“do you really think I’d say no to that, ki?”

thank you for reading !! likes + reblogs are really appreciated ><

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[corroded-hellfire]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRESrvDc/

Omg please make this an AYW one shot like imagine Luke and Ryan going big brother mode on someone messing with Eliza

This is the relationship I aspire for my future children to have. My first thought was, "Eddie needs to be told this is a joke so he doesn't freak out even more than the boys." lol

Words: 1.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

"This gonna be so funny!"

Eddie comes to a halt outside Eliza's room. The mischievous tone to her voice reminded Eddie of a scheming goblin he'd seen in some fantasy movie somewhere. Normally, he'd associate that comparison more with Luke than tiny three-year-old Eliza, but she was certainly well on her way to earning her own title. 

A thought occurs to your husband: what if Luke and Eliza are working together? Whoever the target is doesn't stand a chance. The surge of panic has him pushing the slightly ajar door open to make sure there isn't some diabolical plan to burn the kitchen down in protest of having vegetables with dinner tonight. It's a complete shock to the system though, when Eddie sees you sitting on the soft pink carpet, cross-legged as your daughter sits across from you. Both of your beautiful faces turn to look at him and Eddie is simultaneously amused and leery of the maniacal smile on Eliza's small pink mouth. 

"Um..." Eddie hums, eyes going back and forth between you and Eliza. "What's going on here?"

"Oh, nothing," you say far too casually to be believable. 

"We gonna get the boys!"

Eliza's admission has you looking back at her, internally reminding yourself that it's good she tells the truth—even if she's a snitch at the moment.

Eddie chuckles and rests his shoulder against the doorjamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at the two of you.

"Is that so?"

"Mhmm!" Eliza replies. "Cause they ate my noodles. After Mama writed my name on them!"

It doesn't surprise Eddie in the least. The two growing teenage boys would eat anything and everything in sight. He never thought his food would be safer in the fridge at work than in the one at home. 

"What exactly are we planning, ladies?" Eddie cocks an eyebrow, making you feel like a child right alongside your kid. "Not anything I'll have to clean up after, I hope."

"Oh, don't worry." You wave a dismissive hand at your husband. "It's just a joke to see how they react."

"To what?"

"Shhh!" Eliza pushes herself up and rushes forward to cover your mouth with her little hands. It's impossible not to laugh against her palms as she looks at you with imploring eyes. 

Gently, you remove her hands from your face and tug her so she's sitting in your lap.

"Nothing bad," you assure Eddie. "I promise."

Eddie didn't need you to tell him that; he trusts you with not only his own life but the lives of all the kids as well. You would never do anything that would hurt them. 

"Can I watch?" he asks.

Eliza nods. "But you gotta hide!"

"Where?"

"They're watching tv, right?" you ask, maneuvering Eliza to the side so you're able to stand up. 

"Yeah. Some movie with Jack Black starting a band of children."

Eliza grabs your hand in hers as the two of you head towards the door. 

"We'll walk through there and into the kitchen," you explain. "You can stay in the hallway and peek out. And remember..." You reach up and lovingly tap Eddie's right cheek. "What we're going to say isn't true. It's part of the prank."

Eddie's brow furrows and he tilts his chin up.

"That doesn't sound reassuring."

"Is a joke, Daddy!" Eliza explains, making you giggle. 

"Alright, alright," Eddie laments, leaning down to playfully pinch her nose. She swiftly bats his hand away and ducks between the two of you out into the hall. 

You follow out behind her, motioning for your husband to follow behind—but at a distance. He nods in understanding and keeps a few paces behind his favorite girls. 

As you approach the living room, Eliza starts to giggle. You widen your eyes at her and hold your finger up to your lips, reminding her she has to act serious if she wants her brothers to buy your act. She nods and follows your lead to take a deep breath. 

You motion for her to head out into the room the boys are relaxing in. She strolls out, alarmingly casual for a three-year-old playing a prank. Before you follow out after her, you look over your shoulder and share a look of amusement with Eddie.

"Your daughter," you whisper, not giving your husband time to respond before following behind her. Quietly, you clear your throat in preparation for your first line: "Are you serious?" You internally wince as your voice comes out a tad dramatic, but you have to keep it mildly louder than usual to catch the boys' attention. 

Eliza's small stride allows you to be at her side a moment later. You check on your sons out of the corner of your eye and see them lounging on the two couches in the living room, faces blank and devoid of a care in the world as they watch the movie. 

"A boy pushed you down on the playground today?" you ask, turning your attention to Eliza at your side. 

"Mhmm," she hums, only the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

In your peripheral vision you see Ryan turn his head in your direction. His posture straightens a little, his attention securely locked in on your prank. 

"How old was he?" you ask Eliza.

"Eight."

"An eight-year-old pushed Eliza down on the playground?" Ryan shouts, practically launching himself out of his seat. 

"What?" Luke adds, voice booming as his brother's words pull him in. He jumps off the couch and both teenage boys cut off your and Eliza's path to the kitchen, forcing the two of you to come to a halt.

On one hand, this is the hardest it's been so far to keep yourself from breaking character. On the other hand, seeing the true concern and ire in the eyes of Eliza's big brothers is moving. The protectiveness they have for their little sister and the readiness to defend her at the drop of a hat is so touching that you fight tears from filling your eyes. 

"What happened?" Ryan demands.

"Were you with Grandpa? Did he see it?" Luke questions.

You expect Eliza to crack right there, let out a loud laugh, and tell her brothers that they should see the looks on their faces. Instead, she proves to be a master at improv as she replies. 

"It was behind the slide. He didn't see."

"Did you tell him?" Luke takes a step closer, practically towering over the three-year-old. 

"No."

"Why not?" Ryan is almost shouting at this point. 

"Who was it?" Luke asks, not allowing Eliza a moment to answer the older Munson brother's question. "Do you know him?"

"How would she know an eight-year-old?" Ryan asks, turning to look at the thirteen-year-old.

"I don't know. How did she know he was eight then?" Luke squabbles. 

As if knowing this is the moment that neither of you could keep the ruse up any longer, both you and Eliza break into a devious bout of giggles. 

The confused look on the boys' faces is enough to make you and Eliza laugh even harder.

"I don't think this is funny," Ryan says.

"But it's not true!" Eliza yells, jumping up and down in excitement.

"What?" The look on Luke's face is reminiscent of when he found out his favorite cereal brand had been discontinued. 

"We pranked you!" Eliza shoves her finger into their faces, an evil grin on her own. 

You can see the gears turning in both boys' heads as they take in her words and try to comprehend what is happening. 

"No one pushed me!"

Luke tilts his head to the side before running his hands over his face. "I'm so confused."

"This is Eliza's little payback for you two eating her macaroni and cheese," you explain, planting your hands on your hips. 

"You were in on this?!" Luke's shock causes his changing voice to crack. 

"Girls gotta stick together." You hold your hand out towards your daughter, and she jumps up and slaps a high five against it.

Ryan groans and drops his head back, glaring up at the ceiling.

"You guys suck," he complains. "I was really worried!"

"I have been betrayed." Luke mimes getting stabbed in the heart and crumbles down on the carpet. Eliza laughs and starts to crawl on top of him. Waiting for the right moment, Luke snatches his little sister to his chest and starts tickling her.

She squeals and starts squirming around in his grip.

"Nooooo! Ryan, help!"

The fifteen-year-old scoffs and folds his arms across his chest.

"No way, squirt. Not after that."

"Mama!" Eliza calls through her peals of laughter. "Help me!"

Before you can even take a step toward the two of them on the ground, Ryan comes forward and wraps his arms around you. It's an approximation of a hug, but it's really to keep you where you are; standing a couple of feet away with your arms locked against your sides.

"Ryan!" You laugh.

"What?" he asks, unable to keep from chuckling himself. "I'm just hugging you!"

"Lies!" Eliza yells.

"You're one to talk!" Ryan calls back. 

"Daddy!" It's Eliza's last attempt at help.

"He's not here to help you," Luke taunts, adding an evil laugh for emphasis. 

"Yes huh!" Eliza squeaks.

As calmly and casually as can be, Eddie strolls out from the hallway and eyes the four members of his family, slipping his hands into his pockets as he watches it all.

"What's up, sweet pea?" he asks. 

She shrieks as Luke tickles a particularly vulnerable spot. 

"Help!"

"Pick a side, Dad," Ryan says.

"Choose wisely!" Luke adds. 

"I'm his baby!" Eliza argues.

"But you guys said girls stick together and he's not a girl!" Luke reasons. "He should be on the guys' side!"

"Hmm." Eddie lazily tilts his head to the side, his fading brown curls falling against his shoulder. "You both make excellent points."

"What about me?" you ask, struggling in Ryan's hold. "I'm your wife!"

"But you've known us longer!" Ryan retorts. 

"I think I'll stay impartial." Eddie shrugs, keeping a bored expression on his face. "Maybe I'll go make some macaroni and cheese."

"The root of all evil," Luke laments with a sigh, ceasing his attack on Eliza. The little girl is quick to slip from his grasp, immediately running up to Ryan and attempting to shove him away from you.

"Get off Mama!"

"I'm just hugging her," Ryan says, planting his feet to resist her impressive strength. 

"Daddy, help!"

Eddie shrugs. "Sure." He takes a step forward and scoops Eliza up, tossing her over his shoulder as if she were a rag doll. 

"No!" 

Her legs flail but Eddie keeps a strong grip around her middle. Small hands pound against his back, but Eddie ignores all attempts at escape as he keeps walking into the kitchen. Tired from fighting off Luke a moment ago, Eliza lets her body go limp over her father's shoulders. She heaves a sigh filled with the exasperation of someone three times her age.

"Boys."

[nick-writes-stuff]

You and Me 'til the End, Right?

Kang Dae-ho x gn!reader

!warnings: canon-typical violence, descriptions of panic attacks and PTSD, manhandling/forced pat down (idk how to phrase that one), swearing, very hurt with eventual comfort

a/n: DAE-HO FIC TIME! HELL YEAH! I'm so down bad for this man. this is the iconic "helping dae-ho with his panic attack" fix-it fic bc holy shit he needs a hug. hope you enjoy <3

-

You had been fighting off an anxiety attack since Gi-hun and the others began their plan to usurp control of the games. You almost wanted to tell them not to do it. It likely wouldn't end well for all of you, and the idea that any of them could get hurt or worse scared you shitless.

You felt even more worried when Dae-ho volunteered to help. You could see from his face that he really didn't want to do it, but refusing was hardly what would be expected from an ex-marine. He didn't want to let anyone else down. Especially Jung-bae. If he was going, then how could he say no? Even though the idea of holding a gun again made him sick to his stomach.

You were observant, but you were especially observant of Dae-ho as you found it hard not to be entranced by his charm. This made you seem the little things he thought he masked well. During the six-legged race, you saw him flinch after every single shot fired. His gaze went distant, and his jaw clenched. One night while on watch, you heard him murmuring and tossing around in his sleep, clearly having a nightmare. He had never said it specifically, but you knew his time in the Marines had not been a happy one. Not at all. Which is what scared you about him volunteering for the ensuing gunfight.

As he started to walk toward Hyun-ju and Gi-hun, you grabbed his wrist to get his attention. He turned back to look at you.

"Be careful, okay?" You said softly.

He gave you a boyish smile. "Of course." He said. You could see how tense he was, however. He definitely wasn't 100% on board with this plan. You could tell from the way his hand trembled when he reached out for the gun.

Watching your strongest allies and closest friends walk out that door was one of the hardest things you have ever done. You couldn't even say proper goodbyes, and you didn't know if any of them were ever going to come back.

You started pacing back and forth after only a moment after they left. You couldn't just stand there. You needed to expel your nervous energy somehow. You also started absent-mindedly picking at your cuticles, a nervous habit you've had no success in breaking.

You didn't know how this was going to go. Sure, the players had the element of surprise, but they had a lot less resources than the guards. You could hear the echoes of gunshots from down the hall. They were far away, but they still made you feel uneasy. The guards could easily storm this room in retaliation.

