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[vitospoolservices]

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[kurooh]

☆ US AFTER POUNDTOWN ! — JJK

⊹₊˚. what aftercare looks like with gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso.

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, intimacy, cleanup, fluff, no graphic smut, pillowtalk, showering, brief discussions of pregnancy and kids. i needed to write this okay

GOJO SATORU.

silky pink ribbons slide off of satoru’s wrists, curling into themselves once they hit the bedsheets. he can’t help but watch you, more wide-eyed and teary than he should be, as you take each wrist between your fingers and rub gently. his skin is flushed where he’d been securely tied to the headboard, and it doesn’t hurt in the least, especially when compared to fights he’s been at the center of.

you hum, thumb kindly sweeping over his pulse point. “you okay, ‘toru? i know that went on a little longer than usual.”

you watch as he blinks, diamond eyes glassy with traces of euphoria. he’s still coming down, he realizes, when your words bounce around his brain after you speak them, echoing endlessly in the space.

“i’m okay, sweetheart,” satoru replies, feeling something in his chest begin to melt when you settle beside him on the bed. the air still smells faintly of sex, though the scent rides away on the breeze filtering in through an open window. it is almost completely dark in the bedroom, to make the strain on his eyes a little easier after a long day—he closes them, automatically wrapping a strong arm around you.

“there’s a new restaurant a few blocks down,” you begin, fingers reverently stroking over the curve of his side, “many of the reviews mention the dessert and sweet treats. it’s supposed to be good.”

fully nude, satoru curls against you, taking note of how easily you fit in beside him. like you were always meant to be here, something whispers in the back of his head. “heh, sounds like you’ve already vetted ‘em. i’ll take a day off next week and we can go.”

“you’re always so busy,” you tease, pulling him closer as though he might just slip away when you fall asleep. as you breathe, satoru feels the swell and sink of your back beneath his palm, and he considers maybe not going to work tomorrow. as if he could take days off on a whim—he might be the strongest in the jujutsu world, but he can’t even make his own choices. then, more quietly, you murmur, “i hope you aren’t overworking yourself too much, satoru.”

when he replies “‘m not,” reflexively, your body momentarily goes rigid, as if he wasn’t meant to hear you. before you can look up and refute him, satoru tugs you closer, making sure to sit his chin atop your shoulder. “really, angel, i’m okay. i can totally handle it.”

he totally can’t, even if he won’t admit it to himself. but satoru doesn’t want you to worry, get caught up with his issues during your day to day—this is simply what comes with the weight of ‘the strongest’ as his title. you huff like you don’t entirely believe him, although you don’t pull away.

“if i don’t pry any further, do you promise to sleep more than three hours tonight? and in this bed, not at work.”

you’re not even asking that much of him. if satoru can wipe out hundreds of curses in less than five minutes, he can definitely try to sleep until sunrise. at home. when there’s work to do. right?

he bites his lip, protesting weakly, “i don’t need to sleep, though, baby. i’ve also gotta get in early to deal with the first years.”

the coolness of sheets in an empty bed flashes through your head, and you decide to push, though there’s a tinge of selfishness behind it all. “please? you still need to rest and let your technique cool down.”

it’s not that difficult to convince satoru to stay after all, especially when he’s feeding off your body heat and you his. the bed does feel more comfortable than his office chair, and just as he comes to this realization, a headache has the nerve to come on, only persuading him further. slowly, like he’s submerging himself in a pool, his body begins to succumb to the comfort of the queen bed, the softness of your skin, the sweet smell of your body wash.

“fineeee. but only because you asked so nicely, angel.”

GETO SUGURU.

“i’ll get the water started for you, honey.”

so he does, turning on the faucet and letting the water heat up as it rushes through the pipes, then out of the shower head in a warm spray. from your seat on the toilet, you can’t help but feel a lovesick, fuzzy warmth building in your chest.

muscle ripples in suguru’s back as he carefully takes down his hair, undoing the band to allow the dark tresses to fall past his shoulders. his hair is impeccably taken care of—he lavishes it in only the best shampoos and conditioners every few days, his side of the shower almost overtaking your own. it’s made up of hair products and a few scented bars of soap, the way a shower should look. (not barren and home to a single bottle of two in one, two dove bars, and a dull razor, like satoru’s.)

when the glass door slides shut and suguru steps into the spray, you hear him exhale with relief. the toilet flushes and you stand, joining him in the shower.

“i’ll wash your hair,” you say, as if it’s second nature. though it seems simple on the surface, he’s allowing you to touch one of the most intimate parts of him—his scalp has only known his own hands, and yours, on the occasion that you help him wash it. “shampoo, please.”

suguru laughs, angling the shower head down so you don’t get too wet. shampoo is squirted into your extended, expectant palm and the ritual begins.

“are we taking more showers after sex specifically so i can wash your hair, suguru?”

there has been an increase in the amount of showers after sex. he’ll make a mess of you on the couch, drink some water afterward, and carry you to the bathroom like a princess to her chariot. you can’t quite place your finger on when, but you’d started washing his hair at some point during your baths.

“the curses really have been . . taking a toll on my arms,” he says cheekily, settling on that excuse just to hear you laugh, “perhaps i’ve been having difficulty reaching back and dealing with my hair.”

suguru’s got quite the mane, which anyone could surmise just from looking at him. but as wet hair slides through your fingers, you can see why he likes your help so much. you’re gentle with him, making sure to never yank on anything as you make your way through his hair. even the light sensation of your nails raking along his scalp relaxes him deeply, and all the tension in his shoulders bleeds out and washes down the drain, along with the suds.

“yeah, okay. if i mess up one of my arms, you’re outta luck.”

“we could take epsom baths together, so then you’d have no excuse.”

it’s endearing, the way he’s able to come up with a solution so quickly. you laugh again, light and airy in the thick steam, and suguru decides he never wants to leave this place.

“wash my back while the shampoo sits, sugu?” you ask, switching places with him to get your back thoroughly doused with water. white suds slip down his temples and he pushes back his hair from where it’s piled on top of his head, looking like a child’s sloppy sand castle on the beach.

“want me to pick the body wash this time?”

“that’s a trick question,” you say, eyes sparkling when you look at him, “you’re just going to choose peppermint vanilla like always.”

suguru already has the bottle in his grasp and is squeezing the wash out into his palm, but he still manages to look affronted. “no, i wouldn’t.”

you turn around, stepping out of the spray to playfully wiggle your ass at him. “i can barely smell it anymore, that’s how much you’ve worn it out.”

“it’s your smell,” he shrugs, shoulders rolling with the motion, “it’s your signature soap scent. you can always cover it up with perfume tomorrow anyway, it’s not that strong.”

“is that why you’re always sniffing me at night?”

you can hear him breathing you in when you’re cuddling at night? embarrassing! still, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “it’s comforting, so sue me.”

you sigh in relief when his hands coast over your skin, palms firmly pressing the soap into your back to both wash you and make the scent stick. a comfortable quiet settles between you, and he continues to lave your back with the wash, fingertips tracing the dents and lines of muscle.

it’s domestic, and entirely him.

he pauses, sputtering and gracelessly coughing on the water. “i’m sorry.”

you turn, helping him rinse the bubbles away from his face. “what’s wrong, sugu?”

“not to ruin the moment, but, well, i got soap in both my eyes.”

NANAMI KENTO.

“i can’t believe you made me breakfast, ken.”

kento returns to the bedroom with one of those lap trays made for eating at the couch, carrying a plate of fluffy waffles garnished with a colorful array of sweet berries. there’s even a full cup of syrup on the side to pour to your heart’s content.

he’s pulled on his boxers, the ones that are tight around his ass, and an apron with kiss the cook in calligraphic script embroidered across the front of it. a smile plays on his lips, the kind he wears when he’s biting back an ear-to-ear grin, and he takes a seat beside you. your excitement is something he thinks he’ll never get tired of. with a creak, the bed dips under the newly added weight, and you carefully slot the tray over your lap.

“how’d you know i was craving something sweet?”

“sweetheart, i know you,” kento shakes his head, laughing around the words. “go ahead and try them, i added something new.”

red blooms around the bite marks littered across his collarbone and around his chest, only becoming visible with his occasional shifts beside you. kento watches you eat with a distinct softness in his eyes, his heart swelling in his chest as your face lights up with every bite.

light and sweet as can be, the waffles burst with flavor, although a small tweak has been made to the recipe. maybe kento’s added finely chopped coconut or a few extra spoonfuls of sugar?

“you’re staring,” you point out, cheeks growing warm. his gaze is obviously lovesick, and strong enough to make you feel the littlest bit shy—a hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and he looks away with a short chuckle. “we can share, ken.”

“that’s okay, honey. i had some while i was making them earlier. so, how do they taste? have you figured out the extra ingredient yet?”

“i’ve got no idea,” you reply after a large bite, setting the fork back on the tray before gently nudging it away. kento’s forearms flex as he lifts it, placing it on the bedside table for later.

he unties the apron and scoops you into his arms, pulling your giggling form close to his chest. “i decided to add more buttermilk.”

a warm kiss is pressed to the space beneath your ear. through your back, you can feel his heartbeat syncing up with your own—relaxed and content in the presence of one another.

“thank you for this morning,” kento whispers, adding, “was i too rough with you, angel?”

“perfect, ken. you almost put me back to sleep, though.”

you share a laugh with him, curling up in his warmth. kento’s fingers trace mindless, ticklish doodles into your side as he begins to slip further into a state of drowsiness. “i don’t like to make excuses, but i find it difficult to hold myself back with you.”

the admission isn’t inherently sexual, not in the way it’s said so delicately. kento is right, he does have difficulty holding back, but only because he’s so known. you’re essentially on the same wavelength, finishing his sentences for him before even he’s able to conjure up the word he’s looking for; you understand him wholly, in the kind of way that transcends the surface and physicality of it all. unspoken feelings make no difference—kento’s open like a book for only your eyes to pore over.

even now, in this embrace, it’s nearly impossible to tell where one body begins and the other ends.

“all mine?”

“all yours, ken. pinkie promise.”

“pinkie promise?” he sighs without exasperation, letting you loop your pinkie with his own. if this wasn’t something he was doing with you, kento would be the first to ask something like isn’t this a bit childish? but this isn’t like making an agreement with gojo; this is a promise he wholeheartedly intends to fulfill. after all, what would he be if he wasn’t yours?

“pinkie promise.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“on your stomach.”

you turn back to throw him an incredulous look, eyebrows drawing together in surprise. “more? toji, i thought you—”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes and motioning toward the couch cushions. “yes, ya heard me. on your stomach, doll. don’t make me ask again.”

“don’t make me ask again,” you mimic him, flopping forward onto your belly as requested. it’s odd that toji’s even vying for more when he’s the one who tapped out first, panting so hard he could barely form a sentence of explanation beyond a few muttered words.

instead of positioning himself at your ass, toji remains sitting beside you, though he turns to press his hands into your upper back. faint as can be, the scent of lavender curls in the air as the worship begins—toji’s suddenly a professional at effleurage, palms circling upward near your shoulder blades.

slow and firm, his hands seem to iron out any aches that may have taken root there. lotion spans almost the entirety of your upper back, serving as both moisturizer and lubrication for the easy glide of skin against skin.

“really, toji?” you ask, lips curling up in amusement, “you wanted to give me a back massage?”

you completely expect him to retort something sassy and annoying, maybe even call you a damn brat or start torture tickling you. instead, toji’s voice rumbles low and meaningful from his chest. “had ya laid out on your back for a while, and on the couch, no less. jus’ wanted to make sure you’d be able to sleep comfortably tonight.”

toji’s answer does something that it never has before. it shuts you up, and at the same time, makes heat rush to your cheeks. embarrassment and a particular fondness, of all things, stir in your chest at his thoughtfulness. you haven’t messed around on the couch in many months, and yet he still remembers the small, almost unnoticeable hunch of your back after getting up last time.

he laughs at you, feeling proud to have finally ‘won’ all the bantering.

“didn’t expect that, huh?” toji pauses, fingertips lightly dragging down the planes of your back. before he even speaks, you can already hear the smirk in his voice. “anyway, i wish ya could see how pretty you look right now.”

“you can’t even see my face, toji.”

a huff escapes him, and he makes sure to dig his fingers in, just so he can hear you squeal in both laughter and pain. “just can’t take a compliment, huh? you’re such a brat, swear to god.”

“your brat,” you remind him cheerfully, feeling his hands slide to the middle of your back. “as much as i’m enjoying this, i wouldn’t mind taking care of you, baby.”

he snorts. you’re calling him baby like he isn’t 6’3 and nearly 200 pounds of muscle—but there’s something endearing about the idea of being taken care of too. toji actually . . . wouldn’t mind it.

“oh yeah? and what do ya plan to do to me?”

you hum thoughtfully, turning your head around to fix him with a playful look. “i’d turn on one of the movies i’ve been telling you we need to watch and then scratch your back so you wouldn’t get up in the middle of it.”

“this better not be about—”

before he can begin trashing on your favorite movie, the one he hasn’t watched yet, you bulldoze right over him. “as the movie starts, i’d be whispering sweet nothings into your ear.”

“wouldn’t that just make me bend ya over? kinda defeats the purpose of aftercare, doll.”

“the key word is sweet, toji,” even with your clarification, he still looks a little lost, making the same confused face he does when shiu cracks a sly joke at his expense in front of you. “sit down and i’ll show you what i’m talking about.”

the comforting pressure on your back lets up, and for a split second, you almost wish you hadn’t suggested to demonstrate. toji sits down, remote looking dwarfed in his closed palm, and smirks expectantly, like there’s something funny to say. “i was just thinking. what if all the aftercare turns me into a spoiled brat?”

you scoff as he turns on the tv, settling on your knees behind him. “we can’t both be spoiled brats, toji.”

KAMO CHOSO.

“did i hurt you?” is the first thing to come out out of choso’s mouth when you finally return to yourself, a few crystalline tears starting to dry on your cheeks. you hadn’t quite noticed them during the pandemonium, too wrapped up in the overwhelming sensations of sex to focus on something so unimportant. but now, there’s a warm stinging that you trace to your neck—where he’d been biting and sucking the most in the moments before orgasm.

“‘s okay, cho. i’m okay, just tired now,” you laugh breathlessly, watching the worry drain out of his face, “i’ve gotta get up and wipe off, or i’ll end up getting pregnant.”

choso’s eyes are shining. “our kids would be so pretty, all ‘cause of you.”

you sit up on your elbows, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. this is the same look you give him every time he mentions it, and not wanting to nag you too much, he remembers himself. “okay, i know. have to wait more than five years first, i got it,” with the mildest degree of resignation making its way through his huffed words, choso slips off of the bed and pads toward the bathroom.

shortly after, he returns with a damp washcloth and settles on his knees between your thighs. even in the low light, his movements are perpetually delicate and skillful, a direct result of his understanding of your body, built through touch. with the way he’s comfortably wiping cum off your inner thighs, it’s hard to believe that choso had once been so awkward he’d stalked off mid-sex to let out a few tears of embarrassment.