After a few minutes, the other players had mostly returned back to normal, except most of them were now sitting behind some form of cover. You envied their ability to calm their emotions, but you also knew that, for the Os certainly, it was likely due to indifference. The more people who died in the rebellion meant the less competition and higher prize pool. The thought of it made you sick to your stomach. You couldn't imagine anyone being so callous about a human life, but the people in the games weren't the most morally upstanding.

You continued to pace, despite Jun-hee's half-hearted pleas for you to join them behind cover. You couldn't sit still right now. You were never able to handle anxiety well.

This continued on for a while. Eventually, Geum-ja said, "They are gonna wear holes in the floor at this rate." You didn't respond to her.

You glanced at the door, finally stopping when you saw Dae-ho walk back in. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You rushed over to him as he dropped down in front of the guard nearest the door.

He seemed frantic. He was trembling as he walked, hardly able to make it to his destination. You could hear him mumbling something, but you couldn't make it out. You felt your heart wrench watching him in this state.

You approached him cautiously. You didn't want to scare him more than he already was. "Dae-ho? What's going on?" You asked. He whipped his head up, fumbling around in the guard's pocket. "Why are you here by yourself?" You heard Player 7 chime in from behind you. Seems like you weren't the only one concerned.

"There's ammo in their pockets." He stammered, stuttering through the words. The man's eyes were both distant and wild at the same time. Like he was experiencing the worst thing imaginable, but his mind wasn't fully present either. "They ran out of ammo. I need to get it. Quickly." He said, his voice growing louder and more frantic. You turned back to look at Yong-sik and he nodded. The two of you sprang to action, alongside his mother and Jun-hee (as much as she could help.)

You laid out your jacket, and you all set the magazines on top of it. It would let him carry it out without the risk of dropping them. Yong-sik folded up the fabric and handed it to Dae-ho. "I think this is all of it." He said. Dae-ho stuttered out a thank you before grabbing the stockpile and walking out toward the hall.

You resumed pacing without even thinking about it. Eventually, you winced and looked down to realize you had pulled a hangnail and made your finger bleed. You looked to see Dae-ho running back into the room with his hands clamped over his ears. His eyes looked far away.

"Dae-ho, what happened?" Yong-sik asked. He didn't even acknowledge the man spoke. He just went to go sit on a bed. You met Yong-sik's eyes before taking a deep breath. You were terrified. You couldn't deny that. But if it meant sparing Dae-ho from that traumatic experience, you would do it for him. You started walking toward the door saying, "I'll go. I'll go run it out to th-"

"No! Please don't! You can't, please!" Dae-ho called out, panicking at the thought of you putting yourself in danger. His breathing quickened, gripping his hair tightly with his fingers.

You turned on your heel, taking in a sharp inhale. You couldn't do that to him. You would never forgive yourself if you didn't make it back. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to lose another important person in his life. You walked to him without hesitation.

He sat against the wall, knees pressed against his chest. His hands were clamped over his ears, rocking back and forth slightly.

You stood at the foot of the bed. "Dae-ho?" You called out, not wanting to scare him. His frightened eyes looked up at you. "Can I sit?" You asked. He didn't respond for a few seconds, but he eventually gave a small nod.

You sat on the foot of the bed near him. His breathing was still fast and shallow. You tested the waters by lightly brushing your arm against his shin. He didn't react to that. You decided to try the techniques that worked to calm you during a panic attack. You had been so used to Dae-ho being your rock during your times of anxiety that this was unfamiliar territory for you.

You started by lightly tapping on the top of his shoe at an even pace. You knew that having some rhythmic stimuli could be grounding during your panic attacks. You soon transitioned it to gently running your hand up and down his shin. You synced that motion to your own breathing, trying to model deep breaths for him to follow.

The only time you said anything was when the echoes of the gunfire carried into the room. Anytime it happened, he would start breathing faster and tensing up. He pushed his hands over his ears hard enough that you thought it was probably hurting him. When this would happen, you would move your hand to his shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. You're safe, okay? I'm right here with you," You murmured, soft eyes meeting his wide ones.

After a few moments, he would relax slightly, and you would resume the motion you were doing before. You found that in the longer stretches of silence in between the gunfire, he would start to shakily match your breathing, but any progress made would be erased once he heard it again.

This happened a few times before you saw Hyun-ju run back into the room. "Dae-ho?" She called out, not sure if he was in the room. Yong-sik and his mother pointed in the direction of the two of you. She looked in disbelief at him before marching over there.

You gave her a pleading look, shaking your head. You understood she was probably angry for him abandoning the mission without a word, but this wasn't the right time to do this. She came over, reaching her hand to grab onto the bedframe above the bed you were on.

Dae-ho flinched back violently at her movement. You felt your heart drop at the sight. Did he... did he assume she was gonna hit him? You tried not to start crying at the ramifications of that action. He had to have had something like that happen to him in the past. How could anyone do that to him? You couldn't fathom it. Life can be so cruel sometimes. No one deserves that.

"Dae-ho. What happened?" She demanded, her voice stern. You wanted to ask her to leave, tell her to lay off for a second. But you knew she wouldn't leave because her anger was justified in the moment. How many people died because of the ammo running out? But how could she blame him for this? He was clearly going through hell right now both in reality and in his mind.

He started hyperventilating, muttering out repeated apologies without looking her in the eye. She looked taken aback by his reaction. You looked up at her and shook your head. "Not now. Please." You said softly. Her gaze softened before she turned and walked away.

You weren't expecting all hell to break loose in a matter of moments. The large rolling door in the front of the room slammed open. Pink soldiers rushing into the room, one shooting into the air. Dae-ho cried out, starting to tremble violently. "Dae, it's okay. It's okay, I promise." You said, but your voice betrayed you as it shook from your own nerves.

"Everyone! On your stomachs, now!" A guard with a square mask ordered. You looked back at him. "Hey, can you do that for me? Lay down on your stomach, okay?" You asked, trying to keep your voice calm. He didn't react. You grimaced. "Dae, I need you to get on your stomach right now, okay? Please, it's really important. Just for a minute, okay?" you begged, willing your tears to not drop from your eyes.

The triangle guards quickly approached the players. All were on the floor except the two of you. You watched as they searched the others, confiscating the guns from behind Hyun-ju's cover.

One guard walked up to the two of you. "On your stomach. Now." He demanded. You looked up at the triangle. "Please, sir. He's not in his right mind. He doesn't have anything, just let h-" You pleaded, being interrupted by him pointing the gun at you, finger ready on the trigger. You instinctively raised your hands, sliding off the bed and onto the floor.

You finally broke and started crying when you didn't hear Dae-ho move. "Dae, please." You cried out. The guard motioned for another to join him. Luckily, you didn't have to see it, but the two of them forced him to get on his stomach to pat him down. Hearing it was probably worse. He was crying, as well as wailing apologies and begging for his and your safety. It was too hard for you to listen to.

Just as quickly as they stormed the room to take control of it, they took all of the guns and ammo and left the room. No one knew what was going to happen, but you knew what you were going to do. You got up and started to lay on the bed next to him. He instantly understood what you were trying to do. He moved to bury his face into the side of your neck, arm draped across your waist.

In any other situation, you would be a blushing mess in this position, but you didn't have the time to overthink this. You two were close, but you didn't think you had been this close before to justify this intimate gesture. But you both just went through a lot together. The last 20 minutes had felt like you had just spent years with each other.

One of your hands found its way into his hair, gently running your fingers through it. Your other hand rubbed up and down his arm, once again matching the rhythm to your deep breathing. You continued to whisper to him softly, hoping it did something to calm him down. "Dae, it's okay. You're safe. Try to match my breathing if you can."

The doors rolled open again, but this time, he didn't jump to look at the noise. You took that as a sign that he was starting to relax. You looked over to see what was going on, just to see the forklifts carrying the black wooden coffins. You hated them. Putting the red bows on it felt like one final slap in the face. The soldiers began going to the bodies and scanning the chips in their ear. Player elimination announcements started over the PA system. You also noticed they were scanning the guards' masks, but there was no announcement. Maybe the guards weren't treated so differently than the players.

You rested your chin on the top of his head. You hoped it would stop him from turning to look. He didn't need to see that right now.

While listening to the announcements intently, you realized that the players who left to fight were also being scanned. You heard an announcement for Player 246, who you knew went out with the others. That put you on edge, but you tried not to physically react so as not to alert Dae-ho.

However, he was also listening closely to the announcements. He may not have seemed like it, but he was hanging on the robotic voice's every word.

You both were dreading hearing a specific number. You mentally pleaded with whatever higher power out there to not hear the three words that would break him even more than he was.

But life can be so cruel.

"Player 390, eliminated."

Dae-ho let out a strangled sob, starting to cry and tremble in your arms. You started crying as well, but you tried not to let him know that. You were crying for two reasons. Jung-bae was a close friend here, but you were mostly crying because of Dae-ho. Your empathy was overwhelming you. This isn't fair. Why does he have to go through this? He doesn't deserve it. Your best friend was going through hell right now, and you were so mad at the universe for subjecting him to this.

Soon after, you heard an announcement for Young-il, but you think Dae-ho was too absorbed with his grief to hear it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. It's my fault, I'm sorry." He started repeating. He was having trouble getting the words out through his tears.

"Hey, hey. It's not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault." You said back. You wished you could make him believe that, but you knew that would be a fruitless endeavor. This situation wasn't one you could just get over easily. This was likely something that would haunt him for the rest of his life. And you vowed that you would be there to help him through it whenever he needed you.

You didn't know how long you stayed like this. It had to have been hours. Eventually, he calmed down enough that he wasn't constantly trembling, but he didn't move from that position. At some point, you heard him start to snore softly. You almost cried upon hearing it. You were just so happy that he felt safe enough with you that he trusted to watch over him.

And that you did. You tried to stay awake as long as you could. There was one time in the night when he started to tense up, mumbling something in his sleep. His breathing was quicker and more shallow. He was clearly having a nightmare. You started running your hand up and down his back, your other hand carding through his hair. You hushed him quietly. "It's okay, Dae. You're safe. Go back to sleep, okay?" You murmured. Eventually, he relaxed once again. You gave a slight smile at this. Against your will, you too drifted off to sleep soon after.

You woke up to the lights turning on with a bright intensity. Apparently, after the excitement of the evening before, no one felt like repeating the brawls that had become commonplace. You all knew that the gamemakers weren't messing around anymore. They were getting ready to start handing out breakfast.

You gently shook Dae-ho's shoulder. "Dae? It's time to get up, okay?" You said softly.

He slowly started to wake up. He pulled away rather abruptly when he noticed the position the two of you were in. His face was beet red, but he didn't say anything. He got out of the bed and stood up shakily. You followed him after, letting yourself take a large stretch and a yawn.

His gaze still seemed intense, but he was definitely calmer than he was the night before. You tried to gauge how he was feeling with small talk. "It looks like they are passing out breakfast." You said before looking up at him, asking, "What do you think it'll be?" He looked over at you, but he didn't say anything.

You didn't show any disappointment at his lack of response. You knew he probably wasn't feeling up to it, and that was totally fine. You didn't want to shame him for that. "Personally, I think they should give us that soboro bread. That was surprisingly good." You said. He gave a weak smile and nodded, something that brought a smile to your face.

"We should probably go get in line." You suggested. He looked at the group of players before back at you. "We could always wait and get in line once everyone gets their food." You offered. He didn't acknowledge your statement, so you assumed you would just wait.

Once a majority of the players went through the line, he held out his hand to you. You couldn't stop the blush rising to your face, but you smiled and grabbed his hand. You walked over with him, hand in hand.

When you walked back, you took a moment to scan the room for your allies left. Geum-ja and Yong-sik were talking with Jun-hee and Myung-gi like normal. Hyun-ju's gaze was intense and her body was tense. She noticed you staring at her and turned her gaze to give you a slight glare. You frowned and looked back to Dae-ho, glad he wasn't looking toward her. You sat down against the wall, tapping the spot next to you to beckon him to sit. He hesitantly slid down the wall.

You tried not to be distracted by how close you were, but every time your shoulders brushed against each other, you felt electricity flood your body. You opened the bag, mildly disappointed when you saw it was just a hard-boiled egg and a carton of milk. "Damn." You muttered under your breath.

Dae-ho hesitantly opened the bag, taking the food out and just staring at it for a moment. You wouldn't be surprised that he didn't have an appetite, but it was important for him to eat regardless. Before you could urge him to eat, he started to unwrap the egg. This brought a smile to your face. You ate your own food.

Dae-ho passed you his carton of milk. "For last night." He said, turning to look at you.

You shook your head. "How many times did you help calm me down? I was a wreck after Mingle. Call it even." You said before taking a sip of your own milk.

He pushed the carton toward you again. "Last night was different. It looks like you hardly slept." He said quietly.

You looked up at him, gently grabbing his wrist and pushing it away from you. "No. It's fine." You insisted, a light smirk on your face.

He relented. He gave a slight smile at your persistence before opening it and taking a drink of the milk.

After a few moments of silence, he looked over at you. "Thank you. For everything."

You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed in a look of confusion. "That's what friends are for, right?" You said softly.

He took a tense breath. "I've never really had someone who would do that for me." He said, looking away with a light pink dusting on his cheeks.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You knew that he didn't have the best upbringing, so while you felt bad that he didn't have that support growing up, you felt some sense of honor that you were able to earn his trust. You smiled softly. "I'd do anything for you." You said.

He looked back at you with wide eyes. He nodded his head. He nudged your shoulder lightly. "You and me 'til the end, right?" He said quietly.

You grinned and nodded back. "I wouldn't have it any other way." You replied.

You both knew what you were agreeing to. You two were the last ones from the alliance formed before the six-legged race. You had his back, and he had yours. No matter what, you were both getting out of here together. You didn't say the words, but the love you two had for each other was evident.

You finished off your milk carton before yawning. You leaned your head on his shoulder. It gave him instant butterflies in his stomach.

"I think I know how we can settle our scores." He said.

You looked up at him. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, something that brought you some needed relief. "They are already settled, but continue." You said.

"Take a nap while we have the time. I'll watch out for you." He said.

You nodded. "You don't need to tell me twice." You said with a laugh.

You leaned against his shoulder with another yawn. You grabbed his hand and intertwined your fingers. You let your eyes close, and it wasn't long until he felt your breathing deepen.

He looked down at you with a smile. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before leaning his head against yours. He absent-mindedly rubbed the back of your thumb with his own.

He still wasn't feeling one hundred percent yet, and there was a lot more he needed to work through for himself. But he would try to be his best for you. And he was sure he would fight tooth and nail to get you both out of here.

[miustrz]

TO NOT REGRET

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

PLOT: your best friend since childhood, would it mess up your relationship if you were to confess?

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

You felt so wrong. So messed up.

Everyone had warned you. They said having a guy best friend for so long would only end one way—you’d catch feelings for him. But you never believed it. You were married, after all. To the love of your life. Or so you thought.

He did everything for you. Everything to make you happy. You needed him, and he gave you that, without hesitation. But then one night, everything fell apart.

Your phone rang. It was Junho. In the middle of the night. Your eyes were heavy, but you picked up anyway, trying to keep quiet so you didn’t wake your husband.

“Hello? Junho, why are you calling me this late?” You rubbed your eyes, your voice thick with sleep. But on the other side, there was only quiet—then sniffles.

“Hey... Junho, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you want me to come to you?” Your voice shot up, the panic creeping in. Something wasn’t right.

“I... I need you. I don’t know what to do...” Junho’s voice was shaky, like he was breaking.

Your heart dropped. You could hear the desperation in his words. “Junho, where are you? What’s going on?” You stood up, looking over at your husband, still asleep in bed. For a moment, you just stared. But then you kissed his forehead, instinctively, and walked out of the room.

You grabbed your keys. The worry inside you was growing. “Junho, are you still there? Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m at the beach... at the dock we used to go to.”

You felt your pulse quicken. The dock? Why was he there, at that place? What was going on? But all you could think was, I need to be there for him.

You started the car and drove off into the night, unsure of what you’d find, but knowing you couldn’t leave him alone.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel as you followed the winding road to the beach. It was quiet now—Junho hadn’t said anything since his last words, but that heaviness hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. You tried not to think too much about what you’d find when you got there. All you knew was that you had to be with him. He needed you.

The headlights of your car bounced off the sand as you finally reached the dock. You parked, your breath shallow. There, sitting alone in the dark, was Junho. His shoulders were slumped, his head down. He seemed so small, so fragile. In his hands, he was holding a crumpled paper, staring at it as if it were his only lifeline.

“Junho?” you called softly, stepping out of the car, your voice trembling.

At the sound of your voice, he slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red and puffy, tears still glistening on his lashes, and in that moment, it hit you. This wasn’t just about a late-night breakdown. This was something deeper.

Before you could take another step, Junho looked at you with such raw vulnerability that it made your heart ache. Without thinking, you rushed over to him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, desperate hug.

“I’m here. I’m right here, Junho,” you whispered, trying to steady your breathing, but felt your own tears beginning to well up.

Junho didn’t pull away. He let you hold him, his body shaking slightly. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you pulled back slightly, cupping his face with your hands, looking at him with worried eyes.

“What’s going on? What’s making you feel like this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of what you might hear.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed you the paper he had been clutching, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch. You unfolded it, your heart sinking when you saw the familiar handwriting. It was both of yours handwriting. From when you both were younger, back when everything felt so simple.

You read it aloud, your voice thick with emotion, “We’ll stay together forever. We’ll get married. We’ll have two dogs, and one baby girl…” You voice faltered, and the tears you’d been holding back came pouring down your face. “Junho… why are you showing me this?” you choked out, your hands trembling as you held the paper.

Junho swallowed hard, looking down at the sand between them. “Because I... I need you to know. I never stopped feeling this way about you, Y/n. I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest tightened, a wave of confusion and sorrow washing over her. You tried to speak, but the words got caught in your throat.

“I didn’t mean to ruin anything,” Junho continued, his voice quieter now, but still laced with raw honesty. “I’ve watched you be happy with him, and I didn’t want to mess that up. I didn’t want to be the one who told you this and make you question everything. But I can’t keep pretending that this—” He gestured between them, his hand trembling, “—is nothing.”

Everything you thought you knew, everything you had felt in your heart, was suddenly unraveling before you. “Junho… I—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head, trying to process his confession, his words.

Junho looked at you with that same broken expression. “I don’t want to make you choose. I just... I need you to know how I feel. And if that means letting you go, then I’ll let you go. I’ll stay in the background, like I’ve always done.”

But you couldn’t even think about that. You couldn’t think about choosing. How could you, when everything inside you felt torn between loyalty and this pull to Junho that you had been running from for so long?

“Junho, I... I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your heart shattering. “I’m married. I love him. I love my life with him. But you… You’re a part of me, too. I never thought—” your voice cracked, “I never thought you felt this way.”

Junho nodded, his face unreadable. “I never wanted to make things harder for you. But I also couldn’t live in the shadow of what we used to be without telling you.”

You stared out at the water. “What are we supposed to do now?” you murmured, tears slipping down your face, feeling like the weight of everything was too much to bear.

For a long time, Junho didn’t answer. He just sat there, beside you, the two of you facing the endless horizon, lost in the silence between them.

Junho shifted beside you, his eyes still on the sand, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped. Neither of you spoke, as if you were both trying to piece together everything that had been said, everything that had been hidden for so long.

And then, without a word, Junho turned to you. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently along your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn't even realized had fallen. His touch felt like fire, soft and burning at the same time. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as he slowly leaned in.

Before you could process it, Junho’s lips were on yours. It was tender at first, as if testing the waters, as if asking for permission. You froze, your mind screaming at you to pull away, to stop this from happening. But then you felt it—the warmth of him, the closeness, the years of friendship and longing that suddenly rushed forward all at once. Your hands moved on their own, reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.

Junho’s lips were desperate now, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this feeling. And you, lost in the emotions, lost in everything that was happening—responded just as fervently.

When you both finally broke apart, both breathless, Junho’s eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite describe. “I don’t regret it,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.

Your heart hammered in yourchest. You could barely process the words, but in that moment, you didn’t need to. You were overwhelmed, but in the best possible way.

For a split second, you just stared at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss, your mind racing with a thousand questions. And then, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in again, this time more certain. You kissed him back, slowly, but with a deeper hunger, as if the kiss itself was an apology, a confession, and an answer all at once.

When you both pulled away again, you looked at him, your eyes filled with emotion. You didn’t regret it either.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like you were finally being honest with yourself.

[theshadowsingersraven]

Just some POV to support OP: I don't think anyone here would doubt that I love Azriel. And I absolutely did this in my own writing.

Loving a character doesn't just mean blindly wanting surface good things for them. It can also mean wanting them to face the music for their actions and becoming better for it. This is how I handled Azriel rightfully feeling shame for how he treated Lucien:

Azriel deserved that. He knew he deserved that to the point where he felt an apology creeping up his throat. But his pride snatched hold of it before the traitorous words could leave his lips.

Lucien sighed. “Perhaps one day you can view me as Solara does—a friend. Not just a cage thrust upon Elain, demanding her compliance. I've never thought badly of you until now, Azriel.”

Friend.

Azriel was purposely hurting Solara’s friend, purposely choosing each word as if it were a torture instrument. As if he were no better than the witch she'd sacrificed so much to kill. And a part of him knew that, deep down even then. How disgusted would she be when she learned of the other aspects of his work? For how Azriel was speaking to her friend? Solara would be furious, so disappointed, and—

“I…” he found himself fumbling for words he had no desire to say, but everything in him screamed that he needed to say something. Needed to remedy the harm he caused, even if it was only for the spiteful words he'd just spewed. “I couldn't do what you do. If I were in your position…it would kill me. I do not know how you are not miserable.”

“I never said I wasn't. It doesn't particularly feel good to see your mate falling for a male who gets to be around her. Who she can actually tolerate. Not that you have to worry about that with your mate. You had the privilege of knowing her, being her friend first. You knew what her laugh sounded like and how she liked her coffee before you tasted her fear and panic. I was not so lucky.”

Azriel averted his gaze, keeping his mask of indifference in place despite the tempest of emotions whirling in his chest. The shadows hung off of him instead of curling up like normal. They were probably as exhausted from this day as he was.

As their gazes finally met again, Azriel didn't say anything—couldn't, really. It's not as though Lucien was wrong.

After a pause, the russet-haired male sighed. “I'm not going to lie to her for you, Azriel. That's all I'm saying.”

“Understood,” Azriel murmured, his nostrils flaring slightly, wings tucking in tighter.

Lucien turned on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Azriel watched him close his hand around the ornately carved knob, and then he found himself taking a slight step forward. Found himself saying despite his pride's protests, “I judged you sooner than what was wise. You…You are an honorable male. More honorable than me, I think. By a large margin.”

It wasn't an apology. The Mother knew he was too prideful to apologize, but this was something, at least. And though he doubted this was what his shadows had in mind when they told him about singing the truth, they seemed to perk up a little. Azriel also knew that it was a rather lackluster comment despite the fact that it was enough to give Lucien pause. He heard the slightest sigh come from Lucien, and he looked over his shoulder back at him.

As he pulled the door open, the emissary said, “Well, I believe that is perhaps the one thing we agree on. Farewell, Azriel.”

Azriel’s hands flexed at his side. He deserved that, too, really. Deserved every word from Lucien's mouth, and deserved worse, probably. But he had to keep trying—had to do better. Be better. Even if it was just so he could stand next to his mate and not feel like he was so undeserving of her and the fire she embodied. The fire that seemed to warm and melt every frigid layer of ice he put around himself. And if Azriel wanted any of this to go well, he needed to at least feel like the male Solara would finally find underneath all those protective, icy walls was more than his scars, his anger, and his bitter jealousy. Azriel wanted the male underneath it all to be worthy, no matter what it took.

I really want Azriel to know and feel for himself the depth of the mating bond, so that he feels shame, true shame, for what he did to Lucien.