“it’s not too hot, is it?” he checks in, more worried than he should be. it isn’t difficult to imagine him as a father, gasping as your child toddles around recklessly, jumping off of the couch and into his awaiting arms. he’s the type to always come to the rescue, no matter what.

“no, it’s just right,” you murmur, feeling the sweep of the lukewarm washcloth at the top of your thigh. “no need to be so concerned, choso. i trust you, baby.”

pink blooms in the apples of his cheeks at your words, just as it always does whenever you pay him an innocent compliment. he takes comfort in your relaxed sigh, folding the washcloth into itself and setting it on the bedside table before sliding himself up to lay his head on your chest. “you need to stop indulging me so much,” he groans when your fingers slip into his hair, combing gently though the dark strands, “keep up the ‘put a baby in me’ and i might actually do it.”

choso feels his entire face burn once he repeats a line that’s supposed to be yours, a shudder rippling through his body when a memory from earlier flashes behind his eyes.

“i know, cho,” you hum, nails lightly raking against his scalp in your odyssey through his hair. it’s painfully intimate, and impossibly soothing for him—he could say just about anything to you, even confess something deep and dark without the usual constraints of your daily routine. this is just you and him, simple and naked.

then you giggle, “but i also know how crazy it makes you.”

it does make him more wild than it should, the idea of getting you pregnant and then the concept of raising the baby itself. choso pauses meaningfully before he answers you, letting his eyes close. “maybe something’s fundamentally wrong with me.”

a gooey hybrid of affection and sadness races through your veins upon hearing his words. it’s hard to say something—even anything at all—when you know just a little about his struggle being half-human, half-curse. choso is constantly feeling guilty about taking the easier path in life as a human, wondering if someone like him could possibly deserve something greater than himself to love and care for.

it’s quiet now, save for the steady hum of the fan and sweep of your fingers through his hair, loose and languid. “sorry,” choso exhales softly, tilting his face to the side, “i didn’t mean to become so negative.”

“there isn’t a thing wrong with you, choso. i know you’re wanting a family of your own, and i don’t disagree with that in the slightest. i see a future with you, but there’s no shame in taking it slow, is there? we aren’t even engaged yet, baby.”

“engaged?” he echoes quizzically, voice low.

“it’s when two people agree to get married in the future after a proposal with a ring,” it’s hard not to smile at the thought of the two people being you and him, even though choso’s baring his soul to you right now, raw and all himself. he hugs you tighter, arms straining as if he’s trying to prevent you from slipping away. “don’t worry, cho. we both still have a lot to learn.”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

tying alpha!toji down because he can’t keep his filthy knot to himself during your heat.

cw - smut, bondage, a/b/o mechanics, omega!reader, fem!reader, not proofread

“toji, i’m being serious. you’re not touching me until you can learn to pull out,” he didn’t even know why you were complaining. you loved being knotted by him, but apparently, it’s some sort of issue now that you’ve ran out of your birth control pills, and toji absolutely loathes condoms.

he expected you to last maybe half a day during your heat without him bedding and satiating you. you’re historically very needy during heats, and he’s more than willing to placate you over and over again. you’ll surely forget all about that pesky birth control and allow him to take care of you.

he ended up being the one coming to you. it had been a full day of your whines and cries filtering in and out of the bedroom. your scent was intoxicating, causing toji to have a permanent boner straining in his pants.

it was absolute torture, listening to his omega sob from dissatisfaction… especially when he knew that he had everything you needed. you were just so damn stubborn.

you were such a pretty sight to behold: arched up with your head thrown back. your eyes were squeezed shut as dewy tears slid down your cheeks. your body was flushed and trembling as you desperately rubbed your fingers in tight circles around your swollen clit.

“are you gonna quit being stubborn and let me help, princess? or am i going to have to keep hearing you all night?” he asked with a smug smirk, figuring you’d start begging for him right away.

“i-i don’t know. have you learned how to pull out?” even while completely wrecked, you were standing firm in your convictions.

“i don’t know. i haven’t tried yet,” he grinned, prowling closer to you in your nest. he knows that he could pounce on you and take an advantage of your… compromise positioning, but he much prefers when you beg and plead for it.

“ugh— you made me lose it,” you let out the most adorable frustrated growl that toji had ever had the pleasure of hearing, causing him to chuckle at your displeasure.

“you weren’t getting there anyway, doll. let me help ya,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes cascaded over your body hungrily.

“shut up,” you snap, making him to raise an eyebrow at you. he doesn’t give up his amusement from your sudden attitude. no, he actually finds your bratty side just as endearing to him.

you get up and walk out of the bedroom briefly, letting toji’s confusion and curiosity eat at him until you return to the bedroom with a dining chair.

“sit,” you demand, and toji obeys after ripping his clothes away from his body with an expectant grin on his face.

“oh fuck yeah, you want to take what you need from me?” he asks as you reach into a bedside drawer. he’s assuming that you’re grabbing a bottle of lube even though he can see your glossy slick pooling and seeping from between your thighs. he licks his lips, feeling his mouth water from pure animalistic drive.

when you lean back up with ropes in your hand, his eyebrows furrow in confusion. how are you to ride him while being tied up..? he could easily jostle you around, throw you up and down his cock until your crying and gushing, but he didn’t necessarily know if that was safe to do while you’re bound.

imagine his surprise when you start restraining the ropes around his pretty scarred skin. the rough fabric hugged his muscles perfectly, creating the prettiest harness for him.

“what d’ya think you’re doing, doll? you aren’t that mad at me, are ya?” he asked as he sat still for you, letting you do your thing to him.

once he was fully restrained, he’d struggle against the ropes, letting out small grunts and disappointed groans when the bright red rope only tightens around his muscles, rubbing small burns into his skin that make him growl in displeasure.

your honeyed scent is killing him, absolutely filling the room to the brim with your scent of need. he knows you need him. right? you need toji to fix it for you, but you’ve went ahead and tied him to this damn chair at the foot of your bed.

he didn’t know a lowly omega in heat would be so ruthless when knotting the ropes over his bare abs and biceps. his wrists are even bound together behind the god forsaken chair. worst of all, there’s a band of rope looped over his waist so he can’t buck his hips. the thick braided thread rubs deliciously over his hardening length. only the thin fabric of his boxer briefs are protecting him from rope burn on his most sensitive appendage.

alphas are suppose to remain in control, but he absolutely let you play him like a fool.

all he can do is sit and watch as you crawl back into your nest, settling down on your back with your legs spread for him to gaze at your glistening pussy.

“let this serve as a lesson, toji,” you say to him, slowly bringing your fingers to your pouty lips before sucking on them to coat them in spit.

toji watches closely, studying every move your body makes while you’re on display for him. his jaw clenches, knowing that should be his fingers you’re sucking on.

when you pull them from your mouth with an obscene pop and slowly rub them over your swollen clit, toji immediately pulls hard from the chair. no way in hell is he going to watch you pitifully try to satisfy yourself while he can’t do a damn thing about it.

he’s your mate for crying out loud. his literal existence is tailored to pleasuring and treating you, but you want him to sit and watch as you do a piss poor job at doing his job?

“c’mon doll,” he pants, clenching his jaw as his dark green eyes flutter between staring at your pretty face and pussy. “i was only messin’ with ya. i’ll pull out— promise.”

you ignore him, knowing that he’s saying whatever he can so you’ll release him. you hum as your fingers continue to lightly rub and tease yourself for his viewing.

toji growls and curses. his body is aching for a taste of you. he knows he can bring you more pleasure than what you’re doing right now, but also, his cock is straining so hard against the ropes, it feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.

when you slip two fingers into your slick channel, something akin to a whine flees toji’s lips. he’s been reduced to a dog — sitting at the foot of your bed, watching helplessly as you leisurely pump your fingers in and out.

his hips try to buck upwards, and he lets out a strangled groan as the rope rubs up and down his length. it’s the only friction he can get right now.

“tojiii~” you whine, trying to reach the spot with your fingers that he knows all too well.

“i know, baby, i know,” he grunts, still awkwardly rocking his hips to get the smallest amount of friction. “let me out so i can take care of ya. c’mon, let your alpha take care of you,”

that sounds like a perfect idea, you think as you reach back over to the bedside drawer, pulling out a dildo that was completely modeled after toji’s cock — every ridge and vein for when he was gone on overnight hits.

“no,” he growls, seeing the look of mischief on your face. “that’s not—“

his words crumble as soon as he sees you wrap your pretty lips around the tip of the dildo. you’re so fucking stunning like this. he flexes his muscles, trying to break his way out of the chair to get to you.

the chair creaks in protest, and the ropes only grow tighter against his skin. he realizes he’s sweating as he watches you get up on your knees on the bed. your dildo on the mattress, pointed upwards so you can ride it right in front of him.

the look of relief on your face as you slowly stretch yourself out on his fake tip makes him nearly whine. he’s never begged for anything in his life, but he’s close to begging for you to let him out.

he’s completely enamored by the way you’re taking fake him so well. you’ve got tears in your eyes, undoubtedly feeling the slight burn of being filled so full, but he knows you can take it.

his hips move in sync with yours, letting the rope rub against his fat cock as you slowly adjust and bounce on your dildo.

“please—“ he finally grunts in a breathy whisper when you bottom out. he can barely take it anymore, watching you while not being able to touch himself.

“please what?” you taunt in a breathy tone, still slowly dragging your hips up and down along the pretty dildo.

toji doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. he only knows that he needs you carnally. “fucking, brat— you know i need you,”

“mmmph! sounds like you haven’t learned your lesson.”

oh and you look oh so pretty while taking his fake dick. he can’t even pull his eyes away from you. his hips are shakily rutting into the ropes, taking what little friction he can get in stride.

“fuck, toji..” you gasp, causing him to let out a strangled growl. his head tips back, and you take a moment to admire his big beefy body all tied down and sweaty. his pheromones are honestly starting to overpower yours, and it’s dizzying.

he’s basically whimpering, humping the air like a dog as his eyes are glued to how your slick folds are accepting the dildo so well. he can feel just how well you’d take him in this situation. he’d be able to feel every little flutter and clench around his thick cock.

“please,” he tries again. he’s broken for you. never in his life would he think that he would beg for anything, but you’re too sweet of a prize to let his pride ruin. “please doll… let your alpha come take care of you. i’ll… i’ll be good.”

meanwhile, your hips are bouncing up and down aggressively. the dildo modeled after his cock feels so damn good, filling you up entirely and nudging against the spot that makes you see stars, but it’s no where close to the real thing. still, toji’s scent and whimpering is enough to keep you going.

“yeah?” you pant, “you’ll be g-good? how so?”

the chair creaks as toji’s hips are working hard. he’s matching your pace, trying to picture you riding him like that. “i’ll lay down and let you use me.. fuck, you can take what you want from me, doll. i’m yours.. just please…”

the wet sounds of your sliding up and down the girthy rubber dildo along with the chair violently creaking with each pathetic hump toji’s hips make fill the air. he’s completely whimpering now, damn near sobbing about how he’ll be a good boy for his omega. you fear you’ve unlocked something deep inside him.

it’s all too much. your body begins to quiver as your muscles draw taut. you’re so close, and the nagging fear of not being able to finish without toji’s help slithers into your brain.

“god— fuucking dammit,” a strangled growl get your attention, and you look to see toji with his head tilted back. his rutting is messy and losing it’s rhythm. then, you see the wet spot in his boxers.

he came without any touch.

the pathetic sight is enough to throw your right over the edge, sending you into oblivion as you cry out on the dildo. toji’s still pumping his hips like he’s trying to telepathically fuck you through your orgasm.

after a moment, the room falls into a deadly quiet. you look at toji while panting, knowing you have to untie him and some point, and he’s going to give you hell to pay.

@theuniversesnepobaby here’s sub toji that you’ve been wanting

[deansbeer]

full of surprises ・ VHACKER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

SYNOPSIS. helping vinnie in the garage, your knowledge, and skills with cars over the years come to surface, unveiling a secret you'd kept hidden.

WARNING(S). fluff | smut | fem!reader | explicit language | thigh riding | fingering | breeding kink.

KARI NOTES. while i was scrolling through pinterest, i fell down a rabbit hole of photos of vinnie working on cars.

the soft clanking and muttered curses drifting from the garage pull you away from your mindless scrolling on your phone. you glance at the clock, noticing it's past midnight already. vinnie told you he'd be done working on his car by now but it seems he's hit another snag in repairs.

sighing, you slide off the couch and pad down the hallway. vinnie's bent over the open hood distractedly turning a wrench, smears of grease decorating his gray tank top and forearms in a way that makes your heart flutter. you admire his toned physique for a moment, always loving when he gets hands on.

"any luck, babe?" you ask softly, not wanting to startle him. vinnie jerks up with a grimace, rubbing the back of his neck. "ah, no not yet. this damn fuel pump is being a real pain in my ass. i've replaced every other part but it just won't prime right."

he kicks the tire in frustration earning a soft chuckle from you. striding over, you stand on your tiptoes to peer into the engine compartment. years spent helping your dad under the hoods of countless vehicles have given you more than a casual understanding.

"mind if i take a look?" you inquire, already sliding some gloves from the table beside you. vinnie gapes at you in disbelief. "i had no idea you knew about cars, babe," disbelief colors his tone but you can also detect a hint of thrill at discovering another layer to you.

"my dad always said it's a good skill for any woman to have. now scoot over, let me see what's going on." vinnie readily obliges, interest overtaking his previous annoyance as you step into his place. running an analytical eye, you soon spot the issue.

"ah, there's your problem. the fuel filter is badly clogged, no wonder it can't draw fuel properly. just needs a replacement, should clear it right up." you declare confidently, removing the filter to examine. vinnie peers over your shoulder in amazement.

"damn baby, you never cease to surprise me. i'm seriously so impressed right now, you've got me feeling all kinds of things." he purrs against your ear, hands sliding around your waist from behind. a shiver runs down your spine at his breath on your skin but you maintain focus, humming thoughtfully.