[sentinelq]

Ticklish attitude adjustment

She warned him not to go through with it. You can't remodel your own home just like that, who knows what you'll destroy or collapse.

As usual, the advice went into one ear and left out the other. He had finally drilled an opening big enough for a small window from the house to the garage. He widened it forcefully, too lazy to take the long trip around.

Drill in hand, his arms upright, his upper body barely made it to the other side before getting stuck, his chest facing the ceiling. Panic made him drop the drill, thankfully without accident.

"See? You never listen to me, what if you had been alone? What if the drill fell on your arm or face?"

"Yeah, yeah, just go around and give it to me, I'll widen the hole and get out."

Having had enough of his attitude, always taking her for granted and knowing she'd always dampen his failures, she decided a punishment was in order. Several refusals to fully admit to his mistake, without excuses, later, she swiftly took off to give him the drill and be done with this mess.

"Oh you just know sooo much better, huh? That's why you're stuck like this?"

Seeing him in this state, somewhat crouched, arms and head clean through yet exposed from the armpits and below, gave her an idea.

The dragging sound of a heavy chair confused him. "Just making myself comfortable throughout this ordeal" she said. He felt the cold steel of scissors cut off his white shirt, hands undoing his belt buckle and lowering his pants. And everything that comes with them.

"What are you fu-"

"If you're not going to learn by yourself, I'll teach you what happens when you don't have a person to make up for your mistakes 24/7"

She grabbed two decorational goose feathers, long and stiff. Dragging them across his ribs, she asked "What do we say when we've made a mistake?" Caught off guard, sudden snorts and squeaks came out the sound echoing throughout the garage.

"No, I don't believe it's that. Try again." Twirling the feathers right inside his armpits, she broke the dam. Desperate, howling laughter filled both the garage and house. In her newfound excitement over this situation, she let the feathers continue to explore his defenceless underarms. Knowing he couldn't take it. Knowing he couldn't utter a single word, therefore giving her the "justification" to continue,

She enjoyed being in an authoritative position. It excited her, so much so after a very long seeming 10 minutes of tickle torture, she knew exactly how it'd go down.

He shouted in anger. His behavior was "corrected". No stops, no breaks, no bargaining. Just his body flailing, defenceless against the feathers sneaking underneath his pinned arms.

A smile slowly creeping upon her lips, she had the perfect idea. 2 minutes full of desperate pleas later, she had taped his legs together. Sitting in her chair, she grabbed a feather and brought it down from his armpits to his ribs, to his belly, to his hips... and lower. At first, she extracted laughter, soon followed by a realization that no amount of begging would change.

"If you're going to act like a testosterone fueled caveman, I'll treat you like the animal you are." His legs taped together, the feather's strokes inevitably revealed the rapidly growing bulge. Passing the feather up and down, she condescendingly proclaimed that she'd "get those hormones out" of him.

The laughter started. He couldn't hold it back, it grew and grew in intensity, along with his feathered cock. She was sitting in her chair, scrolling through random social media apps while dragging that stiff, soo stiff, yet so soft thing up and down his increasingly wet shaft.

As his masculine needs were being coo'd out of him, he couldn't help but surrender those needy sounds, mixing with the laughter and echoing across the garage.

His giggles and moaning had taken a more submissive turn. "Gooood boy." she complimented him. Her ruthless demeanor finally shown in the taming of her hormone fuelled slave, she would build him up until he could no longer take it, taunting him with emasculating baby talk ", who's my strong man? Yes, you are, so strooong. Coochie coochie coo, let it allll out" the elongation of words accompanied by the dragging of her instrument across his own.

The cruelty of her taunts, "Theeere you go baby, let it allll out" finalized in that she would ticklishly stroke his glans to the point where he'd almost explode, just to baby him down to precumming, then start the process all over again. Him screaming "PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEFUAHAHAPLEAHAHA" Only to be met with laughter and giving him no pressure, she merely carefully applied the feather's tip at just the right spots to soak his cock in his impotent pre-cum yet again. "Theeere you gooo, we're gonna leak all that testosterone out."

"So you can think better."

Who knows how long this went on. One thing is for certain. She enjoyed that long afternoon very much.

*Inspired by a gif from PolarbearNSFW

[shy-canadian-snowflake]

Toronto VS Niagara

“Logan.” The man’s head popped up from where he was chowing down on lunch. The sound of Wade’s voice stopped any and all thoughts about the dumb show playing on the tv. Wade never called him Logan. Fucking Never. He stopped chewing and put down his second sandwich to give the other his full attention. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked after swallowing his mouthful. His eyes were locked onto Wade who seemed small in that moment. The man was hunched over his own sandwich that only had a few bites into it. Curling up with his hands in tight fists. 

“Can you call Dopinder? See if he’s busy?” He eyed the other up and down for a second, trying to see what was causing the other stress before nodding. 

“Sure thing Bub, can you talk to me though? Something is bothering you, yeah?” Wade gave a short nod. Logan whipped out his phone and shot Wade’s closest friend a quick text, a simple ‘you free?’.

“I’m scared.” Logan went to touch the other only for Wade to flinch away. Okay, no touching. He put his hand down on the couch, palm up so the other could hold his hand if he wanted. 

“And you want to get out of here for a bit?” Wade gave a stiff nod. With that, Logan texted the man again. ‘Wade SOS, needs out.’ He barely sent the message before getting a handful of emojis back. A head exploding, a bunch of thumbs up, and a crying face. 

‘Omw’ was the only word that was sent. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure this means he’s high-tailing it here.” Logan showed Wade his phone. The merc gave a pained smile before nodding. “Do you want me to come with you?” 

“Uh.” Logan could see the far away look starting, Wade was dissociating a bit in that moment. The merc’s mouth moved as if he was trying to say something but was unsure. 

“Yes or no, both are fine answers.” He wanted to reach out for the other but remembered how Wade flinched at his touch. Logan took a dramatically large breath in, before blowing it out. He breathed in deeply again, and soon Wade was mimicking him. 

“Yes.” Logan kept breathing deeply as he took Wade’s plate from his lap and set it on the shitty coffee table. EIther the dog would eat the food, or it would be still there when they got back, out of everything, it was the least of Logan’s concerns. 

“We can head downstairs, with the way Dopinder drives he’s probably already here.” Wade nodded shakily. Logan let the other get up and head to the door at his own shaky pace. As Wade threw on a pair of old shoes, Logan grab Wade’s coat. He knew the other would be overheating now, once he was calm however, he’d be wanting the comfort of the old jacket. 

Logan followed behind Wade, locking the door behind him as Wade made his way down the steps of the apartment, almost in a trance. He kept up with the other, making sure he didn’t go too fast or curl up in a panic attack. By how hard the man’s heart was beating, he wouldn’t be surprised if Wade did have a panic attack at any moment.

Luckly, Logan was right and Dopinder was outside. He threw open the passenger side door for Wade who took his spot while Logan crawled into the back seat. Once they were buckled in, the man took off. 

“We in a chatting mood DP or a silent ride?” Dopinder asked as they stopped at a red light. He was making his way to the highway, if Logan had to take a guess. 

“Chatter about something, please. I need a distraction.” Wade said, resting his head on the cool glass of the window. Logan searched around in the pockets of Wade’s jacket as Dopinder started talking about Bandhu, his rival for Gita’s love. 

“Bandhu is taking Gita on a lovely date to Toronto.” 

“Shitty place for a date.” Logan pipped in as he grabbed Wade’s fidget cube from the jacket pocket. “Wade, cube.” With that, Wade gave Logan his hand to place to cube in. 

“Oh no Mr. Wolverine, he is taking her to the nice part. They are going to have a romantic dinner at the CN tower, then go to that new aquarium.”

“That is two places within walking distance from the train station.” 

“Yes and it is very romantic.” Logan shook his head. 

“There is nothin romantic about Toronto Bub, trust me. If you want to wow her, take her to Niagara Falls. Canadian side, not American. Maid of the Mist to the Falls is fun if you like getting wet. The walk at night is fucking beautiful when they have the Falls all lit up, hell if you don’t like the Falls theres casinos, and the fucking SkyWheel.” 

“SkyWheel?” 

“Huge as fuck ferriswheel.” Wade pipped in. “Right next to a dinosaur mini golf. And down the street they have a Burger King with a roller coaster on the roof.” Dopinder looked skeptical. 

“Cross from that is a Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Make it into a two day event, do romantic shit around the Falls, Maid of the Mist, eat at the high end places, touristy shit. Then hit the cassinos, SkyWheel, Dinosaur mini golf, Ripley’s, hell there's a haunted house on that same street, check all that shit out.” 

“That does not sound as romantic as the CN tower and aquarium.” Dopinder pulled onto the highway, and Wade relaxed more into his seat. Logan could hear the light clicking of the buttons on the cube that Wade was fiddling with. 

“We should do both Lo-Lo.” 

“Shit, I haven’t been to Niagara in years.”

“I think I’m banned from the casinos there.” Logan laughed. 

“Why doesn’t that surprise me, Bub?”  They continued to chat, coming up with a plan to help Dopinder to woo Gita in Niagara, coming up with more extravagant things to do there. Dopinder, being a good sport, put in his own two cents on the ideas, which somehow made the plan’s even more extravagant. 

Feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries while someone saranates them by the Falls. Kissing at the top of the SkyWheel at night, with the lights of the Falls as a backdrop. Spending a night in a hotel room, listening to the falls as they fucked on a rose covered bed. 

Wade was controlling the conversation by then, half turned in his seat to be able to talk to Logan as well as their driver. Not an inch of fear on his face, only joy of being with two people he loved dearly.

[kelpiemomma]

Seyeong being a petty, catty bitch will never not delight me. He's such an asshole. I love him.

[edith-is-a-cat]

urge to reblog the f/o post be the fear ill mischaracterize my f/os in my idiotic hopes

[alexiroflife]

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

[littlelamy]

boat scene with rafe

requested by @gibson-g1rl l <3 😘 part 2

credits: oysters png from @saizun , and amazing gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The boat rocks beneath you as you step toward where Rafe sits bound against the wall, looking both furious and oddly vulnerable. You catch his eye as you enter the room, holding a small packet of aspirin and a plate of food. His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but his cocky smirk returns almost immediately.

“Look who’s here to take care of me,” he drawls, his voice dripping with that familiar teasing tone, though there’s a flicker of genuine relief in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to your words. You set the plate down next to him and hand over the aspirin, glancing away to avoid letting him see the small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “Thought you’d need this. Can’t have you passing out on us.”

Rafe takes the aspirin from your hand, holding your gaze just a little too long before he swallows it dry. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting room service,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t know you cared this much.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “You should know by now I don’t want you dead, Rafe,” you say with a wry smile. “But don’t expect this to become a habit.”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little smug. “We’ll see about that,” he says, shifting against the ropes, clearly enjoying the attention. He nods toward the plate. “So, what—are you gonna feed me, too?”

You blink, taken aback by his nerve, and then raise an eyebrow, letting sarcasm color your voice. “Would you like me to? Or do you think you can manage?” You narrow your eyes, daring him to keep pushing.

Rafe’s smirk wavers, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as he quickly looks away. “I can handle it,” he mutters, clearly flustered but trying to play it off. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to.” But you can’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you settle back, watching as he tries to pick up a piece of food from the plate with an awkward, fumbling grip, struggling against the restraints.

You stifle a laugh as he tries to eat without making a mess, and he catches you smiling, his jaw tightening. “Something funny?” he snaps, though there’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

You shrug, biting back your amusement. “Nothing at all. You look perfectly in control.”

Rafe grumbles under his breath, focusing intently on his food to avoid meeting your eyes. Another wave rocks the boat, causing you to steady yourself against the wall, and you look back to find him watching you, something almost like concern flickering in his gaze.

“Be careful,” he mutters, his voice softer, dropping the bravado for a split second.

For a moment, you just look at each other, the storm outside and the chaos around you fading into the background. His cocky expression softens, and he gives you a small, grateful nod. He won’t say it, but you know he’s thankful.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, crossing your arms as you lean back against the wall. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Rafe grins, his cockiness slipping back into place, but now it’s warmer, less of a wall and more like something shared just between the two of you. As he reaches for another bite, he murmurs, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And as much as you try to resist, you can’t help the small, reluctant smile that crosses your face in response.

The storm hits hard, the boat rocking violently beneath your feet. You’re barely able to keep your balance as you make your way through the narrow, dimly lit hallway. Waves crash against the hull, each one sending a jolt of panic through your body. But there’s something else clawing at you—something that won’t let you ignore the sound of Rafe’s voice, sharp and desperate, calling from another room.

“Come on! Cut me loose!” His voice cracks, the desperation in it too raw to ignore.

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Rafe. He’s still tied up. The ropes are holding him in place as the boat teeters precariously on the brink of capsizing. You can hear Pope and Cleo yelling from the kitchen, their voices overlapping, trying to convince you to leave it alone. To save yourself. But you can’t. Not this time.

You grip the knife tighter, your fingers cold and trembling from the anxiety rising in your chest. There’s no time to think. Rafe’s call keeps echoing in your head, and that voice—the urgency, the fear—pushes you forward. You make your way toward the room where you heard him last, the sound of the storm growing louder as it pounds against the sides of the boat.

Before you even get to the door, Cleo’s voice rings out. “No! Y/N, No!”

Pope’s voice follows, sharper. “Y/N, stop don’t let him out!”

But you keep moving. You don’t stop. You can’t. There’s no way you’re going to let Rafe stay there, helpless and bound, when you can do something about it.

When you reach the door, you shove it open, and the sight of Rafe tied up against the far wall hits you with a jolt. He’s slumped slightly, sweat slicking his forehead, his face drawn with exhaustion and frustration. His eyes snap to you, and for a split second, they soften with something almost like relief.

“Cut me loose, come on!” He says again, his voice strained, but louder this time, more insistent.

His hands are bound tightly in thick ropes, his legs spread out uncomfortably beneath him. The ropes seem too thick for him to break on his own. You can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles twitch from the strain, and the panic that flickers behind his gaze. There’s no time to waste. You don’t think twice. You crouch in front of him, the knife in your hand glinting in the low light.

Rafe watches you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Don’t make me regret this,” you murmur, feeling your heart beat faster as you cut into the thick rope that’s holding him in place. Your hands are shaking, the knife slipping slightly as the boat tilts again, but you focus on the task at hand.

“Come on, hurry up.” His words are clipped, desperate, and you push aside the nervous tightness in your chest as you work faster, cutting the ropes.

You’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the cold, wet air from the storm. The boat groans as another wave slams against it, and Rafe’s eyes flicker to the window, then back to you.

“Please,” he breathes, and it’s that one word that makes everything else fade away—the roaring storm, the panicked shouting from the others, the ticking clock of time slipping away.

The last thread gives way with a sharp cut, and Rafe’s hands are free. His arms immediately reach for you, grabbing hold of your wrist with a surprising amount of force, pulling himself upright.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice rough, but there’s something deeper in it, something like a sense of vulnerability you’ve never seen from him before.

You don’t have time to say anything, to wonder if he’s really thankful or if he’s just grateful to be free. The boat shudders violently, and you both stumble as the hull groans beneath you. The wind howls outside, whipping against the windows, and you know there’s not much time before things get worse.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an invitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you toward the narrow hallway. “We need to get to somewhere safer,” he says, his tone not leaving any room for an argument.

You’re both moving quickly, though the boat keeps pitching wildly. The wind screeches, and water sloshes against the floorboards. Every step feels like a risk, like the boat could capsize at any moment. But Rafe doesn’t let go of your arm. He pulls you behind him, guiding you toward a small corner near the engine room, the only place that might offer even the slightest bit of shelter.

You slide into the corner, pressing yourself against the cold wall. It’s not the safest place, but in the madness of the storm, it’s all you have. Rafe follows, wedging himself beside you. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, but you don’t mind. You’re not focused on that right now. All you can think about is how the boat is rocking, how you’re both on the brink of disaster, and how Rafe’s body is so close to yours.

He leans into you, his breathing ragged and uneven. For a moment, he pulls away, but then his hand is at your waist, his grip tightening. It’s almost like he’s afraid you might slip away from him. He presses his body closer, his face now inches from yours, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Rafe places his head on your neck, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder. The warmth of his breath on your skin is both comforting and unsettling, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you place your hand on his back, the pressure of your touch grounding both of you as the storm rages on around you.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to reassure him or yourself.

Rafe doesn’t respond, but you feel his muscles relax, his tense body unwinding little by little. He’s not just holding onto you for stability; it feels like he’s holding onto you for something more. You can’t explain it, but there’s something in the way he leans into you, something raw and vulnerable that you’ve never seen before.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln

[bi-writes]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.

[mssorceressupreme]

Let The World Burn

——— Pairing: Hwang In-Ho (or Young-Il) x reader

Summary: In-Ho would let the world burn for you, developing a huge soft spot and love for you, once you die in his arms, he’s determined to make sure everyone pays for it

Warnings: reader!death, angst, mentions of gunshots, daeho has ptsd, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, deaths

a/n: reader doesn’t know he’s the frontman fyi

———

The arena was a hellscape. The air smelled of gunpowder and fear, screams mingling with the deafening sound of gunfire. Shadows darted in and out of your vision as frantic players pushed past you, some tripping over fallen bodies, others using them as shields.

Every step you took felt like a battle against the tide of selfish desperation.

You clutched the heavy bag of bullets to your chest, your heart pounding wildly. Somewhere out there, Young-il was fighting, orchestrating this mess while holding together the fragile remnants of control.

Dae-ho cowered behind the bunk beds, leaning with his legs to his chest on his bunk bed, his hands trembling as he peeked out.

You’d told him to stay put, and thankfully, he listened. You couldn’t blame him for being terrified—it was every man for himself now, and his fear was written all over his face.

“Stay here,” you had told him, squeezing his shoulder as the fear and panic grew in his eyes. “I’ll find Young-il and Gi-hun. You’ll be okay, alright? I'll come back for you, you just stay put here.” You comforted, he trembled with fear, clutching his legs tighter at every gun shot.

He nodded, wide-eyed, and you’d forced yourself to turn away before the weight of the situation could settle over you. Now, pushing through the chaos, your focus narrowed. You had to find Young-il.

“Young-il!” you screamed, your voice raw as you ran through the area, running up the stairs, dodging bullets and panicked players. “Young-il!” It felt like a never-ending maze of death.

He was there, standing in the midst of the chaos like a storm given human form. His sharp features twisted in determination, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he dodged bullets and ran from the chaos. You called out to him again, louder, but he didn’t hear you over the deafening sounds of death and desperation.

Before you could reach him, a frantic player shoved you from behind. You stumbled, dropping the bag of ammo and as you bent down to pick it up, a sharp burning pain ripped through your side. BANG! The world spun as your knees buckled. The ground was cold and unforgiving when you hit it, the bullets spilling out of the bag and scattering across the floor.

It was a surreal kind of agony, blinding and consuming. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs had been punched.

Blood was warm against your hands as you pressed them to the wound, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You tried again, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Young-il…”

Through the haze, you saw him turn, his eyes landing on you. For a moment, time froze. His face- usually so unreadable, so carefully controlled, cracked with raw emotion. Horror. Rage. Despair. He saw you.

And then he ran.

“Young-il...” you tried to say again, but the sound barely left your lips.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately pressing over yours to stem the bleeding.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted across your body, assessing the damage.

“No, no, no! NOT HER!” His voice rose as he turned his fury to the guards, his tone sharper than a blade. “She’s not a target for fucks sake!”

His words carried the weight of command, but the guards hesitated only briefly. Young-il didn’t wait for an answer.

His focus snapped back to you, his hands trembling as he cradled you against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please, you have to stay with me. I can fix this. Just hold on, okay? Please.”

You blinked up at him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Young-il…” His name was the only thing you could manage, but it was enough to draw his gaze back to you, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly, his hands pressing harder against your wound. “Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

There was a desperation in his voice that you’d never heard before, a vulnerability that broke through his steely exterior. It was almost enough to make you believe him. Almost.

A small, weak smile tugged at your lips. “You… always so serious,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted… to help.”

“And you did,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “You did more than enough. Just stay. Please stay!"

Your hand, slick with blood, reached up to touch his face. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For caring.”

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as your hand slipped away, falling limply to your side. “Don’t you dare…” His words dissolved into a choked sob as he pulled you closer. "FUCK!" He cried aloud, rocking you gently in his arms.

The chaos around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he held you, now lifeless, his world crumbling in his arms. His tears fell freely now, staining your already bloodied clothes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged and uneven. "My Y/N..." he whispered. "My Y/N..."

And then, the grief turned to something darker.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury. He laid you down gently, brushing a hand over your face to close your eyes. Then he rose, his movements slow, deliberate.

The guard who had shot you barely had time to react before Young-il shot bullet which tore through his chest. One shot. Then another. And another. Now limp, the guard fell to the ground, dead.

“Young-il” Gi-hun’s voice called, but it was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Young-il turned his wrath on the rest. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. For a mere second, you had given him a glimmer of hope, he had reconsidered his actions for a short moment in time. He even thought about ending the games and running away to take care of you, and only you. But no, now, he remembered who he truly was. The man who had once orchestrated the games with calculated precision was gone, replaced by someone unrecognisable—a man consumed by amplified vengeance and grief. A man with no mercy. A man with no heart. Every last bit of empathy, washed away.

“For her,” he muttered under his breath as he fired another shot. “For her.”

Young-il had lost everything before. But losing you? That was a wound that would never heal. For you, he would destroy it all. Let the world burn. Let them all pay.

[bbokicidal]

Hand Placement - [OT8]

quick summary : where the skz members like to lay their hands on your body during different scenarios.

warnings : suggestive content (18+, MDNI), sexual themes, casual (? ish, ig.) groping

notes : the order of the scenarios goes: casual -> intimate -> sensual so the pictures for each member will be placed in that order for visual reference!

if you like my content and want to see more, be sure to follow & reblog!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ bangchan

casual - he can't help it, if he's honest. he knows that actions speak louder than words, and when you're stubborn enough to deny the beauty he tells you he sees through his eyes - well, he hopes that the touch of his hand lingering over your jaw will guide you to see yourself the way he does.

intimate - always holding your hand, chan can't deny that he feels a protective nature over you. he can't let you get lost - can't fight the panic he finds filling his chest when his fingers aren't laced with yours. so do him a favor and just hold on tight, yeah?

sensual - having the need to constantly be using his hands, chan likes to knead that plush of your thighs any chance he gets - and the feeling of the warmth under his fingertips is all the more alluring when you're sitting above him rocking your hips down against his hardening cock.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ lee know

casual - never one to hurt you, his grip is always gentle when he grabs hold of your wrist. it's a subtle but sure way to make sure you drop the bratty, teasing nature that riles him up all too quickly - and it's a surefire way to get jisung giggling off to the side at your antics.

intimate - he isn't sure when his love for resting his hand on your lower back appeared, but minho adores getting to hold onto you in such a soft way. it's - again - subtle, but his gesture and guide is firm as he brings you to walk in front of him or lures you away from the counter so he can step forward and pay.

sensual - call him sappy - maybe even a bit romantic - but minho needs to feel your hand in his when he's making love to you. both so he knows you're present and with him in that moment, but also to keep you grounded when he's kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock. <3

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ changbin

casual - bin loves the feeling of having you in his arms. he can't resist the urge to hug onto you most times - use to being the clingier one in the group and loving that you'll accept his affection with no questions asked.

intimate - and since we're on the topic, who doesn't want a hug with bin's big strong arms wrapped around them? better yet, who doesn't want a strong hug from behind while also getting to play with his fingers and rings? he'll chat away with the others, swaying carefully back and forth with you huddled nice and close, twisting his rings and pulling at his bracelets.