"flattery will get you everywhere mister, now hand me the socket wrench so i can get this fixed," you demand gently, holding a hand back expectantly. vinnie hurriedly passes you the tool, enthralled by your take-charge demeanor. within minutes the new filter is installed and you're reassembling the compartment.

flicking your gloves away, you turn to face vinnie's adoring gaze with a smile. "alright big man, give her a start, and let's see if that did the trick." he grins, pressing a swift kiss to your lips in thanks before jumping into the driver's seat.

the cars roars to life on the first try, rumbling smoothly without any hiccups. vinnie whoops loudly, leaning out the window with glee. "fuck baby, you're amazing! that was the perfect fix. come here, i gotta give you a proper reward."

giggling, you allow vinnie to tug you into his lap as he's sat in the driver's seat. his mouth latches onto your neck desperately, hands roaming your sides. "i'm so turned on by how smart and skilled you are. drives me crazy knowing you could probably rebuild this engine from scratch if you wanted," he growls between kisses.

heat pools low in your belly at his adoring praise. you slide his hands up under your shirt, craving his touch. "mhm, maybe i will someday just to watch you swoon. but for now..." twisting, you capture vinnie's lips hungrily.

he sighs into the kiss, deepening it instantly as his tongue delves between your parted lips. you rock against his firm thigh. vinnie groans, hands gripping your hips to guide your movements.

"fuck, i need you so bad. let's take this inside, i wanna worship your perfect body properly." he breathes heavily, pupils blown wide with want. you nod eagerly, already scrambling from his lap toward the house. vinnie follows, hastily towing you the rest of the way by your wrist.

as soon as the bedroom door clicks shut he's pinning you against it feverishly. your shirt disappears followed by his as he assaults your collarbone with rough kisses and nips. a gasp escapes your throat, grabbing handfuls of his hair to encourage the delicious treatment.

vinnie hikes your legs around his waist, lifting as if you weigh nothing at all. the hard line of his erection presses relentlessly against your core through the multiple layers still separating you, seeking friction. you grind down needily, desperate for more contact.

"slow down, baby, 'm not going anywhere," he pants, carrying you to the bed and laying you out like a feast. vinnie quickly divests the rest of your clothing, gazing in awe at your naked form beneath him.

"so perfect, and all mine." his worshipping words steal your breath, stomach clenching deliciously. when his mouth latches onto a pert nipple to suckle, you cry out loudly at the exquisite sensation.

vinnie takes his time lavishing each breast and curve of your body with wet kisses and love bites, mapping every sensitive spot until you're writhing and begging for more. finally his fingers dip to your dripping core, circling your swollen clit teasingly.

"fuck vinnie!" you babble, back arching off the mattress at his feather light touches. he chuckles darkly, sinking two digits into your core. "you take my fingers so well baby. bet you'll feel even better wrapped around my cock though, what do you think?"

a choked moan is your only response, eyes rolling back as he pumps his fingers leisurely. vinnie slowly adds a third, stretching your entrance deliciously full. his thumb rolls firm circles over your clit in time, driving you to the edge at an agonizing pace.

just as your orgasm begins to crest, he removes his hand entirely leaving you keening. vinnie stands to remove the last of his clothing, hard length jutting proudly from his slender hips. the sight alone could make you cum but he hasn't given permission yet.

crawling back over you, vinnie slots his cock against your dripping entrance and leans down to claim your mouth in a filthy kiss. "gonna make you feel so good, fuck you senseless until you can't remember your name. that's what you want isn't it?"

you whimper desperately, nodding fervently against his lips. "please, i want to feel you so deep inside me. use me as rough as you like, i'm all yours baby." his restraint snaps, and with one powerful thrust, he's fully seated to the hilt within your clenching heat.

you cry out loudly at the relentless stretch, walls spasming deliciously around his girth. vinnie groans deeply, staying locked in place to adjust before beginning a punishing rhythm of hard, deep strokes. his hips snap violently, balls slapping your swollen flesh with each impact.

all you can do is hold on for dear life, nails raking down his sweat slicked back as he fucks you into oblivion. vinnie pistons his hips with animalistic drives, pounding directly into your most sensitive spots unerringly. a constant litany of filthy praises tumble from his pretty lips, only spurring you nearer the edge.

"fuck you look gorgeous taking my cock sweet girl, your pussy was made for me i swear. gonna fill you up, have your belly swollen with my babies, you want that, baby? want me to come inside you while i fuck my name out of that beautiful mouth?"

the depraved imagery plunges you over at last, walls constricting vinnie's member in a vice grip. your orgasm tears through you with ruthless intensity, eyes rolling back as you scream his name. he chases his own release, fucking you through the aftershocks until spilling deep within your quivering channel with a guttural groan.

collapsing together in a sweaty heap, you trade sloppy kisses and whispered 'i love you's' while coming down from ecstasy. vinnie curls around your sated form protectively, pressing sweet affection into any skin he can reach.

"you never cease to amaze me, sweetheart. i love how full of surprises you are, constantly keeping me on my toes. and damn do i love when you take charge like that, so fucking hot." he sighs contentedly, nuzzling your hair.

[hederasgarden]

nunc scio quid sit amor

Summary: Lucius tells your son the story of how he fell in love with you.  Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 1.7K Rating: 18+ only.  Explicit smut (PIV), mentions of breeding kink and pregnancy, and just a lot of fluff and happiness.  A/N: Thanks to @ryebecca of beta’ing. This is part of Lucius and the Fisherman’s Wife Series. Based on this request. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

“If I have to listen to Senator Aelius drone on about the price of grain one more time, I will lose my senses,” Acacius mutters. “I grow tired of their endless petty quarrels.”

“I know,” you commiserate, thinking of the day-long session you both endured with the senators. Your back aches from sitting in the stiff marble chair in place of Lucius. “They need to come to a decision about the aqueduct repairs soon. It has been delayed far too long already.”

Acacius lets out a heavy sigh. “Lucius could always issue a decree...”

You shake your head, knowing full well that your husband would never override their authority. He agreed to take on the mantle of Emperor only until the Senate could function properly on its own, and despite the inevitable bumps along the way, they have indeed made progress under his and Acacius’ guidance.

“Yes, yes,” he grumbles dismissively, waving you off. His frustration is palpable and you share it, rubbing your belly absently.

You take his arm as the two of you continue walking, the familiar comfort of his presence settling over you. Felix, ever your loyal shadow, follows just a few paces behind. While there is no need for his protection in the palace he never strays far from you. He’s been by your side since the days when you and Lucilla were hidden away on the coast, and though you don’t truly need guarding now, you always feel safer with him nearby. Still, you can ask for no better protection than Acacius, even if today he wears the Toga Praetexta of a senator and carries no sword.

You pass through one courtyard and then another, the sound of your husband’s low baritone and your son’s light, rising voice filtering through the air. Acacius catches your eye, a smile shared between the two of you as you stop to watch the scene before you. Maximus, your son, is seated on the edge of a shallow pool, his small hands trail the surface of the water, leaving ripples behind. Silvery fish glide lazily beneath the lily pads, vanishing into the shadows each time the water stirs.

“Tell me again how you met Momma?” Maximus asks, his ever-inquisitive face intent on your husband

"That is a complicated story," Lucius replies.

"Did you love her when you first saw her? Like Avus Acacius and Avia?" Maximus asks eagerly. "Avus Acacius said it was like...a bolt from Jupiter!" he adds, eyes wide with excitement.

You glance at Acacius beside you, who can’t help but grin, his chest puffing out with pride. It's clear he's still pleased by the story he shared about his and Lucilla’s first meeting. 

“I thought you were a soldier, not a poet,” you whisper to the man beside you, amused.

“I have hidden depths,” he replies with a playful wink. “And I love entertaining my grandson.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching Lucius, who seems to be carefully measuring his words. One day you'll tell Maximus the full story of how you and Lucius came to be, but not yet. He’s still too young, his world still so simple, untouched by the complexities that shaped your lives.

 “It was not quite like that for us,” Lucius finally says.

The answer clearly disappoints your son who deflates, a small frown tugging at his sweet features.

Lucius glances down at him, his expression softening as he continues. “Our love was more like a seed — one we didn’t even know we had planted. It was nurtured slowly over time, carefully, until one night, it bloomed unexpectedly.”

“Ugh, that is boring,” your son replies. Then he jumps to his feet, suddenly energized by a new idea. “I want to be struck by Cupid’s arrow!” he announces, mimicking the gesture and flopping dramatically onto the floor, hard enough to make you wince in sympathy.

“Sometimes the best kind of love takes time,” Lucius says, “growing inside you so slowly you don’t even realize it’s there.”

Maximus pauses for a moment, considering his father's words. Finally, he nods and sits up with renewed curiosity. Resting his small arm on his knees, he looks at Lucius with wide, innocent eyes. “Maybe,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “But you thought Momma was very pretty, did you not?”

To your surprise, Lucius looks up at you then, his gaze steady and warm, locking with yours. A soft smile forms at the corners of his lips, barely visible beneath his thick beard. “More beautiful than I have words for,” he says.

“Tell me about being a Gladiator!” Maximus demands suddenly, clearly growing bored with this topic. "Avus Acacius says you were the best."

Lucius gives a long suffering sigh as he shoots a look at his stepfather. "Avus Acacius likes to exaggerate.”

“I do no such thing!” Acacius declares with a wide grin, his voice booming across the courtyard as he steps from the shadows. You follow him into the sunlit space.“I speak only the words Veritas commands me to!”

He lets out a playful growl and suddenly charges toward Maximus. The moment catches your son off guard, and a burst of delighted laughter escapes him when Acacius scoops him up into the air, lifting him high above his head.

“Momma!” Maximus suddenly shouts, his voice ringing out as if noticing you for the first time. 

Without a second thought, he rushes over to you once Acacius sets him down, his tiny feet thumping against the stone floor. You bend down slightly, kissing him on the top of his head. He smells of sun and sweat, the familiar scent comforting. He pats your belly, your bump still small but growing every day. 

“Hello little sister,” he declares. 

“We do not know if the babe will be a boy or a girl,” Lucius reminds your son. 

Maximus looks up at him with wide, serious eyes, his small chin jutting out in defiance. He stomps his foot with determination. “It will be a girl,” he declares, his voice confident and unshakable. “I have asked Juno Lucina.”

A small, amused smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you exchange a fond look with Lucius, who raises an eyebrow.

“The gods do not always grant our wishes,” you say gently. “We must wait and see what the fates have planned.”

Maximus pouts for a moment, clearly disappointed, but then his face brightens when a new thought occurs to him. “Well, a brother would be just as good I suppose. We can play gladiators together.”

“A fun prospect,” Acacius agrees, taking hold of his wrist. “Come, let us practice so you will be prepared to best him once he arrives.” Maximus follows his grandfather eagerly as he chatters with excitement about the gladiator battles he would soon win.

When they move further into the courtyard Lucius steps closer to you, his presence solid and warm. Without a word, he draws you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest, and he leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. The touch is gentle at first but it soon deepens, becoming more insistent, a slow burn that ignites something within you. Lucius groans, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth that you permit with a little gasp. 

“Maximus will be entertained for quite some time,” he whispers, pushing you back until the warm light of the courtyard fades and your figures are swallowed by the shadows of the hallway. 

These are your private quarters, and with Felix guarding the door, there is little risk of being discovered. Yet, despite the security, it still feels wrong to let Lucius have you here. Your weak protest is quickly silenced by your husband’s insistent fingers parting your dress and dipping between your thighs. These days it takes so little to make you ready for him and you groan, the cool stone a relief against the heated skin of your back. 

“It has been too long since I have felt your warmth,” he whispers. 

Your chuckle of amusement turns into a moan as he lines himself up and sinks inside you slowly. Pleasure blooms in your chest and you roll your hips in response, needing him deeper. “You had me this morning,” you remind him breathlessly. “Twice.”

“It is not enough,” he groans, urging you to wrap a leg around his hip. You teeter on one foot, your balance already unsteady with your growing belly, and clutch his shoulder for support. “I should be inside you every hour. Every minute.”

His words make you shudder and the burn of desire and pleasure intensifies within, an inferno that threatens to consume everything. You work with his rhythm, feeling frantic.

“More,” you gasp into his mouth. 

His next thrusts nearly lift your remaining foot from the floor and you throw your arms around his shoulders. His warm breath fans across your face and you exchange a desperate kiss, holding on while he jostles your body with each eager snap of his hips. A moan, loud and wanton, bursts from your chest as you come undone, your vision fading out. Lucius growls and his hand falls to your backside. He grabs your flesh and pushes himself deeper than you thought possible, the action edging on painful if it weren’t for the powerful waves of pleasure washing over you. 

“My love,” Lucius groans. 

The shudder that passes through him as he comes makes you throb around him, sparking another wave of pleasure. You hold on to one another as your ecstasy ebbs away, sharing the same warm air. When Lucius sets you back on your feet you tremble. He slips from your body and eases a hand over your belly before capturing your mouth in a long kiss. Your thighs are sticky and sweat gathers at the back of your neck but you’ve never felt more content. 

“Perhaps we should retire to the bathhouse,” he suggests. 

“Only if my Emperor commands it,” you reply with a playful smile, laughing at the intense look Lucius gives you in return.

“Perhaps he does,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose against yours. “Perhaps he also commands you to spend the rest of the day relaxing with him.”

“Oh, well if he commands it, I must comply,” you whisper, kissing him again.

[ariahmichelle]

Fake It Till You Feel It- Part 6

Rafe Cameron x Reader Series

Previous Parts Here

Summary: You see your ex with a new girl wrapped around him after he told you “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings. Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. One night you impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. This starts to become an unspoken routine between you when either Alex or Amelia are around. Simple right? However, longer this goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

Part 6- Mixed Signals and Missed Chances

•••••••••••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••••••••••

The next morning, you woke up with a sinking feeling in your chest.

The living room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft breathing of your still-sleeping friends. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

You sat up slowly, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch. The blanket that had been draped over you pooled in your lap, and you immediately knew it wasn’t yours.

It was Rafe’s.

Your stomach twisted.

The events of last night came rushing back—Rafe in the kitchen, the almost-kiss, the way you had pulled away. The way he had looked at you before walking off, frustrated, disappointed.

And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

You glanced around the room, taking in the mess of empty bottles and discarded jackets. Brooke was curled up in an armchair, Paige was on the other end of the couch, and Topper was stretched out on the floor with a pillow covering his face.

But no Rafe.

You let out a slow breath, your pulse hammering in your ears. You needed to leave before anyone woke up, before you had to deal with the awkward aftermath of last night.

Carefully, you slid the blanket off and got to your feet, grabbing your bag. Your shoes dangled from your fingers as you tiptoed toward the door, wincing at every creaky floorboard.

You hesitated for just a second—just long enough to wonder if you should say something, leave a note, anything.

But you didn’t.

You slipped out of the house without looking back.

It wasn’t even an hour later when your phone buzzed with messages from the girls.