sensual - having a thing for - what do we call it, grabbing? we've seen him do it with seungmin multiple times and you'd be wrong if you think he won't do it to you as well. at first it's gentle caresses along the nape of your neck to guide you into a kiss - but once he's comfortable enough and knows what you like, he'll grab you by the throat, dragging you to him to steal a kiss before guiding you to your knees so you can take his awaiting cock in your pretty little mouth.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ hyunjin

casual - thinking it's more funny than anything, hyunjin developed a habit of pressing a hand over your mouth when you got snappy towards other members, namely being minho. because he knew for a fact that you would also get the airfryer-tissue treatment as soon as minho got out of his seat.

intimate - call him romantic, call him a sucker. hyunjin can't get enough of the warmth your body offers him, hands sliding under your shirt when you kiss him so he can squeeze at the softness of your sides and maybe, if he's feeling frisky, trail his fingertips up a bit higher.

sensual - call him a whore. if you're alone together, or you're in the group and everyone's been drinking a bit so he's what we'll call 'loose' in this situation - he's resting a hand right over your center. whether you're wearing pants, shorts, a dress, or nothing at all - he's always got his hand loitering there. maybe even rubbing small circles with his fingertips.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ han

casual - jisung is... a sweetheart when it comes to your body. his favorite thing to do no matter where you are, how many people are around, what time of day it is - is play with your hair. he loves the feeling of running his fingers through it and getting to twist it into fun hairstyles. he'll do his best not to rat it up, though.

intimate - his hand being in your back pocket is something he could put on his hobby - because that's a full-time job for him. you're standing beside him? hand in your pocket. you're sitting in his lap? hand under your ass in your pocket. you're standing in front of him in line? whoop - hand in your pocket. maybe squeezing here and there, too.

sensual - did you see this one coming? han jisung is an ass man and i will stand by my word. any time you're alone he's always, always, always touching the tooshie. he'll slide his hands over the soft skin and dig his fingertips in as much as he can while you're in his lap, his lips attached to your throat to muffle his groans. he gets more pleasure out of it than you do, i'd assume.~

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ felix

casual - ever the sweetheart and gentleman, felix does his best to keep his hands to himself with you in public. but if you're more comfortable and don't mind him holding onto you or being affectionate, he'll often times find himself holding onto your hands or bringing you closer so that you can hold onto his arm.

intimate - it's common this appears at awards shows - felix enjoys showing you off. his hand is consistently resting on your hip, gentle but firm in nature and not necessarily guiding you but moreso just resting there so that people get the hint. you're taken, and he's proud to be your boyfriend. (all days of the week, but when you look this gorgeous? he's bound to adore you just a tad bit more, pride swelling in his veins.)

sensual - felix's hands commonly rest on your sides during moments together. partially because it gives you stability - and partially because he needs to hold onto you while he stares up at your bouncing form above him, his lips parted and eyes fogged like glass with adoration.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ seungmin

casual - seungmin's almost always touching you more than he is the others. he'll nudge you with his hip to get you out of his way (playfully, of course) or give you a shove when you're being bratty - even though he's the exact same way. nuisances, i swear. <3

intimate - it's subtle, and soft. but seungmin has a love for linking his pinky with yours, letting his thumb rub over the back of your hand while you sit beside each other. there's no looks or words exchanged - just brief, sweet, quiet moments filled with a dull hum of love.

sensual - contrary to everything i just said, he's a grabber. grabbing your thighs, your hands, your sides - your hair. he has a love for holding your hair back for you while you swallow around his cock, or pulling on it to make you look back at him when he drills into you from behind so hard it almost hurts.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ jeongin

casual - there's little to no casual contact with jeongin, simply because skinship isn't his thing. he'll hold your hand or arms here or there in passing, but it isn't often he'll be affectionate with you in public.

intimate - when he is feeling softer, feeling safer when he's alone with you and out of the teasing eyes of his hyungs - jeongin likes to cup your face in his hands. he mentally huffs out a laugh at the way his palms seem to envelope your cheeks completely, but on the outside he's just gazing at you, smitten and soft and falling apart just by the simplest touch.

sensual - his hands tend to wander. they'll caress over every curve of your body when you're splayed on the sheets for him, so willing and wanting and ready for what he has to offer - but they travel along your back most often. you think he just has a want to feel the way your back arches away from his touch, chasing the warmth of his body and writhing with pleasure all because of him.

[sunlightmurdock]

ain’t afraid of a little thunder | tyler owens

“now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” his gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the middle of your thighs. “just because of a little thunder?”

warnings: minors dni, 18+. smut. unprotected pinv. oral (m+f). no physical descriptions of reader except some hair pulling mentioned.

…

Blinding white light flashes, spilling through and under the gaps in the curtains. The furniture is, at once, illuminated a ghastly white. The room remains still, aside from where you lay in your bed, tangled in sheets and breathing softly. 

What comes next isn’t the rolling kind of thunder that usually spills across these parts, there’s nothing slow or melodic about it. It comes as an almighty clap, shaking the old farmhouse down to its foundations. 

Seemingly spurred on by the sound, the wind joins the symphony by crashing into the window, slamming at the shutters and making the two panels swing wide open.

The storm howls now, spilling through these old walls and waking you with a start. You shoot upright in bed, eyes wide and heart thundering in your ears. Rain splatters on the worn floorboards as you look frantically around your childhood bedroom.

“Shit.” You huff out, hurling yourself out of the creaky, old metal-framed bed you had spent your teenage years in. You stumble towards the whirling wind and wrestle the window shut, snapping the latch shut once again.

You had been jolted so violently from your dreams that you aren’t even sure your eyes are open until you’re staring at streaks of lightning painting the dark sky. With a trembling hand, you reach for the edge of the curtain and pull it back across the window.

Even with your view gone, as you slip back into bed it’s impossible to pretend that the storm isn’t happening. It whips at the house, making the foundations creak and groan. Every few seconds, the sky will streak bright white and will roar with another clap of thunder. 

Eyes squeezed shut and the sheets pulled high isn’t cutting it. The weather rages just beyond these four walls, refusing to be ignored. Your heart thunders along with the bellowing horizon.

You toss onto your left side. Then your right. A frustrated sound slips your lips as you thrash onto your back. It’s like the storm is just getting worse. Closer. 

Each flash of lightning feels brighter. Each clap of thunder feels louder. You tremble under the confines of your comforter, lips pursed. You shoot a quick look toward the little digital alarm clock on your night stand. 1:55. 

Panic flares in your chest. You remember being small in this room, terrified of these same storms. The nights where you would tear out of bed and race down the hall to the safety of your parents’ bed.

You’re a little old for that now, and they chose this week of all to be vacationing at Niagara Falls. 

You pull the blankets tighter around yourself, momentarily blinded by the prospect of being alone in this big, rickety house all by yourself in the path of a storm — you’re miles away from help reaching you.

But you aren’t all alone. 

After a tough few days of field work, you had opened your doors — well, your parents’ doors — to a… colleague, of sorts. If that’s what you could call Tyler. You had a common goal, and he needed a place to stay while the two of you got some work done, that was all. It was easier than sending him to the motel an hour away.

He’s down the hall, probably sleeping like a baby, in the guest room.

You couldn’t possibly wake him. He would hold it over your head for the rest of your life. You would never live it down. Being a meteorologist who can’t sleep through a little—

Storm.

It’s that last, tremendous crash of thunder that sends you flying, once again, out of your childhood bed as it rattles the house. You’re cursing yourself under your breath already as you pad, barefoot down the hallway. 

Past pictures of yourself missing teeth and grinning, sporting pigtails and wearing overalls — all images of yourself that you would rather the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ himself hadn’t seen. 

The only thing that stops you is a brief moment in front of the door to the guest room, where you stand debating whether it would be better to knock or to just slip in and hope that he doesn’t even notice you.

You should knock. He could be naked. Shit. 

Swallowing both your pride and the lump of solid anxiety in your throat, you close your eyes and rap your knuckles softly against the door. Maybe he doesn’t hear you over the storm, or maybe he’s just a deep sleeper, but he doesn’t answer.

You should leave him alone.

But you can’t stand the thought of being by yourself through this. What if it’s something big? — You should have checked the radar.

You’re already twisting the doorknob, as slow as you can. It complies silently, the door slipping open without a peep. You would have gotten away with it, if you had thought about the light in the hall.

You get a glimpse of him while he’s still asleep. Sprawled out across the bed, laying on his back on the side closest to the door, his hair mussed and his face turned away from you. Curtains wide open, still. His clothes are thrown on the chair in the corner. The sheets are slung low on his waist. A flash of lightning illuminates the ridges through the golden skin of his abdomen. 

Then, that darned light from the hallway casts across his face and wakes him. He stirs, groaning in soft complaint as he lifts his head from the pillow and blinks angrily in your direction.

He says your name, his voice deep and growly from sleep. His tone vaguely suggests that he’s checking if it’s really you, but you’re too distracted to answer him.

Tyler twists his neck and looks around for a clock, pushing himself up just a little and letting the sheets fall to reveal the waistband of his navy boxers. “What time is it?”

“Late. Sorry,” You mumble out, still standing in his wide-open doorway like an idiot. “You should go back to sleep.”

His brows knit together as he turns his head to look at you again. Grumpy looks good on him. Especially when he’s laying in bed, his hair disheveled and his clothes on the floor. 

He presses the base of his palm into his eye socket, every bit as disgruntled as he looks as he rubs the sleep away with his big hands. 

“You gonna stand there and watch me all night if I do?” 

Your immediate reaction is to put your hackles up and get defensive at the accusation, like that’s not kind of exactly how the situation would appear to him.

“No, I just… I couldn’t sleep.” Your answer isn’t really an answer at all. Tyler reminds you of this by simply raising his eyebrows, as if to say ‘and what might that have to do with me?’. You shrug your shoulders. “I was just coming to see if— if you were up.”

“I am now.” Tyler offers. “What did you want?”

Desperately to go back to sleep. You’re exhausted. These past few days have been some of the hardest of your life — and here you are, unable to sleep, trying to find a bed to sleep in, like a child.

You stand there, debating for a moment if you’re going to come clean. It would be easy enough to just admit your irrational little fear and crawl into bed, and deal with the constant teasing from then on. 

Unfortunately, your body makes the decision for you. Thunder and lightning crash together, shaking the house once again. The rain whipping at the shutters does nothing to conceal the gasp-bordering-shriek that slips your lips as you jump and rush into the room.

Tyler’s eyes widen through the dark. His gaze is quizzical as he studies the abject panic on your face, then looks to his window. Then, he looks slowly back to you. 

His mouth twitches. Excitement flashes across his face with a burst of lightning as a grin twists at his mouth.

“Now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” His gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the tops of your thighs. “Just because of a little thunder?”

“Don’t be a dick about it — I know it’s ridiculous, I just can’t sleep.” You rush out, folding your arms across your chest. As you do so, your shirt bunches and rides up just enough to prove that you are, in fact, not wearing any shorts. He’d been wondering about that.

As he studies your face for the next few moments, you can see that he considers being a dick — and decides against it.

He holds his palms up in surrender, and shrugs his shoulders as he peels back the other side of the covers. Amusement coats his words as he drawls a playful, “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Closing the door to the hallway, the room is plunged into darkness once again. You trudge around to the other side of the bed, begrudging every moment of this ridiculous night. You should have had him sleep in the barn like you had threatened to. But then you really would be all alone in this big old house.

His eyes follow your silhouette around the foot of the bed, as the sky flashes white once more he takes note of the way your cute graphic tee sits a little higher in the back, giving him just the smallest glimpse of where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

He waits for you to reach the bed and set one knee on before he goes back to trying to rest. He lays down on his back and closes his eyes as the bed shifts slightly with your weight and the covers wriggle around with your movement.

Then, things settle.

The bed goes still, and so do the both of you as you lay side by side in it. It’s not an especially large double, but the two of you both seem to be choosing to ignore the way his warm shoulder is pressed right up against yours.

It’s just his shoulder. His bare shoulder, sure, but it’s not like you could ask him to put some clothes on — you’re the one who came crawling into his bed in your underwear. You’re just grateful that there’s just about enough room for the rest of you to not graze him at all.