BROOKE: where did you go??

MIA: ummmm excuse me??? Did you just vanish???

PAIGE: she’s avoiding us. Criminal.

Your phone buzzed nonstop as you walked home, but you ignored it until you were back in your room, tucked under the covers, pretending last night hadn’t happened.

YOU: sorry, woke up early and just decided to leave, wasn’t feeling great

You stared at the message for half a second before pressing send. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Brooke was the first to reply.

BROOKE: uh huh. sureee

MIA: well, hope you feel better bc we’re all going out tonight!!! live band at the club, it’s supposed to be really good

PAIGE: and by ‘really good’ she means full of hot, rich guys willing to buy us drinks

You hesitated. The last thing you wanted to do was go out and pretend everything was fine, especially if Rafe was going to be there.

But if you said no, they would definitely know something was up.

YOU: sounds fun. I’m in.

————

Later that night, you found yourself in Paige’s bedroom, surrounded by dresses, makeup palettes, and the sweet scent of vanilla perfume.

You sat on the bed with a wine glass in hand, watching as Mia curled her lashes in the mirror. Brooke was fixing Paige’s hair, both of them deep in conversation about something you weren’t really listening to.

“Okay, but what are we manifesting tonight?” Paige asked, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

“I’m manifesting someone hot, rich, and slightly emotionally unavailable,” Mia said.

Brooke snorted. “So… Rafe?”

Mia burst into laughter, but you stiffened, fingers tightening around your glass.

The conversation kept moving, but Brooke’s eyes flickered to you in the mirror. She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she noticed.

“Are we gonna talk about the fact that our girl has been acting weird lately?” Paige asked, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes, forcing a smile. “I’m not acting weird.”

Brooke hummed. “Right. And the fact that you look like you want to throw yourself out the window every time Rafe is mentioned is just a coincidence?”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to your glass.

Paige smirked. “Wait… did something happen?”

Mia’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, did you guys hook up?!”

“What? No.”

Brooke eyed you carefully. “But something did happen.”

You hesitated. “It’s not… it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Mia and Paige exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced.

Brooke, however, didn’t push it.

“Okay,” she said simply, turning back to the mirror. “But just so you know, whatever’s going on with you two? I can see it matters to both of you.”

Your stomach twisted, but you keep your face neutral, “Enough of the serious talk. We have drinks to drink and guys to charm.”

Mia grinned. “Amen.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted.

————

By the time you arrived at the country club, the place was already packed. The band played from the corner of the room, their music weaving through the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The warm glow of the chandeliers cast a golden light over the space, giving everything an almost dreamlike quality.

You tried to focus on the excitement, on the promise of a fun night.

But your eyes had a mind of their own.

They found Rafe almost instantly.

He was near the bar, his back turned to you, his posture relaxed. He looked good—too good—in a fitted dark button-up, his blond hair slightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

And he wasn’t alone.

A girl you didn’t recognize stood close beside him, a little too close. She was tall, blonde, effortlessly pretty, the kind of girl who fit perfectly into Rafe Cameron’s world.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But when she laughed—too loud, too flirty—at something he said, irritation burned in your chest.

Brooke, ever observant, followed your gaze.

“You’re gripping your drink like it personally offended you,” Brooke murmured beside you, her voice low.

You let out a breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Brooke just hummed knowingly, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Right. And I suppose the daggers you’re staring into that girl’s back are just for fun?”

You clenched your jaw, avoiding her gaze. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Brooke scoffed. “Sure. And that’s why you look like you’re about to storm over there and ruin her night.”

You hesitated, then finally sighed. “We… we almost kissed last night.”

Brooke’s eyes widened slightly. “Almost?”

You nodded. “I pulled away.”

Brooke frowned. “Why?”

You swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. “Because I panicked. Because I—” You stopped, exhaling. “Because I realized I actually like him, and that wasn’t part of the plan. This started as a stupid way to make Alex jealous and get Amelia off his back, I don’t want him kissing me just because it’s convenient or easy.”

Brooke stared at you like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You seriously think that’s why he was going to kiss you?”

Brooke blinked, like she hadn’t expected you to admit it outright.

“Okay,” she said slowly, setting her drink down. “First of all, you need to talk to him. Running away isn’t solving anything.”

You swallowed. “And what if it’s just about Amelia for him? What if I’m just convenient?”

Brooke shook her head. “Then you ask him. Because from where I’m standing? That’s not the way a guy looks at someone who’s just convenient.”

“Well it seems like he got over it quick enough.” Gesturing to him and the girls he’s been flirting with all night.

Brooke sighed, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”

You shot her a glare. “Thanks.”

She gave you a pointed look. “No, seriously. He likes you, you know. And if you don’t stop running away, you’re gonna lose him before you even figure out what you want.”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering back to Rafe.

He wasn’t looking at the blonde anymore.

He was looking at you.

And for the first time all night, you weren’t sure who was hurting more. You—or him.

—————————

What do we think will happen next? Will they clear the air ?

Taglist:

@rafecameronsbaeee @Drewwhor

@wtfisastiles @emmafitzzz

@yourmomdotcom42069 @yasmin-oviedo

@pogueprincesa @maybankslover

@rrosiitas @my-name-is-baby

@rafecameronsslut1234 @ggraycelynn

@wtfdudesblog @hugheswife

[rafeysbangs]

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 05

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 004. 005. 006.

FIVE, the hollow beneath ribs.

YOU WOKE TO THE SOFT HUM OF YOUR CEILING FAN, 

your head pounding faintly from the night before. you stretched lazily, blinking against the morning light filtering through your curtains. the bed felt oddly spacious, and you turned your head to confirm what you already suspected, rafe wasn't there. carter, on the other hand, was still sprawled out on the floor, tangled in blankets, snoring lightly.

you sat up slowly, your movements careful, and rubbed your temples. a hangover cure was the first priority. sliding out of bed, you tiptoed past carter and made your way downstairs. on the way, you passed the guest bedroom rafe usually stayed in and glanced inside. it was empty, the bed untouched.

your brows knitted together, a flicker of confusion sparking in your half-asleep mind. shrugging it off for the moment, you made your way into the kitchen. the smell of alcohol still clung to the air from the night before, you cringed at the sight of the house and wiped down the stove top. you set a pan on the stove and began cracking eggs into a bowl, tossing in a few strips of bacon and hash browns once the pan was hot.

as the food sizzled and filled the room with a rich, savory smell, the front door creaked open. you turned, spatula in hand, to see rafe stepping inside. he was wearing the same clothes from the party, his hair slightly mussed, and he avoided your eyes at first, brushing past you toward the counter.

"where were you?" you asked sharply, your voice low but pointed. your eyes scanned his face for clues, but he was annoyingly hard to read, as usual.

"just out," rafe muttered, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the tap. he drank it in one go, his back to you.

"out where?" you pressed, taking a cautious step closer.

he finally looked at you, his expression unreadable. "relax. it's not a big deal."

before you could push further, carter's footsteps thudded down the stairs, cutting through the tension. he appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair a mess and his face still puffy from sleep. "is that bacon i smell?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

you sighed, turning back to the stove and letting the subject drop for now. "yeah, sit down. food's almost ready."

rafe smirked faintly as he slid into a chair at the table. "you're spoiling us, didn't know you were so domestic."

you shot him a look over your shoulder but didn't respond, your mind still turning over his mysterious absence. you served up plates of bacon, eggs, and hash browns, sliding one in front of each of them before sitting down with your own.

as they ate, carter filled the silence with lazy chatter about the party, laughing about how someone had nearly fallen into the pool fully clothed. you nodded along, but your eyes kept darting toward rafe, your suspicion lingering like a shadow.

he caught you staring once and raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as if to say, what's your problem? but you didn't rise to the bait. instead, you silently decided to keep an eye on him for the rest of the day. whatever he was up to, you weren't going to let it slide unnoticed.

the cleanup was gruelling, the aftermath of the party revealing itself in every corner of the house and yard. empty cups and bottles were scattered across tables, the faint smell of beer still clinging to the air. you, carter, and rafe moved through the chaos like a reluctant cleaning crew, each tasked with a section. you found herself around the pool, collecting forgotten items; someone's jacket, a pair of sunglasses, even a lone flip-flop.

you glanced over at rafe, who was lazily tossing garbage into a bag. your suspicion bubbled up again, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

"so, are you gonna tell me where you went this morning?"

rafe froze, his jaw tightening before he slowly looked up at you. "not this again," he muttered, shaking his head.

"yeah, this again," you shot back, crossing your arms. "you disappeared. you come back acting all shady. what's the deal?"

he let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humour in it. "maybe i don't owe you a play-by-play of my life."

"you're staying under our roof," you said pointedly, your voice rising slightly. "the least you could do is not sneak off to fuck-knows-where without a word."

"god, you're such a control freak," he snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet of the backyard. "maybe that's why no one ever invites you to stuff unless carter drags you along. you don't know how to loosen up unless you've got a drink in your hand."

you blinked, the words hitting harder than you wanted to admit. your hands clenched into fists at her sides, and for a second, you thought about throwing one of the empty bottles at his stupid face.

"you're such a piece of shit, rafe," you said instead, your voice low and venomous. "you don't care about anyone but yourself. no wonder you end up at places like barry's, completely out of it. maybe if you weren't so desperate to ruin your life, people would actually give a damn about you."

he shook his head, face darkening, "you're such a bitch." his lips pressing into a thin line. without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked off, the trash bag swinging at his side. you watched him go, your chest heaving with anger and something else you didn't want to name.

same old rafe, you thought bitterly, tossing the last of the garbage into a bin. always running, always destructive.

it took another hour to finish cleaning up, and by the time they were done, you were exhausted. you flopped onto the couch and put on a random tv show, barely paying attention as you scrolled through your phone.

"we're heading to the club," carter announced, appearing in the doorway with rafe trailing behind him.

"have fun," you replied without looking up.

"you sure you don't wanna come? maybe play a few holes?"

"pass," you said curtly, her gaze fixed on the tv.

carter shrugged, and they left. you didn't even glance at rafe as he walked out the door, though you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

once the house was quiet again, you let out a heavy sigh and made your way upstairs. sitting on the windowsill of your bedroom, you packed a bowl and lit it, the sharp smell of weed filling the room. you blew the smoke out into the crisp air, your mind spinning before lighting her lavender candle. 

what's with him lately? you thought, leaning your head back against the frame. you hated that you were even worried about rafe cameron of all people. but the memory of him at barry's, glassy-eyed and reckless, stuck in your head.

"he gets himself into this mess," you muttered under your breath, taking another hit.

and yet, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away. 

your head was heavy from the weed, but it wasn't doing enough to numb the constant churn of your thoughts. your finger tapped rhythmically against the lighter, flicking it open and shut, the small spark of flame giving your hands something to do. anything to distract you from replaying the morning's argument over and over in your head.

rafe's words had this way of slicing right through you, like he wasn't even trying. it wasn't just what he said but how he said it, the sharpness in his tone, the way his eyes cut into yours as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience. you hated him for it. you hated that he could get under your skin so effortlessly, that he could leave you standing there, fuming, long after he'd stormed off.

but what annoyed you even more was that beneath all that anger, you still felt something else. a pull you didn't want to acknowledge, something softer that made your stomach twist.

rafe cameron was trouble. you'd known that for years. everyone did. sarah had told you that a million times growing up. "stay out of his way. rafe's not just destructive- he's dangerous." and you had listened. or at least, you'd tried to.

but it was impossible to avoid someone like rafe. he had this presence, this energy that demanded attention. he walked into a room and everyone noticed, whether they wanted to or not. his reputation was loud and clear; the king of kooks, the cameron family's untamed problem child.

ignorance was bliss for the parents of figure eight, and ward cameron was no different. as long as rafe didn't make enough noise to embarrass the family name, who cared what he did in his spare time? who cared how many bridges he burned or how many lives he left in his wake?

and yet, there was something about him that people couldn't look away from. you hated yourself for admitting it, but rafe cameron had a magnetism that was hard to ignore. it wasn't just the way he carried himself, like the world owed him something. it was the danger in him, the unpredictability.

you'd seen it firsthand, countless times. the way he'd tear someone down without blinking, the way he'd cross any line if it meant getting what he wanted. he didn't just pass by obstacles, he demolished them.

he wasn't a mystery. not really. everyone knew what rafe cameron was: cold, calculated, cruel. he carried himself with this untouchable arrogance, and it made your blood boil every time you were around him.

but then there were moments, brief, fleeting moments, where that mask of his cracked. like the night you'd saved him from barry's, too high to make a snarky comment, stumbling to the spare bedroom in silence. or the way he'd talked to you by the pool before the party, promising you softly that everything would be fine.

this morning had been a different story. his anger, his defensiveness, it was familiar, the rafe you'd expected. but there was something else there, too. something deeper you couldn't quite name.

you hated how your mind kept circling back to him, like you were trying to figure out a puzzle you didn't even want to solve. rafe cameron wasn't your problem. he wasn't your project or responsibility.

but then why couldn't you stop thinking about him? why did you feel this nagging concern for someone who clearly didn't deserve it?

"he's not all that," you murmured under your breath, the words hanging in the still air of her room. because you'd seen it now, hadn't you? under the bravado, the cruelty, the cocky smirks, there was something else. something fragile and broken.

you inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs, hoping it would drown out the noise in your head. rafe cameron was a mess. a dangerous, destructive mess. but you couldn't help the part of you that wondered what he might look like without all the walls he'd built around himself.

you were curled up on the couch, a plate balanced on your lap as you quietly ate dinner and flipped through a book. the faint hum of the kitchen fan was the only sound in the house, the rest of the food still sitting warm on the stove and counter, waiting for carter and rafe to stumble back from whatever chaos they'd brewed at the country club.

you were halfway through a page when the front door creaked open, followed by a thud. carter's voice, strained and breathless, muttered, "jesus, rafe, help me out here."

you set your plate down, standing as carter struggled to drag rafe into the house. rafe was draped over carter like dead weight, giggling and mumbling under his breath. his words slurred together, something about "the perfect swing" and "stupid ties."

"oh my god," you said softly, watching as carter manoeuvred rafe toward the couch.

"don't even start," carter said, gritting his teeth. "he's... completely gone. i didn't know what else to do. he nearly got us banned from the country club. they threatened to call ward, but i got us out of there."

rafe flopped onto the couch with a heavy thud, his head rolling to the side, eyes half-open and unfocused. you blinked, unsure you'd ever seen him this bad before. rafe cameron was a lot of things - loud, arrogant, reckless - but you'd never seen him this publicly out of control.

"what do we even do with him?" carter muttered, rubbing his face. "he's your problem now. i'm getting a bucket before he ruins the furniture."

you stood frozen, your arms crossed, watching as carter disappeared into the garage. rafe shifted beside you, mumbling something you couldn't quite catch.

"rafe, what are you even saying?" you asked hesitantly, glancing down at him.

his eyes fluttered open, unfocused but locking on yours for a brief moment. "you're, uh... you're kinda pretty when you're not yelling," he slurred, a dopey grin spreading across his face.

you frowned, a flush creeping up your neck despite yourself. "okay, you're done talking."

"nah, 'm serious," he mumbled, his voice drifting off. "you... you saved me or something, didn't you? or was that... uh..." he trailed off, giggling to himself.

before you could respond, carter returned with a bucket and sighed loudly. "help me get him up," he said.

between the two of you, you managed to haul rafe to the guest bedroom ensuite. he wasn't cooperating much, his legs dragging as they half-carried, half-pushed him inside.

"just leave him here," carter said, laying out a towel on the bathroom floor. "if he throws up, at least it's easy to clean."

you sighed, kneeling to adjust the towel under rafe's head as he slumped half in the bathroom and half out. you watched him for a moment, his usually sharp features soft and disheveled, his breathing uneven.

"carter," you said quietly, standing and crossing your arms. "i need to tell you something."

he looked up from where he was tossing a pillow onto the floor for rafe. "what?"

"the first night he started staying here," you began, your voice hesitant. "it wasn't just to avoid his dad. i found him at barry's... doing coke at 2 in the morning. he was so out of it, carter. i didn't have a choice but to bring him back."

carter didn't look surprised. he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily. "yeah... that checks out."

"that's it? 'that checks out'?" you snapped, your frustration bubbling.

"what do you want me to say?" carter said, his voice tired. "this is just... it's who he is. he's not gonna want to change, never has."

you looked back at rafe, a lump forming in your throat. "maybe he should."

carter didn't answer, just shrugged and turned toward the door. "you coming?"

"no," you said quietly. "i'll staying here for a bit... make sure he doesn't choke on his vomit or something."

carter hesitated but nodded, leaving you alone with rafe, the faint sound of his breathing filling the silence.

you sat against the end of the bed, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared at rafe. his breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting against the weight of whatever had dragged him under.

you didn't know why you stayed. maybe it was pity, or maybe you just didn't want to sit alone in the silence of the house while carter went off to do whatever.

you watched him for a while, the fluorescent bathroom light flickering faintly above them. his hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled and stained from whatever mess he'd gotten into at the country club. for someone so used to exuding power, he looked small right now, like the world had stripped him bare.

"why do you do this to yourself?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafe stirred slightly, his head turning toward you. you thought he might be waking up, but his eyes stayed shut, his lips parting just enough to let out a soft groan.

"you're such a mess," you said, the words sharper this time, even though you didn't mean them to be. "and you just... don't care, do you? you don't care how it affects anyone else."

your voice cracked at the end, surprising you. you hadn't meant to let it get to you like this.

rafe mumbled something incoherent, his hand twitching against the towel. you leaned forward slightly, trying to catch what he was saying, but it was nothing, just fragments of words that didn't make sense.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair, suddenly exhausted. standing, you grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and draped it over him, tucking the edges around his shoulders like you were trying to protect him from something he wouldn't even notice.

"you're lucky carter cares enough to drag you back here," you muttered. "because i don't think anyone else would."

you didn't know if that was true. people cared about rafe, but not in the way he needed. they cared about what he could offer, the status he brought, the chaos he caused. it was transactional, always.

you turned off the bedroom light and dimmed the bathroom one, leaving the door open just enough for the hallway light to spill in. your feet felt heavy as you left the room, like the weight of the night was finally catching up to you.

as you crawled into her bed, the smell of lavender still faintly clinging to your sheets, your mind wouldn't stop racing. flashes of rafe at barry's, rafe slumped over carter's shoulder, rafe with that stupid, cocky grin when you won in beer pong together.

"he's not my problem," you whispered to yourself, trying to believe it.

but sleep didn't come easy, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you didn't really believe it.

you groaned softly as you rolled over, hearing the sound of retching echoing faintly through the house. it took you a moment to realise it wasn't a dream. you sat up, the blankets falling away, and rubbed your eyes. the groaning continued, louder now, pained and guttural.

"shit," you muttered under your breath, slipping out of bed and padding quietly down the hall.

when you reached the guest bedroom, the door was still slightly ajar, the faint glow of the hallway light spilling out into the bedroom. you hesitated for a second, then pushed it open fully.

rafe was on his knees in front of the toilet, his head half-buried in the bowl as he heaved again, his whole body shuddering with the effort. his shirt was bunched up at the back, and your eyes immediately landed on the massive bruise blooming along his left side. it was deep purple, almost black in the centre, fading to sickly yellow at the edges.

"jesus, rafe," you breathed, stepping closer with wide eyes.

he groaned, one hand clutching his ribs as he slumped back against the bath behind him, his head lolling to the side. his eyes flickered open, bloodshot and hazy, and they landed on you.

"y/n," he croaked, his voice raw and slurred. "what... what're you doing here?"

"what am i doing here? you're the one making enough noise to wake the dead," you said, kneeling down beside him slowly.

he winced, shifting slightly, and you could see the pain etched into his features. "feel like sshit," he mumbled, his words barely audible.

"yeah, no kidding," you muttered. you stood, grabbing a glass and filling it with water before handing it to him. "here. drink this. slowly."

he stared at the glass for a moment, like he couldn't quite comprehend what it was, then took it with a trembling hand.

"mmm," he mumbled. you took it as a thank you as he sipped the water, grimacing as he swallowed.

you sat back on your heels, watching him carefully. the bruise, the way he clutched his side, it wasn't from falling or bumping into something. it was too deliberate, too vicious.

"rafe..." you started, your voice hesitant. "what happened to your side?"

his eyes flicked to yours, sharp for a moment before they softened, his usual defences crumbling under the weight of exhaustion and whatever he'd been through. "don't worry 'bout it," he mumbled.

"don't tell me not to worry when you look like that," you snapped quietly, your voice harsher than you intended.

he flinched slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "jus'... had a disagreement, okay? nothin' new."

"with who? barry? your dad?" you pressed, your frustration bubbling over.

"does it matter?" he shot back, his voice hoarse but edged with bitterness.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "you can't keep doing this, rafe. you're going to destroy yourself."

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "maybe i already have."

something in the way he said it made your chest tighten, like you could feel the weight of whatever he was carrying pressing down on you, too.

"you don't have to," you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

he looked at you then, really looked at you, his bloodshot eyes searching your face like he was trying to figure out if you'd meant it.

"why d'you care?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly as he locked eyes with you.

you opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. why did you care? you weren't sure. maybe it was the way he looked so lost, or the fact that he was letting you see this side of him at all. maybe it was because, deep down, you knew that no one else would.

"i... don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he stared at you for a moment longer, then nodded slightly, like that answer made sense to him in a way it didn't to you.

you realised then, with a sinking feeling in your chest, that you wanted to help him. and that it might destroy you in the process.

notes ; thank you for readinggg !!

series taglist ; @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush @drewizz @6r4cie @akobx @seehowitshines @rafeswhoooreee @vbstrewbieri @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @ariivv01 @k4yr14 @ehhhitsaj @luvrcndy @domesticatedparadiiise @teleishachrisy @importantbeardcupcake @vanessa-rafesgirl ( lachesism taglist )

[777bae]

UNFILTERED LOVE WILL SMITH

Summary :: After a rough day, you snap, frustration spilling over in front of Will. But instead of pulling away, he meets your fire with quiet understanding, reminding you that your passion isn’t a flaw—it’s something he loves. (REQUESTED :: prompt 23)

Warnings :: Easily annoyed reader (anger issues kinda?)

Word count :: 3.4k

You’re both sitting at the kitchen table in Will’s apartment, the late evening light filtering softly through the window, casting long, thin shadows that stretch across the floor. It’s a quiet, peaceful scene, but beneath the calm, there’s an unmistakable tension building in you, an undercurrent of frustration that seems to have followed you all day. The steady hum of the overhead lights fills the silence, the faint buzz almost rhythmic, matching the quietness of the apartment. Will is absorbed in his phone, scrolling through messages from teammates, checking stats for his upcoming game, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. You, on the other hand, are doing the same thing, but your mind isn’t in it. Your fingers trace the condensation on the side of your glass, the water pooling in lazy rings, but your thoughts are elsewhere. They’re swirling with a restless energy that you can’t shake.

The frustration started early in the morning. It was a series of small things, inconsequential on their own, but together, they were enough to push you to the edge. You’re usually good at brushing things off, keeping a level head when minor annoyances come your way, but today, it felt like the universe was conspiring against you. The first incident was at the grocery store—nothing major, just a rude cashier who barely acknowledged your presence. You’d asked a simple question about the organic apples, but the cashier had rolled their eyes and answered in a tone that made your skin prickle. You tried to shrug it off, but it lingered in the back of your mind, irritating you more than it should have.

Then, on the way home, it happened again—another idiot on the road, cutting you off without a signal, forcing you to slam on the brakes. The screech of tires had sent your heart into your throat, your hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled tension. You cursed under your breath as you tried to regain control of the situation, but the anger boiled inside of you. Why do people have to drive like that? you thought, the frustration simmering.

And to top it off, there was the friend who had promised to meet you for coffee and completely bailed without a single word of explanation. Why do people do that? you asked yourself, rolling your eyes, but still feeling the sting of it. You’d been looking forward to the meet-up, hoping it would be a chance to catch up, but instead, you were left sitting alone at a table for one, a cup of cold coffee slowly turning to ice in front of you.

Now, here you are, sitting across from Will, trying to keep it together, but the weight of everything is making it harder to breathe. The pressure is mounting, your patience is wearing thin, and all those little irritations from the day are crowding your mind, demanding attention. You try to focus on the moment—on Will, on the calm of the apartment—but it’s no use. The frustration is building like a storm inside you, a tight knot in your chest, and it’s only a matter of time before it bursts free.

You set your glass down with more force than you mean to, the sharp clink of it against the table echoing loudly in the quiet room. The noise is suddenly too harsh, too jarring, and you instantly regret it. You glance up at Will, worried that you’ve disrupted the calm atmosphere, but you can see that he’s already noticed. His eyes lift from his phone, narrowing slightly as he takes in the change in your energy. You can feel his gaze on you, like a weight pressing on your chest. He tilts his head, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Everything okay?” His voice is soft but laced with an edge of something else—something you can’t quite place. It’s not accusatory, but it’s not casual, either. It’s the voice of someone who knows that something’s off, but is waiting for you to open up about it.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold back the flood of words that are threatening to spill out. You don’t want to be that person—the one who gets upset over the little things, the one who lets her anger take over, especially not in front of him. But today, it feels impossible to control. The frustration is like a tight coil inside you, ready to snap. Your throat tightens, and before you can stop it, the words rush out.

“I’m so sick of people acting like they can just do whatever the hell they want,” you snap, the words coming out sharper than you intend. Your voice is loud, too loud for the quiet of the room, and your hand slams down onto the table with a force that makes the entire surface shift slightly. It’s as if the anger has taken over, and now you can’t keep it contained. “Like, do they think they own the road or something? Or that it’s fine to just be rude to me when I’m just trying to be polite?”

The words tumble out, one after the other, fueled by a frustration that has been building all day. Your heart is pounding, your pulse quickening with the heat of it, and before you can stop yourself, you’re on your feet, pacing back and forth. You feel restless, agitated, like your body can’t contain the anger that’s been simmering for hours. The chair scrapes loudly across the floor behind you, a sound that cuts through the silence and makes you feel even more exposed. But it’s like you can’t stop moving. The words keep coming, faster now, spilling out in a rush of frustration.

“And don’t even get me started on the people who think I’m being too much when I call them out on their crap!” You stop and turn to face him, hands on your hips, your voice rising in volume. “Like, I’m not asking for the world here. I’m just asking for basic decency, but apparently that’s asking too much. And then I get told I’m too harsh, or that I’m too sensitive or….” You falter, cutting yourself off mid-sentence, the anger turning into an exasperated sigh. You run a hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself down, but it’s like the anger has taken over completely.

You stop pacing, and for a moment, the silence hangs heavy in the air. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and your pulse is still racing. You can feel the weight of your outburst settle over you, and with it comes a rush of embarrassment. I went too far, you think, your face flushing with heat. Why did I snap like that?

For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of how to backtrack. You don’t want Will to think you’re crazy or overdramatic. You don’t want him to see the anger you’ve been hiding inside. There’s a part of you that’s scared—scared that he’ll think you’re out of control, that your temper will scare him away. You’ve acted out before, not necessarily against him, but in other situations—like the time you yelled at a delivery driver for not getting your order right, or when you snapped at a friend for being late for dinner yet again. You’ve never meant for it to escalate like that, but sometimes it just does. And in those moments, you’ve always feared that maybe you were pushing people away, that your anger would be the thing that made them run.

You turn to Will, and for a moment, it feels like the entire room is holding its breath. The weight of your outburst hangs in the air, and as your gaze meets his, you see the concern in his eyes. But there’s no judgment. No frustration. Just quiet patience. His expression is soft, but it’s the kind of softness that says I’m here, that says he’s not going anywhere. You feel a rush of guilt settle over you—I’ve let it spill over on him, haven’t I? You’ve let your anger, all the tension that’s been building up all day, spill into this moment, and now you’re terrified that it’s too much—that it’s going to push him away.

Does he think I’m crazy? The thought hits you like a punch to the stomach, sharp and sudden. Is he scared of me now? You can’t help but wonder if the outburst was the tipping point, the moment when you’ve shown too much of yourself, the part of you that sometimes can’t control the frustration, the anger that rises when things go wrong. You’re scared that your inability to hold it together will drive him away, that he’ll see you in a different light—someone who’s too much to handle. Someone whose emotions are too intense.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. This is it. This is the moment he’ll get tired of me. He’ll realize I’m just too much, you think, the self-doubt spiraling. You want to take the words back, but you can’t, and the embarrassment surges so quickly that it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. You’re exposed, your vulnerabilities laid bare, and all you can do is stand there, wishing you could rewind time.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, your voice quieter now, cracking with guilt. You look down at the floor, your cheeks burning with the weight of your own self-criticism. You’re trying to hide the fear behind your apology, but it slips through anyway. The fear that he might look at you differently, the fear that this might be the end of whatever connection you thought you had. You just want to make it stop, want the ground to swallow you whole.