You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. This whole house usually smells like lavender and vanilla, but not now. This room smells like spiced oak and pine, and the familiar smell of his cologne lingers on his clothes, his belongings— his bare skin.

His voice cuts through the dark. “So, you’re not like a bedwetter or anything, right? — D’your parents usually like give you a stuffed animal to get through this kind of thing, or—“

You reach out and smack him hard in his stomach. His hard, taught stomach. “Shut it, Owens.”

The bed rattles with his soft laughter.

“I just— I’m blindsided,” He admits, still laughing. He tucks an arm behind his head, meaning your shoulder now sits in the curve of his underarm. “You’re afraid of thunder.”

You throw yourself onto your side, turning swiftly away from him and tugging away his share of covers just out of spite. “No one will ever believe you. I’ll tell them you’re crazy.” 

He grins in the dark.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna tattle on you — you have no idea how much I’m enjoying being the only person who knows that Little Miss ‘Do As I Say’ gets this rattled over a little rain.”

You roll your eyes, then close them. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

The bed shakes again with another bout of his quiet laughter. “Yeah, g’night, honey.”

The pet names are going to be put to an abrupt end first thing tomorrow morning. You’re going to give him hell before he even gets a chance to open his stupid, pretty mouth. Until then, you have to keep yourself from doing anything that might have you exiled back to your own room.

Once again, the room settles. The rain whips at the windows, soaking the soil outside. Thunder rumbles closer again, but the lightning flashes don’t seem quite so bright. 

You focus on the sound of him breathing. Deep, slow inhales. He’s calm as could be, his weight pressing into the mattress and his body heat radiating under the shared covers. Uncomfortable on your right side but not wanting to be facing him, you roll onto your back.

Unconsciously a few moments later, you roll back onto your right side. Maybe then your left side. After that, your back again. Then your front.  

As you sigh and twist, Tyler sucks in a sharp breath from beside you.

“God damn, will you sit still? — You’re gonna spin yourself out of this bed.” It’s not until he’s done complaining that you realize he’s now holding you. His arm is secured tight enough around your middle that you couldn’t roll over again, even if you wanted to. Facing away from him, your eyes stare at the painted wall.

He huffs, closing his eyes and flexing his arm around you as he drags you closer.

“Go to sleep.” He mumbles groggily, his breath tickling at the nape of your neck. 

Well, if you were struggling before, then the sentiment is entirely hopeless now. 

You lie awake, watching the sky crackle and glow with flashes of colour. Tyler lies with you, feeling you flinch at every boom that follows.

He shifts suddenly behind you, feeling you go rigid.

“This thing really has you spooked, doesn’t it?” His fingers sprawl across your covered stomach, his voice coated with a softness you weren’t expecting. You feel him lift his head and peer over your shoulder, trying to get a look at your face.

“No.” You bite back, trying to tug yourself free from his hold and shift closer to the edge of the bed. You’ll be hanging off of the side if you keep this up.

“Here, c’mere,” Tyler murmurs, catching your bicep and turning you back around. Your brows furrow and your face grows stormy, and he can just tell that you’re batting up to argue with him. 

He opens both of his arms and wraps them around you at once, giving you no choice but to squish against his chest. Your eyes squeeze open as he presses his lips to your hairline. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

You stare at the freckle on his neck up close as his fingers stroke at the length of your trembling spine, frozen.

“Listen,” He mumbles against your hair as another clap of thunder tears across the sky. “Two, three, four, five — it’s already getting further away. Was just passing us by.”

“I know that.” You mumble begrudgingly against his chest, hating the way your fingers instinctively splay across his bare ribs.

Quiet falls between the two of you. You get it, he’s just trying to help — and frankly you are being a little ridiculous. He gets it, sometimes there’s no explaining fear. It’s just there.

His fingers stop at the base of your spine, disrupting the soft pattern he had going. Just for a moment, before he skims them all the way to the nape of your neck and curls them around the curve of your shoulder.

Once again, his mouth grazes your temple. Barely a kiss. Maybe even something platonic. He’s just trying to settle you. But then, there doesn’t feel like there’s much platonic about the way you’re wrapped together.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs. You can feel the rumble of his voice in your chest as he gives your nape a soft squeeze. “Breathe with me.”

Tyler takes long, deep breaths. Slow, and steady, but not patronizing. The kind that make you feel a dizzy kind of sleepy. You could fall asleep just like this, wrapped in his arms and copying his breaths, but you won’t let yourself. 

You dip your head forwards just a fraction, and press your lips to his bare shoulder. It’s small, and again barely a kiss, maybe even something platonic. Just like his was. He doesn’t say anything about it, and the quiet continues for a little longer.

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat as he leans in, turning his nose towards your hair. “That’s it.” 

You turn your head too, closing your lips softly around his collarbone. This one’s an inch less polite than the others, just a bit more daring, but still easy to misunderstand.

Opening up your palm, you trail your nails along his side, brushing softly from his ribs to his hips. Then, you stretch your neck and reach higher.

His fingers squeeze at your nape as your lips close against his throat. His free hand comes from its resting place against the sheets to curl around your thigh.

The tip of your nose bumps his chin in passing, he looks down while you look up until your eyes are locked together through the dark.

You would never live this down. Your work is too important to risk it all by— he’s kissing you before you’re done arguing with yourself, and your mind is made up.

His stubble scrubs at your cheek as he presses against you, capturing your mouth with his, kneading at his hold on your thigh. 

Your palm presses into the muscle of his back, firm and pulling him against you. You’re the one who hikes your thigh around his hip. He’s the one who twists the two of you and plants you firmly on your back between the pillows.

And then, you’re looking at each other again.

Lightning flashes across the sky, making his green eyes glow emerald for a moment. They search across your face while his hands take hold of your hips.

He looks at you in a way he never has before, all those days working together, his eyes hungry with lust. The intensity in those pretty, green eyes sends shocks of electricity up your spine.

“Just for tonight, and we never speak of this again.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tyler’s lips twitch.

“You’re gonna regret those terms.” He promises, letting that cocky grin of his twist across his mouth, raising his brows in challenge. You swallow, narrowing your eyes back at him. “But, sure. Whatever you say.”

Right as you’re starting to think that maybe this isn’t worth its risk, he leans forwards and turns your head to the side, closing his mouth around your pulse point. 

His teeth graze against the spot, just sharp enough of a sting to make you gasp before he’s pressing against you harder, kissing harder, soothing his mark with his tongue. 

The tip of his angled nose bumps the curve of your jaw, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin. You hike your leg higher around his waist, pressing your foot into his thigh. His tongue dips from between his lips, flicking across your jugular before he captures the spot with his mouth.

Your fingers curl around his neck, squeezing at his nape, holding his mouth against your throat. A moan slips your lips as his teeth graze over your skin. He sucks a firm kiss into the spot below your ear.

He hums as your fingers slide up into his hair, rewarding you with another open-mouthed kiss in a spot that makes you squirm. Your eyes close contentedly as his mouth works against the smooth skin there.

When the next crash of thunder shakes the foundations, you almost forget to flinch. 

Tyler twists his head sharply and with a sudden, mutual urgency, you crash together. He pulls you flush against him, sliding his tongue into your mouth and caressing it expertly against yours.

Then, his attention turns to the large, old local team jersey you had worn to bed. It was the first thing you had found in your closet. He doesn’t seem to care, bunching it around your middle and tugging you forwards to lift it over your head.

Lightning strikes as the jersey hits the floor. As his knees sit between your thighs, Tyler studies your body. He has thought about this before, what you might look like under all that office-wear. His imagination doesn’t compare.

He sits back on his knees, cupping his palm over the tent straining against his boxer-briefs. Your gaze flickers downward, eye-lids drooping with want as you watch him palm a hand over his cock.

“Don’t move.” He mumbles, reaching out to settle his other hand against the soft curve of your bare waist. It’s clear that he has a plan in his head, you can practically hear the gears turning as his darkened eyes study your body.

Stroking himself carelessly, he drops his hand to the inside of your thigh and pushes it back just a bit. Then, Tyler groans as he lowers his mouth to your chest. One of his warm, weathered hands comes up to caress your breast while his mouth cares for the other.

He kisses softly over the swell of skin, more gentle than you would have expected someone like him to be. He glances up at you as he purses his lips and blows softly, fanning cool air against your already half-hardened nipple.

Then, that talented tongue dips from his lips again, and traces the colour of your nipple, flicking back and forth across the bud before he finally closes his mouth around it. 

Your head sinks into the pillows as your chest arches eagerly toward his kisses. Moans spill from your lips, and you just know that you’ll be soaked by the time he finally touches you.

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. Amidst his parade of kisses, as he’s approaching your navel, his hand dips between your legs. You almost flinch at the contact, keening into his touch instead. 

His fingertips are featherlight, trailing the seams of your underwear where they sit between your thighs. His thumb presses firmer, experimentally sliding between your folds. 

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance down as he looks up at you. His mouth twists as your excitement spills through the lace against the pad of his thumb.

This is most definitely territory that neither one of you have business venturing into. It’s certainly going to make your next venture a little bit more tense than usual. The irony of it being your common venture that had led you here isn’t lost on either of you either.

Tyler makes it known that he has every intention of bringing his usual cockiness to this encounter, smirking as he presses his mouth to your hipbone, circling his thumb softly over your clit.

Bright, white lightning streaks again outside the window. It bathes the farm you grew up on in sudden, harsh light. The rumble of thunder doesn’t come until Tyler’s sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh— he was right, it is getting further away.

And he’s getting closer.

You gasp sharply as he opens his lips and dives forwards, mouthing at your soaked core through the flimsy constraints of your lace underwear. 

The next streak of lightning catches all of the shadows in the muscles of his back, working and flexing as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He kisses the length of your legs, nipping and biting as he goes, tossing the lace to some far corner of the room as soon as he’s done.

Your fingers shoot into his hair, squeezing firmly as he buries his face between your legs. Eager and animalistic, he sucks and licks, holding your thighs over his strong shoulders. You shudder. He groans as you tug at his sandy roots.

As you have found with everything else he does, Tyler’s ginormous ego seems to be well-founded. He has every bit the right to be so confident. 

Though, you’ll never admit that outside of these four walls.

He doesn’t need you to. The way your body thrashes and arches against his mouth tells him all he needs to know. 

You hum softly like you haven’t been moaning openly into the chilled room, tugging at his short locks once again. He groans into your excitement. At once, ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

The sharp gasp it draws from you goes straight to his cock, eliciting another deep groan from his chest as he grinds himself against the patterned sheets.

All you can do is breathe, heels pressing into the mattress as you chase his mouth. Unhindered whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. Incredible, even.

For the sake of your dignity, you’re grateful to lack the ability to tell him how good this feels. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Tyler takes a break to nip at your thighs and coax you towards the finish line you’re already desperate to cross. He looks up at you from between your legs. Your head is thrown back into the pillows, your muscles tensed and trembling. You’re fucking yourself on his fingers. “Take what you need. You gonna get yourself there?”

Then, he leans down and licks one stripe along your core, making you cry out. “Or you need me to do it for you?”

“God, you’re an asshole,” You rush out, brows furrowing in concentration as you desperately chase that high. He chuckles softly, leaving you hanging as he waits for your answer. “Yes! Alright? — I need you.”

Tyler takes that answer with delight, pinning your thigh back against your middle with sudden strength as his fingers twist into you. You shiver as his mouth takes charge once again.

It doesn’t take him long to blind you with your orgasm, your eyes balled shut so tight that you’re seeing stars. You’re trembling as he’s kissing across your stomach

He licks his lips, still grinning as you drag his glistening mouth back to yours. Meeting you with exactly the same fervor, rolling his hips into yours. You groan at the gentle scratch of his stubble, holding him close.

“Fuck me.” You mumble against his lips, trying to reach between your bodies to push down his boxer-briefs. Your fingertips graze his straining cock, stilling immediately. You glance down, eyes wide as you take note of his size.

“I don’t have a condom.” He mumbles back, kissing you hard before you have enough time to comment on what he’s been packing beneath that stupid, huge buckle this whole time.