“I don’t know why I… I just get so mad sometimes,” you say, the words tumbling out in a rush. They feel jagged as they leave your mouth, like they don’t quite fit together. “It’s like I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be the person who snaps over stupid stuff, who’s so easily frustrated, who…” You cut yourself off, the anxiety rising in your chest like a suffocating wave. You feel like you’re unraveling right in front of him, and the fear of pushing him too far makes it worse. You try to steady your breathing, but it feels impossible. You feel so small, like you’re asking him to forgive a part of you that’s too much to bear.

“I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” you whisper, the words hanging in the air between you, vulnerable and raw. You can’t meet his gaze, afraid of what you might see in his eyes. The silence that follows feels deafening, and you hold your breath, waiting for his response, praying that he won’t say what you fear. Am I scaring him? The thought repeats in your mind like a broken record, looping and looping until you can’t focus on anything else.

But instead of pulling away, instead of backing off, Will steps forward. Slowly, deliberately, his movements calm and sure. He doesn’t flinch or recoil. Instead, he closes the space between you, and his presence wraps around you like a warm, steady anchor in the storm. You feel a wave of comfort flood through you, but it’s mixed with confusion. You’re not sure what to expect, but it certainly isn’t this.

His hands come up to your shoulders, gentle but firm, guiding you to face him. The touch is grounding, like he’s silently telling you, I’m here. It’s okay. When you finally meet his gaze, it’s not with the eyes of someone who’s disappointed or unsure. It’s soft—full of something warm and understanding—and you feel the walls you’ve built around yourself begin to crack. He’s not angry. He’s not scared. He’s just looking at you, you—the whole, imperfect person you are—and it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, but reassuring. His words are steady, like he’s trying to calm the storm inside of you, one breath at a time. “Don’t apologize.”

You blink, your mind reeling, trying to process the unexpected kindness in his tone. “What?” It’s almost like you didn’t hear him right. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, and you can’t quite make sense of the shift in the atmosphere. He takes a small step closer, his thumb brushing over your cheek, the touch soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to reassure you with each gentle movement. It’s not rushed. It’s not hurried. It’s like he wants to make sure you feel the warmth of his words before they settle into your heart.

“You don’t need to apologize for being frustrated,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now. The sound of it is calming, like a steady hand on a wild horse. “You don’t need to apologize for being yourself.” He lets the words linger, and there’s a vulnerability in them that makes your heart ache. You want to believe him, but the self-doubt is still there, echoing in your mind. You open your mouth, ready to argue, but he gently stops you.

He continues, his thumb still brushing your cheek, the touch sending little sparks of warmth across your skin. “You don’t have to be perfect, and I don’t want you to think you have to be,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice wraps around you like a blanket. “I don’t need you to be calm all the time. I actually like how passionate you are.”

You blink, surprised by the honesty in his words. “How… passionate?” you repeat, the confusion lacing your tone.

Will smiles, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes, that softens the edges of his face. “Yeah.” He steps even closer now, his hand still resting on your shoulder, grounding you in the moment. “How real you are. You’re not afraid to feel things, to speak your mind. And I… I think that’s kind of cute, honestly.”

The words hit you like a wave, crashing over your heart, sweeping away the panic and the constant whirl of self-doubt that had been tightening around you. For a moment, everything feels still, like the world outside the two of you has faded into the background. You blink rapidly, trying to process what Will just said, because it doesn’t quite make sense in the way you expected. He’s not frustrated. He’s not backing away. He’s not annoyed by your outbursts or the fact that you get worked up over things that, in hindsight, feel small. He’s actually telling you that he likes it.

The realization doesn’t sink in right away. There’s a part of you that wants to pull back, that wants to laugh it off, because it seems too good to be true. He can’t really mean that, you think, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he’s standing there, not only accepting your frustration but embracing it. The voice of doubt in your head is loud, but the tenderness in his eyes softens it. Slowly, you begin to believe him. Slowly, you start to feel the weight of his words.

“But I got mad over nothing,” you protest weakly, your voice uncertain, almost apologetic. The words stumble out, as if you’re trying to convince yourself that your feelings weren’t valid. “It’s just stupid little things. People being rude. Getting cut off in traffic. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of ticking time bomb who’s gonna explode over a coffee order or something.” You laugh nervously, but the underlying fear is still there—fear that your emotions, these raw outbursts, will one day drive him away.

Will chuckles softly, the sound low and comforting, and for a brief moment, you feel weightless, like his laugh is lifting you just enough to quiet the inner turmoil. It’s a small sound, but it’s full of warmth, full of a quiet reassurance that you weren’t expecting. He brushes his thumb over your cheek again, slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to calm the last of your worries with the gentleness of his touch.

“Nah,” he says softly, his voice rich with sincerity. “It’s not like that.” He leans in just a little, his eyes never leaving yours. “I get why you’re frustrated. People suck sometimes. But honestly? I think it’s adorable when you get worked up over stuff like that. Especially when it’s because someone deserves it.” His lips curl up in a half-smile, one that makes you feel warm all over, like there’s no need to hide any part of yourself. “I don’t think you’re a ticking time bomb. I think you’re just… you. And I love that about you.”

His words wash over you like a balm, slowly soothing the wounds you didn’t even realize were there. The doubts that had been circling your mind—those fears that your temper might be something to be ashamed of, that you were somehow broken for being easily frustrated—begin to melt away. It’s hard to believe him at first, because you’ve been so used to apologizing for your imperfections, for the parts of you that don’t fit neatly into the boxes other people might expect. But with every word, every reassuring touch, the tightness in your chest loosens. You feel lighter, and with that lightness, a small, hopeful smile starts to form on your lips. Maybe I don’t need to apologize, you think. Maybe it’s okay to just be who I am.

“You think it’s cute?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and as soon as they leave your mouth, you can hear the disbelief in your tone. It’s almost like you’re testing him, like you want to see if he really means it, or if it’s all just some fluke. But the way he smiles at you—like he’s completely genuine, like he sees you with all your fire, all your frustration, and still wants to be close to you—makes the words feel a little more real.

“Yeah,” Will says, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. “I think it’s cute when you stand up for yourself, when you don’t let people walk all over you. You get worked up over things that matter to you, and I respect that. It shows me how strong you are.” He steps closer, the space between you shrinking even more, like he’s making sure you understand how important this is. His voice softens, his gaze softens, and you can feel his sincerity in your bones. “I don’t want you to change.”

The weight in your chest finally begins to lift, slowly, as his words sink in deeper, melting away the remnants of your insecurity. For the first time, you start to believe him. Maybe it’s not a bad thing to be this way. Maybe your anger, your frustration, your passion—whatever it is—doesn’t need to be something you hide. Maybe it’s just another layer of what makes you you. Will doesn’t need you to change. He doesn’t need you to be calm or perfect all the time. He just wants you to be real.

Will steps closer again, his presence calming, pulling you in with a gentle hand on your shoulder. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to fix anything. Instead, he wraps his arms around you in a slow, steady hug. It’s the kind of embrace that says I’m here without needing to say a word.

You let out a small, surprised laugh, a sound that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside of you. It’s light, unguarded, the kind of laugh that feels like a release. The tension from the day, from your earlier outbursts, begins to melt away. Maybe you’re not perfect. Maybe you don’t always know how to keep your frustration in check. Maybe you lose your cool over little things. But that’s okay. Because Will doesn’t need you to be perfect. He doesn’t need you to hold everything together. He just wants you to be the passionate, fiery person that you are. And somehow, that feels like enough.

As Will holds you, you feel something inside you shift—an understanding, a sense of peace. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to apologize for feeling things deeply. Maybe it’s the way Will accepts you, flaws and all, without question. Whatever it is, it feels like a burden lifting off your shoulders. You don’t need to be anyone other than yourself, and for the first time in a long time, you’re starting to believe it.

[gnohomotho]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to previous Link to next

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[tumbleweed-run]

Academia

Female!Tav, Professor Kink

Your breath caught as you froze in the doorway.

It was unreasonable how beautiful Gale was. Always, but especially just now as he sat, distracted, behind a large ornate desk. The afternoon sun filtered through the tall stained glass windows, casting a rainbow of colors across his face as he focused on writing something. 

Gale had accepted a teaching position with Blackstaff, upgrading his position with the academy from consultant to professor. Term hadn’t begun yet, instead he was in the building preparing his new office and making lesson plans. You’d hoped to lure him away for a late lunch, as this would be your last chance to do so, but the sight before you had propelled your brain in another direction entirely.

His robes were nowhere to be seen, likely hung properly on the back of the door as the room was quite warm. Instead, Gale was down to his shirt and trousers. His sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, which was possibly the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. Compounded by the fact that his hair was half up, keeping it from his face as he wrote. 

The pooling of heat low in your belly had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. 

Gale, of course, chose that exact moment to look up from his writing, not as oblivious to the world as you’d thought. He was laying down his quill, a smile breaking out on his lovely face when he too froze. His eyes darkened with whatever it was he saw on your face. 

He recovered his composure quickly and carefully finished putting the quill in its place. You couldn’t help but follow Gale’s movements as he closed the ink pot and put that away as well. He seemed very much aware of your gaze as his next step was to lean back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Close the door,” he ordered by way of greeting.

You were very proud of yourself for swallowing down the whimper this new position had nearly dragged from your throat. But while you were busy proverbially patting yourself on the back for your vocal restraint, your body had obeyed the order he’d issued.

“Come here,” Gale directed. The hand he stretched out for you betrayed any bite to his words. 

Happily, you took it, allowing him to pull you around the side of the desk until were by his side. Only then did Gale turn his body, his knees now bracketed your legs. He looked up at you, hand still holding yours, and searched your face as he asked. 

“What can I do for you, darling?”

The memory of why you’d actually come here flittered out of your mind. Instead, a thousand ideas, each less appropriate than the one before, flooded your brain. 

“I want to suck your cock, please, professor,” was what spilled from your lips finally.

Gale inhaled sharply at your words, nostrils flaring. 

Your cheeks flamed as you suddenly remembered every time you’d gotten a little crush on one of your own professors growing up. You’d had a similar thought months ago when Gale had accepted his new position, but they were just silly memories then. Now you realized exactly how dangerous this new profession of Gale’s was. 

Without warning, Gale yanked on your arm, toppling you forward so you were forced to catch yourself on the arms of his chair. Your faces were now inches apart, and you found yourself greedily inhaling each of his exhales. His eyes searched yours, flicking back and forth quickly until they stilled. His whole face relaxed for a moment before morphing into something a bit harder than you were used to. 

Not harder. Sterner.

“Then I suggest you make it worth the interruption. I am quite busy,” he directed brusquely.  

“Ye-yes, sir,” you stammered, realizing he was playing along with you. 

You barely felt any pain as your knees collided with the stone floor. If the bulge in his pants was any indication, Gale was just as affected by the situation as you were. Quickly, you opened the laces of his trousers. A bit too eagerly, perhaps, because his hand threaded through your hair, and he gave a sharp tug. 

“Gently,” he warned, “I do need to look presentable later.”

Slowing down your hands was near torture, but eventually, you managed to undo his pants and free Gale’s cock. You gave no warning before swallowing him down and Gale moaned. His whole body tensed for a moment, hand tugging in your hair once again before he relaxed - legs stretching out on either side of you. 

You eagerly worked him with your mouth, one hand grasping the base of his cock to work what you couldn’t comfortably fit. Maybe you should have been ashamed of the drool that escaped your lips, cascading down your own fist but you couldn’t bring yourself to be. Instead, you sucked and licked at Gale’s cock until your jaw began to ache. 

Gale groaned above you, his breaths growing louder and more labored the longer you worked him. His hand in your hair flexed, occasionally tugging but mostly just there as if to anchor him. You could feel the muscles in his thighs flex around you as well. 

You snuck a glance up at him from under your lashes and found him watching you. Gale snuck a hand under your chin and tilted your face just slightly upwards to make maintaining eye contact easier. You were barely able to keep his cock in your mouth as he did, forced to still your ministrations. 

Gale kept your eyes locked as he experimentally rolled his hips, the head of his cock butting against your hard palate. He did this a few times. You desperately wished he would release your chin so you could reposition your mouth, allowing him access to fuck your throat. But instead, he gently pulled you away from him. You whimpered when you were finally forced to let his cock fall from your lips. 

“Up,” he ordered, voice rough. 

You stood, absentmindedly wiping your hand on your own pants. 

Gale stood once you were fully up, his body came flush against yours. It made it all the more easy for him to manuever you backwards against the desk. He leaned down towards you, and for a second you thought he was about to kiss you. Right up until his lips ghosted across your cheek to your ear. 

“Pull down your pants and turn around,” he rumbled quietly into your ear. 

You frowned at the kiss you weren’t granted but even still you were quickly undoing your pants. You didn’t give a single shit if you looked presentable later, your clothes were suddenly an unacceptable barrier between the two of you, and you worked quickly. Gale didn’t back away as you turned, instead you were forced to jostle against him. The length of his cock dragged against your clothes the entire time. 

He didn’t wait for you to pull down your trousers. Instead, he grabbed hold of them and pulled them down to your thighs. You barely had a moment to register this before Gale was pressing you down over the desk, hand firm between your shoulder blades. He shifted behind you and you felt his cock slot into place along the cleft of your ass. 

The pressure on your back turned to a gently caressing motion. You tried to turn your head to look at him but your own hair impeded your vision. 

“Be a good girl and keep quiet,” Gale directed, “we don’t want anyone to know you’re letting your professor fuck you over his desk.”

Your thighs involuntarily clamped together at his words. Gale felt it if the light rumble of laughter from above was any indication. 

You could feel him take hold of his cock a moment before he angled it between your thighs. He didn’t bother to try to press inside of you. Instead, he drug his cock slowly between your folds allowing to head to brush against your clit, forcing a whimper out of you each time it did. You bit back the noise the best you could and only once he rubbed against you and you managed nothing more than a sharp intake of breath did Gale finally realign himself to press into you. 

He moved slowly as he pressed into you. No matter how wet you were, without any preparation, his cock felt impossibly blunt and impossibly thick. You could feel a dull ache as he continued working into you. You were panting through your nose by the time Gale bottomed out, hips flush against your ass. Not with pain, but instead with the control you were issuing upon your body. Demanding your hips not just snap back against him so he would finally get to fucking you. 

Gale seemed to read your mind, and his hands moved to hold your hips in place, pinned against the edge fo the desk. He held that position for what seemed like forever. You bit back several demands to move that you wanted to issue, instead focusing on the way the parchment you were plastered against fluttered with each of your breaths. 

Finally, he began to move. Slowly, no doubt still wary of hurting you. But each movement was quicker than the one before until the room was filled with the sound of Gale’s skin colliding with yours. Each thrust forcing out a tiny grunt from you, barely more than a puff of breath. 

You gripped the edge of the desk near your hips for leverage as you pressed back against Gale. Pressing up on your tiptoes the angle changed, and the first thrust forced a whimper from your lips. Audibly you clamped your teeth together, trying to swallow back the noises you desperately wanted to make. Gale either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was fucking into you quickly now, his own grunts sounding punched from his chest. He was close. 

Ignoring the aching of your calves, you kept onto your toes. You could feel your own orgasm building. Gale shifted behind you until he was leaning over your back, one of his hands leaving your hip to snake beneath you. Taking advantage of the new space you’d created beneath you, he worked his fingers between your legs. At the first brush of his fingertip against your clit you forgot yourself and moaned loudly. 

Gale froze instantly.

You cringed, swearing you could hear the forbidden sounds still echoing off the stone walls. 

You held still as well. Hoping he’d forgive you and take your renewed silence as an apology. 

“Please, professor” you whispered after it appeared Gale was never going to move again. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet. Please,” you begged. 

“Not another sound,” Gale warned.

As if to make a point, it was his fingers that moved first. Rubbing against your clit lightly, daring you to so much as whimper at the sensation. You managed to bite back each down, eyes slamming shut with the effort. 

“Good girl,” Gale praised in a hushed tone, as he kept up with his fingers against your clit, cock still buried motionlessly inside of you. The walls of your cunt fluttered at his praise.

Your orgasm built quickly at his touch but no amount of wiggling around his cock brought the relief you were looking for. By this point you were sweating, the papers you were laying on undoubtedly ruined. But gods, you wanted them to be. Wanted Gale to have to look at the sweat smudged ink and relive this moment over and over in this room.

Gale, perhaps out of pity or selfishness, finally began thrusting into you again. It only took three sharp thrusts for you to come with a silent scream. Your mouth hung open, but no sound or air was able to force its way out. Above you, Gale came with a whispered curse, both hands holding tightly to your hips once more as he buried himself inside of you. 

After a moment, he collapsed against your back, both of you panting in rhythm. Your ribs expanding while his contracted. Over and over until your breaths slowed. 

Gale’s grip on your hips grew gentle as he held you still and pulled his half-softened cock from you. You snorted a laugh, both your hair and the papers rustling with your breath as you felt the mess of your combined orgasms drip down your thigh. You heard more than saw Gale collapse back into his chair, and after a moment, he pulled you back into his lap. Unaware or uncaring of the mess. 

[mossy-paws]

Subspace doodles (PHIGHTING! Mermaid au)

so I was thinking more about the PHIGHTING mermaid au I’m doing and. What if subspaces’ gas- instead of being like actual gas, was polluted oil? I think that could make for a really cool trope if I ever were to redesign him for it :3!

For the design notes in specific:

When out of control, his “gas” takes the form of polluted oil, in control (as in wearing his mask and tank) it gets filtered into something akin to toxic brine (in which long exposure to can cause a lot of issues, specifically different types of shock, breathing issues, etc). Although the brine isn’t too dangerous to be around in small amounts, it can be harmful over time.

for those wondering what ACTUAL brine water (or more specifically brine pools) are, it’s pretty much a large accumulation of highly concentrated saltwater (which usually is around 10 times saltier then the ocean surrounding it) For most sea animals this brine means instant death due to the fact that is has no oxygen in it as well as the high saline levels.

(Im hyper fixating again can you tell)

[mncxbe]

Five more minutes♡

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff to smut to fluff♡

Slow mornings with Chuuya are the best part of your day; you wake up to the warm rays of the early morning sun filtered through the window of your bedroom and the sounds of the city awakening from its nightly slumber.

By your side, your boyfriend's still fast asleep, tufts of his crimson hair sprawled all over the sheets like poppies in the snow. Warmth blooms in your chest at the sight of his serene expression and you shift closer to him to press a chaste kiss to his shoulder.

"Wake up Chuu" you whisper, earning a low, sleepy hum from him. He's always been a heavy sleeper and waking up early in the morning often poses an issue. Normally, you'd take your time to coax him out of his slumber with sweet words and kisses but now you have other plans.

Running a hand through his hair you pulled yourself flush against his chest, lips ghosting over his neck. "Baby wake up I need ya" you say in a hushed voice but he only groans in reponse, burying his face in the pillow.

You click your tongue in disapproval, taking hold of his hand that lays between you two and dip it under the sheets, guiding his fingers to your underwear.

"Feel that baby?" you press on, lips stretching into a smile when you see his eyes flutter open.

"Hm? What'd you say doll?" he hums in that sleepy, gruff voice you adore so much and you feel heat pooling in your core. His slender fingers brush against the wet spot on your panties and he chuckles, eyes still half shut as he slides your underwear to the side to dip a finger inside you.

"Eager so early in the morning I see" he comments and you can't help but smile coyly.

"What can I say, you have this effect on me" His fingers are knuckle deep in your pussy, slowly stretching you open as he uses his free hand to palm his erection.

"Will you turn around f'me pretty girl?" he utters and you comply, shifting to the side. Chuuya wastes no time to take himself out of his slacks and moves closer to you, hooking his forearm under your thigh and slightly raising it up before aligning his dick to your entrance.

He teasingly brushes his tip against your folds, coating it with your slick. "Ya ready for it baby?"

You hum a lazy mhm and feel him slowly pushig himself inside you, filling you with his length. His pace is agonisingly slow; the tip of his dick kissing your cervix with each calculated thrust, coaxing moans and whines out of you.

"Chuu~ need more" you coo and wiggle your hips against his in a desperate attempt to gain more friction.

"Patience doll" he whispers against your neck, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin "Lemme enjoy myself, don't be greedy"

You turn your head over your shoulder, plush lips pursed into a pout but before you get the chance to say another word he thrusts his hips deeper inside you and picks up the pace. Your nails claw at the pillow beneath you as you choke on your words, earning a smug chuckle from your boyfriend.

"That all it took to shut you up, doll?" His mouth leaves wet, open mouth kisses along the expanse of your neck, his pace relentless as he drills his cock deeper inside your sopping cunt; the sound of skin slapping against skin, squelching noises and your muffled whimpers echoing through the bedroom.

Each thrust drives you both closer to your highs and soon enough Chuuya lets go of your thigh, his fingers tracing the outline of your body before curling around your jaw. He turns your head so that you face him and crashes his lips against yours in a needy, desperate kiss.

A low groan spills from his throat when he feels your walls clamping down around him.

"Ah shit doll~ if ya keep squeezing me like that I'm gonna cum in this sweet pussy of yours"

Huffs and lewd groans keep falling from his lips as he pushes you both to your orgasms. With a choked moan you gush around his dick, velvety walls clamping down on him and he spills his cum inside you, filling you up. His thrusts slow down as to let you ride out your high, the harsh grip he had on your jaw finally loosening.

Chuuya eventually pulls out. He couldn't care less about the milky cum dripping down your folds and onto the sheets. Lazily toppling over to the side, your boyfriend drapes an arm over his eyes, sheltering them from the sun seeping through the window.

When you finally regain your breath you scoot closer to him, lightly poking his ribs with the tip of your finger.

"Hey, hey don't go back to sleep now You'll be late for work" you whine but he pays no mind to your pleas. Instead, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, cuddling you next to his frame.

"Just five more minutes doll"

The heat of his skin and comfort of his embrace are way too delicious, making it impossible for you to deny him. So you give in and rest your head on his chest, indulging in the moment. Time seems frozen in place as you lay beside him, the langour slowly numbing your senses and you both find yourself drifting back to sleep...

Until a sudden ring pierces through the silence of the bedroom. Your boyfriend immediately shoots up, reaching a hand to grab his phone from the nightstand.

"Shit I totally forgot about that meeting..." he mumbles as he hurriedly gets out of bed. Gathering his clothes in a messy pile he makes his way towards the bathroom, answering the phone.

"Morning boss- Yea, I'll be over in ten I got caught up in something..."

[sims4studioofficial]

Studio Star (Windows) & Aurora (Mac) update

Both versions include:

Build category filter in the Objects section containing doors, windows, and other items

Object dirt overlays on the Studio tab,

Support for pool, fountain, roof, exterior, half wall, and deco trims

Batch fix "Disallow CC shoes for barefoot" that replaces the disallow for towel and stops Sims from wearing custom shoes when stomping grapes or other actions that should be performed barefoot

A submenu in the batch fix section including all allow and disallow batch fixes

Batch fix to disallow for werewolves

Batch fix to disallow for all occult entities at once

Updated disallow for random to prevent aging up sims using items that were disallowed for random

A new "Browse Game Content" selection in the Tools menu that replaces the Windows Object and CAS preview cheats and introduces this functionality to Mac. The content browser also includes Build items.

Aurora (Mac) also has a new corner tab in the Wall editor

Star (Windows) also has numerous UI updates and improvements

Both versions also include many bug fixes addressing reported issues.

Important note about batch fixes: The new versions contain new and updated batch fixes. These have been tested, but it isn't possible to test them on every CC item that's been created. Please remember to check your batch fixed items in the game and only delete the batch fix backup file once you're confident the batch fix worked as intended. If you identify problems with batch fixed items, you can restore the original items using the backup. If you notice problems with a batch fix please let us know so the issue can be addressed.

As always, thank you to everyone who has made suggestions for new features and/or reported bugs. Your contributions are vital to Studio's ongoing improvement!

Choose your version to download HERE. Changelogs for Star and Aurora are in their respective download threads.

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 11 - Boromir

Boromir x gn!reader

Prompt: Chronic Pain

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: The first day of a cold spell causes your pain to flare up, but you're determined to grit your teeth through the pain. Boromir however, is determined to get you to rest. Set post Ring War, Boromir surviving, obviously.

{Reader's pain is based on my own joint pain issues}

You could tell before you had even finished getting ready that it wasn't going to be a great day.

The cool morning air filtered through the open windows into your quarters, along with the bright, early light. Beside you, your husbands place in bed was already growing cold.

With a small groan, you dragged yourself from bed, stiffness heavy in your limbs. The morning chill pooled in your skin, settling in an ache in your knees and hip.

You could hear your husband in the other room, puttering around, presumably making breakfast.

Stretching, and trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs, you began to get ready for the day. The dull ache in your legs seemed to drag you down, slowing your movements as you eventually headed out into the main room.

"Good morning, darling," Boromir greeted you with a kiss on the cheek as you passed, "You sleep well?"

You hummed, sitting down at the table, "Mhhhm. You were up early."

"Just restless, I suppose. All this cold, the preparations for the Harvest Festival..." He shrugged, smiling as he set two plates on the table, "It has been a long time since we could put our sights on simple pleasures like these."

You found his smile infectious, and you took his hand across the table, "I know. Good times are here again."

Boromir squeezed your hand before digging into his plate, "It's quite cold today, will you be alright?"

"I am a bit stiff," You admitted, not quite meeting his eye, "But, I should be fine. Just need to keep moving."

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Your response was clipped enough for him to drop it, and to his credit, he did.

Throughout the day though, as you drifted in and out of meetings, and met again in the square to continue panning with Aragorn and Faramir, Boromir watched wearily as your movements grew stiffer and you worked harder to keep the pain off your face.

You could get away with fooling others into thinking that everything was fine, but not Boromir. He saw the slight clenching of your jaw every other step, the unevenness in your stride.

At least he had the sense to wait until the others were out of ear shot to ask, "Are you sure you'll be alright, darling?"

You couldn't help but let out a huff, "I'm fine."

Again, he raised a critical eyebrow, "Is that why you're limping around after Faramir?"

"I can't just ignore my duties, love. It's fine." You said it with such conviction that you almost believed it yourself. The truth was that every step felt like fire, and you knew that the busy day was only making it worse. Still, you had things that needed to be done, and projects to oversee.

You turned, hurrying after Faramir, ignoring your concerned husband, and the pain ficking up in your knee with every step.

Boromir only sighed, turning to return to work.

By the time you returned home, later that evening, you swore you couldn't take another step, lowering yourself painfully into an armchair.

Boromir, who had returned before you, quietly closed the book he'd been leafing through, hazarding, "Are you alright, my love?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, turning to look at him slowly, finally admitting, "I may have overdone it. By Eru, it feels like I've been walking on glass."

It sounded as if it had been painful even to say the words out loud, and your strained tone tugged at Boromir's heart. He stood, making his way to your side, "I know, darling, I know."

You looked up at him, "I'm sorry for the way I was acting, please forgive me."

"Already forgiven," He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, "I drew you a hot bath, if a soak would help?"

You smiled gratefully, "Thank you, love. I don't know if I..."

You trailed off, glancing down at your legs, and then off toward the bathroom, the usually short trip seeming to stretch out before you.