“You— You don’t?” You pant, trailing your nails down his back as he sucks at your throat.

“Didn’t think I’d be needing one.” His hands skim up your middle and grab at your tits together, kneading them in his capable hands. He drops his head to suck at the tops of them, his stubbled cheeks scratching at the sensitive skin in the best way.

You almost growl in frustration, thighs trying to clamp together around his hips. You don’t want the night to end here.

“I’m on birth control. If you’re—“

“I’m responsible, we’re good.” Tyler swears, flicking his tongue across your pebbled nipple. “If that’s what you want, baby. You want me bare?”

Your core throbs at his deep voice, so close and so filthy.

“Yes.” You whisper, arching your chest into his mouth as he turns his head to pay equal attention to your other breast. “Fuck, yes.” 

He finally pays himself some attention, sitting back on his knees and dipping his hand into his boxers. Your lips part, watching through lust-hooded eyes as he fists at his cock from between your legs.

“Take them off.” You demand, more urgently than you’ve been before. Tyler’s lips twitch, but you’re not letting him have this one without playing first. “You’re not shy, are you?”

He rolls his shoulders back, giving a slow and certain shake of his head. No, of course he isn’t shy. Why would he be? 

Your mouth goes dry as he pushes the boxers down his thighs and kicks them off of the bed. His cock springs free, standing to attention against the trail of sandy brown hair that trails Tyler’s navel.

It’s impressive, and pink at the tip. Annoyingly as pretty as the rest of him is.

He looks carved from stone, kneeling between your legs with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Hair sprawling across his pecs neatly, and just down his sternum. The same kind of pretty light brown as his hair. Angled hipbones. He’s defined all over, with strong thighs to match.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” Tyler’s admission catches you by surprise, and the shock of it is just registering in your system as he leans down and covers your body with his. 

His weight leaning against you feels better than you’d like to admit, caging you in. The storm feels far, far away. 

The tip of his cock notches at your entrance and you forget all of the doubts you just had about what he had said.

“So, do it. Please,” You breathe out, turning your face towards his neck, kissing the vein that trails there. “I want it.”

Tyler revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you. He really has been waiting a long time for this.

He had made the effort in the beginning, tested your boundaries and swung by your motel rooms every now and again. Every interaction you’ve had has been strictly professional, and he wasn’t going to keep chasing someone who didn’t want to be chased.

As your walls squeeze him tight and your mouth sucks at the column of his throat— fuck, he wishes he had chased a little harder.

You roll your hips into his eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in. You trail your nails along his shoulders, squeezing your thighs around his hips. Thunder rumbles somewhere far away, deep and low like the sounds of Tyler’s groans.

“You feel like you’re fucking made for me.” He mutters, pressing his fingertips into the supple flesh of your ass as he hugs you as close as he possibly can. Buried in you as deeply as he possibly can be, he stills for a moment and pants hard.

You make an incoherent sound of vague agreement, nipping at the curve of his jaw as you rake your nails along his shoulder. He groans at the feeling, his hips stuttering.

Pulling out slowly one last time, Tyler glances down at where the two of you are joined. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he buries himself into you once again, hard this time. Then, he’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again.

The old bed creaks in complaint under the two of you, but it’s the furthest thing from your mind as your moans threaten to muffle the sound all together.

The sky rumbles again, another loud clap of thunder making your eyes snap open. Breathless, your head whips towards the window. You watch the streaks of lightning paint the sky shades of electric blue and white. 

Again, that irrational feeling starts to gnaw at you. 

Tyler’s fingers curl around your chin, turning you back to face him.

“Look at me,” He orders, giving a sharp snap of his hips and revelling in the way it makes your mouth fall open. “I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.” 

Dumbly, you nod your head. Your fingertips skim the ridges of muscle in his arms. Warm and strong under your touch, his body surrounds yours. His green eyes are focused and unwavering, his hands anchoring your hips to the bed.

There’s no room left for that stupid, irrational feeling. It’s all him. Fucking into you, and staring down at you, weighing you down into the creaky mattress. 

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. Tyler’s hand abandons your hip to hook around the back of your shoulders, grabbing a firm fistful of your hair. 

His other hand shoves hard at the back of your thigh, bending it up and out of his way. Your ankle rests against his shoulder, your mind going blank as this new position allows him to angle himself deeper.

“Fuck— Tyler.” You whimper, eyes wide as you look up at him. 

His hand flexes around your roots, tugging hard and making you cry out. You muffle yourself in the crook of his neck, kissing at his salty skin. 

“I’m gonna come.” You breathe out. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, lips grazing your ear as his thrusts grow deep and fast. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Make yourself come on me.”

You don’t need to be told twice, grabbing onto his shoulder for leverage with one hand as the other dips between your colliding bodies. 

His mouth is hot against your throat as you circle your clit, his deep and desperate groans filling your ears, the smell of his sweat and faint cologne making you want to bury closer to him.

It isn’t long before you’re spilling over that edge. You bite at his throat, moaning at the way he keens desperately into the feeling. Your thighs squeeze around him, trembling through the feeling. Your fingers scramble for purchase against his bicep. 

Tyler grunts hard as your body tenses all over, your walls squeezing him tight. His pace stutters just briefly, then picks up. Your brain feels like mush, your eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard.

His head falls forwards, resting against your collarbone as he cums hard. His fingers flex around both your thigh, and the nape of your next, his voice strained as he groans. His chest heaves with his next few breaths.

You sigh, contented as you turn your face towards his neck and close your eyes. He lingers there for a moment, covering you like a blanket, gently stroking the spots he had grabbed so tightly moments before.

Then, he pulls out of you with a sigh and turns to flop onto his back. You’re surprised as he drags you with him, eyes wide at the prospect of the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ being a cuddler of all things.

He turns your head toward him, wasting no time in capturing your mouth with his. “How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, turning your face towards his bare shoulder for a moment. “Tired.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath and enjoying the comfortable silence. His fingers trail the length of your spine, swirling soft patterns into your skin.

You almost let yourself fall asleep like that. He makes room for you to get up and watches you walk away as you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

He’s silent, but there’s a smile on his face when you slide back into his bed instead of your own. 

When the sun-rises and pours through the window, it wakes you first. You would complain about the curtains being wide open and the lack of sleep you had managed to get through the night, but it’s hard to when you turn and admire your view.

Tyler is asleep on his back, one arm outstretched toward you. You had been sleeping on top of it. The sheets are strewn messily around his middle and there’s a distinct purple mark at the base of his throat, a reminder of where your mouth had been.

His chest rises and falls steadily, his face calm. His hair is still disheveled, another reminder from last night. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight. 

Then, you remember what you said. Never again. How he had promised you would regret those terms— and you already do, thinking of how you’d like to wake him and repeat last night.

Unprompted, Tyler stirs in his sleep. In doing so, he shifts his hips and announces his morning wood as it stands against the sheets. 

Given that you’re still in the same room, and it’s still technically the same day, this surely doesn’t count as a separate encounter. Your terms could still stand, you reason with yourself as you lean down and kiss his shoulder. 

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he doesn’t stir at all as you kiss your way down his muscled chest. 

His brows knit together as he starts to come to. He blinks through the abrupt morning light, squinting at the brightness as he remembers where he is. He jolts at the feeling of you mouthing along the length of his cock, eyes going wide.

He takes note, then, of the shape under the covers that sits between his legs. He peels them back slowly, meeting your gaze as you kiss his tip.

“Good morning.” You greet him cheekily. 

Tyler quirks a brow, but smiles. He shifts his hips and tucks a flexing bicep behind his head, settling back down against the pillows.

“It is now.”

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

I’M NOT HIM

rafe cameron x fem!reader

( mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !! )

SUMMARY: in which rafe snaps at reader during a heated argument and she flinches, her past trauma resurfacing. rafe breaking the main promise he made to her: to not be anything like her father.

based on an ask i got that i lost </3 i hope the anon who requested it finds this, and this its what you asked for! i’m a little rusty with one-shots so just a short one to ease me into things again! :)

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, arguing, cursing, mentions of past childhood abuse (reader), mentions of a gun/brief mention of violence, trauma responses, crying. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 900 words

THIRD PERSON +

Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of man anyone would describe as soft. Not with the sharp edge in his voice, the perpetual storm behind his ocean eyes, and the way his knuckles bore scars from fights he barely remembered. He had spent his life battling demons, most of them inherited from Ward Cameron, and those fights had shaped him into someone who took no prisoners.

But with Y/N, none of that mattered.

Y/N was everything Rafe wasn’t—gentle, warm, full of an optimism he couldn’t begin to understand but adored nonetheless. She radiated light, the kind that made him want to shield her from the darkness in himself. For two years, she’d been his anchor, the one person who saw past the volatile exterior to the man buried beneath. And for two years, Rafe had promised himself that he would never hurt her.

But promises don’t always hold in the heat of the moment.

The argument had started over something Y/N had brought up before: the gun in Rafe’s apartment. She hated it, hated what it represented, and hated the memories it dragged up for her.

“Rafe, I told you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t feel safe with it here. Please.”

Rafe, already wound tight from dealing with his father’s latest scheme and the growing weight of “the business,” felt his patience snap like a rubber band stretched too far.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” he muttered, pacing the living room. “It’s not like I’m walking around with it in my hand. It’s locked up, alright? Just drop it.”

Y/N didn’t drop it. She rarely did when something mattered to her. “It is a big deal, Rafe. I asked you to get rid of it. I thought you understood how—”

“I said fucking drop it!” Rafe’s voice thundered through the room, loud enough to make the walls seem smaller.

The words echoed in the sudden silence, bouncing off the tension between them. Rafe froze, immediately regretting the way he’d shouted, but it was too late.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lip wobbled as she tried to hold herself together, but Rafe saw the cracks forming.

“Baby…” he said softly, taking a step toward her, reaching out his hand.

She flinched. Actually flinched.

It was like a knife to his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He knew her past—knew about her father’s temper and the way it had scarred her. He knew that shouting brought her back to those dark, suffocating memories.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with panic. He reached out again, but she backed away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I—I can’t,” she choked out before rushing to the bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Rafe rushed after her before collapsing onto the floor, pressing his back against the wall beside the bedroom door. He could hear her quiet sobs on the other side, each one driving the guilt deeper into his chest.

He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, baby” he murmured, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, just… let me make it right.”

Her sobs continued, muffled but heartbreaking. Rafe rested his head against the door, tears streaming down his face. He could picture her inside, curled up in the corner, just like she used to do as a little girl to shield herself from her father’s rage. A place he promised her she wouldn't ever have to go back to.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “I’ll never be him. I swear. I’ll never hurt you.”

Minutes turned into half an hour, but Rafe didn’t move. He felt he didn’t deserve to move.

When the door finally opened, Rafe almost didn’t notice at first. He’d been staring at the floor, lost in the heaviness of his own shame. But then Y/N was there, stepping out quietly and kneeling beside him.

Without a word, she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her touch was tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust it yet, but Rafe held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, his voice cracking as he clung to her. “I didn’t mean it. I swear, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just held him, letting his warmth chase away the cold that had settled in her chest. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart all over again.

“Please don’t yell at me like that again,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Rafe cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone fierce with conviction. “Never again. I’ll get rid of the gun. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Y/N said, her voice barely audible. “I’m afraid of the person you might become.”

Rafe nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly again. “I’ll be better,” he whispered. “For you, I’ll be better.”

In that moment, Rafe vowed to prove it. Not with words, but with actions—starting with the gun.

(dividers by @kodaswrld <3)

betty’s notes ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

ahhhh my first one-shot in FOREVER :’) it’s a short one and really sad and angsty but it felt like the quickest ask to whip out, and angst is easier for me to write atm :)

i’m so excited to start with the other requests, and please don’t stop requesting! i plan on writing most stuff 1,500 words +, this was just a short little ask so please request with as MUCH detail as possible <3

master list will be updated soon! but for now, to keep track of my works check my personalised tags that are below such as: #bettys asks!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ and #bettys work!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ or my personalised tags for characters !!