Boromir chuckled, easily scooping you up into his arms, "Not a problem."

~~~

Enjoy this fic? Support me on kofi :)

[secondarysefikura]

Speaking of burns from Nibelheim, afaik Cloud, Tifa, and Zack don’t have any long term lung damage from the Nibelheim incident. They found themselves in the middle of a burning VILLAGE, so surely their lungs would have been affected, even if only temporarily

Storytime! I worked in aquatics for 6 years at a pool that was not properly taken care of. The vent system was old, never cleaned, and didn't properly filter out chlorine from the air. The vents would also frequently turn off.

Management either lied to us or just didn't know that the air quality was dangerous, especially when the vents turned off. I only discovered just how bad things could get when I once WENT BLIND FOR SEVERAL HOURS and almost passed out from the poor quality. A few years later, I had to take a week off from work because I got so ill from the poor air I could barely get out of bed.

Now around the time I started working there, I developed asthma. For 6 years I struggled with my breathing and airways! But interestingly, a few months after I stopped working there I stopped showing signs of asthma. It's been about a year since I stopped working there and I'd say I'm mostly healthy again, but sometimes I feel like I have flare ups.

So needless to say, Zack, Cloud, and Tifa absolutely experienced some issues with their breathing. Now I can excuse Zack and Cloud on account of them being in mako tanks for 5 years and their bodies being enhanced, but Tifa? She absolutely went through a period of time where she was quite sick.

[katyawriteswhump]

love and other catastrophes at the omega cafe (8.2/8) The end 🐈‍⬛

Summary: Steve is a runaway Omega who gets a job at an Omega café, where he’s basically paid to curl up and purr in Alphas’ laps. It’s legal, and he earns a living, rents his own place. He’s getting along fine for a packless Omega. Then Alpha rockstar Eddie Munson turns up for an hour of ‘kitty’ petting, and shatters Steve’s fragile little world… Rating: E; Tags: omega steve, alpha eddie, a/b/o dynamics, fluff and angst, sexual content, very fluffy ending, reference to mpreg. 💚

Chapter 1 on tumblr (also index post)Chapter 2 Chapter 3.1 Chapter 3.2 Chapter 4.1 Chapter 4.2 Chapter 5.1 Chapter 5.2 Chapter 6.1 Chapter 6.2 Chapter 7.1 Chapter 7.2 Chapter 8.1 Complete fic on Ao3 Also, thank you so much @moonjelly69 you are the best and this ending is for you 💚

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

Chapter 8.2

Steve awoke in the softest-ever nest, with an Alpha body spooned cosily around his, and with gentle nibbling kisses warming his claim mark.

“Morning, Stevie,” whispered Eddie. “You okay?”

Steve’s answer trickled from his happily sleepy soul: “I’m feeling perfect.”

“Not sore anywhere?”

“Uuuuuuh… Gimme a sec?” Steve’s mind started roving through yesterday’s wild ride. The not-so-great parts, he skimmed over. They seemed to have no place in this sun-drenched morning.

Onto the good parts, then.

The bite had hurt. Christ, it was a gooooood hurt. When Eddie drank, the suction created a light sting, and the edges of Steve’s consciousness had flickered and grayed. At the same time, his mind opened up and he’d whirled, weightless, through starry skies, and he’d not been alone there. He’d felt so very safe, like he did now, and Eddie was Steve’s universe, and Steve was his. He’d wailed with a strange, searing joy, and when Eddie replaced teeth with that healing tongue, he’d landed back in his body with a pain-free splash.

Right now, the bite was slightly sore. The emptiness in his tummy and the mess of slick between his legs bugged him way more. Oh, and the lowkey fever simmering beneath his skin. And the fact his hot, hard, naked Alpha had a raging hard-on slabbed against the curves of Steve’s ass rather than wedged inside his pussy.

“I’m hungry,” Steve said, at length. “I sort of want breakfast, tho’ I need your knot more. Jesus! I think your bite induced a mini-heat or something.”

Eddie rubbed Steve’s tummy, and his laugh zinged deliciously across his claim mark: “If I lie here much longer, I’m gonna be in full-on rut. Not that it’s a problem. Just wanna be totally present for you.”

“As long as your dick is constantly present, I’ll be fine. The rest of you is kinda meh, tbh.”

“Bad Omega angling for a light spanking?” Eddie flicked Steve’s ear, and Steve mulled the idea over. That actually sounds kinda hot. “How about I order coffee and muffins,” said Eddie, “then we fuck, have breakfast in nest, then fool around more?”

The weekend was literal heaven. While Steve was slightly woozy, it felt like being happily buzzed, with no hint of headache or nausea. Eddie didn’t spank him. He did spoil him rotten in every other way, including massaging and kissing his feet when they weren’t even cold, and barely letting him out of the nest all day Saturday. Steve’s main discomfort came from not having Eddie inside him. Still, mild heat pangs were completely endurable knowing he had his Alpha to cater to his every whim and fill him at a heartbeat’s notice.

On Sunday, Steve felt up to brunch on the veranda. They made love in every room apart from Wayne’s—who was staying in a hotel, for obvious reasons. They even fooled around in the pool, though only after Steve had planted his hands on his hips and stamped his foot about it.

“I’m totally fine to swim, Eddie! You make me wet constantly. What difference would a dip make?”

He was in such a state of carefree bliss that he only recalled the issue about the filters later. Eddie said he’d take care of it, made a call, and by Monday morning, they owned the apartment. “We need a base in the city, so you can visit your friends. Now we can bathe in your slick to our hearts content.”

“Gross!” said Steve, crinkling his nose. He still loved that Eddie wanted it. The pool seemed fine anyway.

When Eddie announced he was gonna cancel the album-launch gig, however, they had their closest thing to an actual row. “You can’t let your fans down!” protested Steve. “Believe it or not, I can totally handle a few hours without you.”

“Yeah, but can I handle any without you,” growled Eddie. “I’ll literally start rutting against an amp or something.”

“Why don’t you rehearse here? I could get used to your music without flipping out. And get to know the band. It’ll be cool.”

In the event, having Corroded Coffin practice in the apartment was the opposite of cool. Steve curled in the nest with his ear-defenders on, while Eddie’s voice ignited a renewed bout of heat fever. He was soon squirming and sweltering in a state of nigh-orgasmic bliss and his perfume clouded the apartment. As soon as the guys left—pissing themselves laughing at the seam-busting bulge at Eddie’s crotch—Eddie rutted him hard, buried his knot deep, and licked and snuggled him for the rest of the day.

The guys brought gifts for the nest, old tour scarfs and hoodies and the like. The only one who didn’t was Gareth, who seemed kinda grumpy, so Steve didn’t push things. By day three of rehearsals, Steve also made a bit of a breakthrough. Which he told Robin all about, when Eddie went to do his soundcheck at the venue on the day of the concert.

“Music doesn’t make me flip out anymore,” he said, rolling his tongue around a cake-pop. “Eddie’s voice makes me totally puddly, yeah, but he is my Alpha. Yesterday, I stayed in the same room, while they jammed, and yeah, I perfumed like fuck, and Jeff said he was getting horny, and Eddie joke throttled him. It’s like… the feelings still arise, good ones and bad ones, but I can ride them, even control them a little. They don’t overwhelm me anymore.”

“That’s because you’re safe now, Steve.” Robin smiled a hilariously cinnamon-and-coffee-cake-crumbed smile. “You got your soulmate to look after you and can let yourself go. You can finally trust the world around you.”

“I guess.” Steve let this sink in, smiled back and then… narrowed his eyes and twitched his nose. “You reek of Chrissy more than you do cinnamon, Robin!”

“Jesus, Dingus, you finally noticed. Corroded Coffin’s gig is gonna be our third date.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, and she squealed nearly as excitedly as he did.

They chatted for ages, including about the divorce papers. Steve’s ex-husband signed them, uncontested, around the same time Hopper’s deputy turned up to arrest him for kidnap. Yeah, they were trumped-up charges, but no less crazy than the attempted murder one.

“It still scares me a bit,” he admitted, “knowing what they tried to do to save face and all. I figure I ought to be more scared, really. It’s hard to be what with—”

“—a super-hot, super-rich Alpha to look out for you?” She picked at her cracked nail-polish and sighed. “I wish I could be all that for Chrissy.”

He was about to remind her how she, in her way, was equally kickass, and hey, Omegas could be badass, too, in a pinch. Most crucially, soulmates came in all shapes and forms and from any designation. Instead, she blurted: “Oh shit-birds, look at the time! I gotta go get ready for the gig, or I’m gonna turn up looking like a corpse.”

Steve had already gotten his outfit sorted—a snug-fitting Corroded Coffin logo vest that he’d had custom printed, with the original blood-red and lime-green transformed into hilariously Omega pastel lilac and sage. Steve was chief groupie now, and he’d even gotten a Corroded Coffin charm dangling from his peach-leather collar. He was gonna rock it with pride beneath his kitty-ear tiara, which totally deserved another outing.

One, hopefully, where nobody got arrested.

Backstage, Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Steve. He scooped Steve close for a ridiculously erotic kiss—cramming him with tongue and grinding into him. Pitching Steve, yet again, into a happily wibbly, semi-orgasmic state.

While the band had their pre-gig huddle, Steve took his place in the wings at the side of the stage. It was an old-fashioned theatre, so a smallish venue, and he peeped out to spy Robin and Chrissy holding hands and ready to party in the ‘golden circle.’ Carol and Tommy squeezed in alongside a grumpy-looking Hopper and his excited pups. Joyce—who had, surprisingly, said ‘yes’ to her offer of a VIP ticket—had huddled her way into the middle of the group near Hopper. He hoped she’d be okay. The air was thick and hot with aggressive Alpha scents.

Well, he figured it was.

All Steve could breathe was the super-strong zest of his Alpha.

Then Eddie roared onto stage, stuck that first wailing power-chord, and Steve was gone.

Yeah, he danced like a demon, and yeah, he definitely indulged in some apeshit 90s-style head-banging till his hair was wrecked and his tiara fell off. He knew his Alpha scented his joy. Eddie couldn’t stop glancing Steve’s way, and even grinning at him, dopily and lovestruck, and totally ruining some of his goriest brain-matter smeared lyrics.

At the end of the set-list’s final song, the lights dimmed to total dark. Predictably, the crowd clamoured for more. Steve sensed his Alpha dash toward him and grab his hand. Before he could panic about it, Steve was dragged onto the stage and the lights flared up.

“What the hell?” he mouthed. He was laughing too. He should be nervous, but how could he be? He was with his Alpha, and the whole crowd felt like family and pack.

“Want to introduce y’all to someone really special,” drawled Eddie, pulsing Steve’s hand reassuringly. “This is Steve—my Omega and my soulmate. Uuuuh, this next song may be a little rough around the edges. So yeah, indulge us on this one, huh?”

He leaned down and whispered, just for Steve, “You okay, Honey?” Steve nodded. “Cool.”

A roadie dashed on, with a velvet-cushioned seat. Okay, it was genuinely a gold-painted throne. Eddie backed him gently onto it, so he perched like a princess in his wonky tiara. Jeff was facepalming and cackling like he’d gone bananas. And Gareth? Ouch, his face was one total cringe of despair.

Eddie, meanwhile, ditched his electric guitar, and grabbed… Were they goddamn jingly handbells?

Okay, it was totally cheesy. And that was before the naff-tastic song launched off, with Eddie screaming the lyrics as crazily as he jingled.

“These bells gonna chime for you, my little kitty. Wanna marry you now, please say yes, my little kitty. Gonna make your nest a heaven, and daddy your little kitties … If you’ll say yes, yes please please, my little kitty?”

Steve said ‘yes.’

Of course, he did—through tears of happiness and of hysterical laughter at the catastrophically lovestruck Alpha kneeling before him.

….

Epilogue—one year later

Steve arrived at ‘Kitties’ first thing Monday morning, as he always did when they were staying in the city.

When the bell on the door tinkled, Carol looked up from where she was arranging the cake counter. She was eclipsed from Steve’s sight by Chrissy, who threw herself at Steve, shadowed by Robin, who’d soon gotten them both tight in a three-way, totally squealy hug.

“OMG, Steeeeve!” cried Chrissy. “It’s been yeeeears! We missed you so much!”

“It’s been three weeks,” pointed out Steve. “We’ve nearly got the house out west kitted out, so you can come and stay. Seriously, Chrissy, you need to see our nest. The whole room is like a bowl-shaped basket of floofy cushions, with soft lights in the ceiling all color-coded, and—”

Chrissy shushed him: “Don’t ruin the surprise!”

“Tone it down will ya?” Carol sneered. “Monday morning hangover here? Jeeez, I’m scared to make you ditzy O-heads coffee—how hyped up you gonna be after caffeine?”

She returned to her cakes, in no hurry—the café wouldn’t open till noon. No point opening for the ‘graveyard’ shift, when old friends needed a place to catch up. Without the dampeners and chemical ‘fresheners’ turned on, Steve breathed only of friendship and coffee, with hints of sweet pastries and thick double cream. Steve got high on it, while curling on the biggest beanbag with his two besties.

They talked relatively quietly—to stop Carol’s bitching—though there was a lot to share. Chrissy and Robin had set a date for their wedding. Which they wanted to be rather less shouty than Steve and Eddie’s insane nuptials at the crack of midsummer dawn in a full-size replica of Stonehenge. The chorus of super-amped wedding bells was so loud that Eddie claimed to be disappointed they’d not raised a zombie apocalypse.

“Do you want to borrow anything for your ceremony?” asked Steve.

“From the wedding that taste forgot?” sniped Robin. “No thank you, Dingus. My ears are still freakin’ ringing! Oh, but we wouldn’t mind borrowing the apartment for a pool party afterward. That would be cool.”

“She wants to use the chemical analysis from your pool for her Omega-access-to-swimming campaign,” whispered Chrissy, squeezing around Robin’s neck. “Isn’t she the absolute bestest?”

Steve wasn’t gonna argue, and then they got onto some of Steve’s latest gossip. Eddie had finally made peace with Gareth, who’d rejoined the band, although: “He still refuses to play, ‘Marry me, Kitty.’” Gareth had stomped out after the novelty track went viral and became Corroded Coffin’s biggest ever hit. “Gonna admit I still get edgy vibes off him. I know his return makes Eddie happy, so as far as I’m concerned, we’re good.”

The doorbell tinkled again. Eddie’s metallic-wine-with-peaches scent billowed in, followed by Eddie: “If Gareth as much as looks at my kitty wrong, I’ll kick his sorry butt to the moon.”

Soon, Steve was back in his happiest of happy places, curled with his head in Eddie’s lap. Eddie petted Steve relentlessly. Steve’s skin tingled and he purred in undiluted bliss, while Eddie sipped his coconut mocha with extra cream.

Nobody anywhere made it like Carol did, and soon she joined them too, cuddling up with Tommy, who arrived late as usual. Their chatter eventually tailed off into a comfy quiet, broken only by a small chorus of those contented purrs.

Until, Eddie said, “Ya know, dudes, it’s not gonna be so quiet with us in a few months’ time.” He leaned down and whispered to Steve, “Told them yet, honey?”

“Oh my Gooooood!” Chrissy was already bouncing up out of Robin’s lap, hands spiralling like she’d gotten imaginary pompoms.

“Okay. Cat outta the bag, I guess. I’m due in February.” Steve scrambled up to sit, so he could beam point-blank at his husband. Eddie slid a warm hand onto Steve’s teeny bump, which Steve’s most comfy stretchy shorts and looser than usual t-shirt still disguised. He pecked a coconut-y kiss on Steve’s nose.

“Um, yeeeeah.” Carol snapped her gum. “I’m sorry, Sirs, but I’m pretty sure kids are against the Ts and Cs in this place.”

“Yeah, pretty sure.” Tommy nodded as keenly as he always did, when agreeing with his Omega. “If not, I say we write it in. No pups. Not in my… erm, Carol’s café.”

“You’re kidding?” said Eddie, though Steve laughed out loud.

He knew they were kidding. He also loved that Tommy, who didn’t want kids, had found an Omega who didn’t want any either. What were the odds?

“I suppose we could make an exception,” said Carol, “but seriously—your brats start to wail, and you can make your own damn coffee!”

“Deal,” said Steve, “tho’ I really suggest you make the most of the peace while you can, because Joyce is joining us in about ten minutes.”

It was Carol’s turn to squeal: “No way!” Joyce and Hopper had gotten together soon after Eddie’s gig and had already added a new-born pup to Hopper’s army of foster kids.

Yes, everything had turned out absolutely perfectly for everyone Steve cared about. Wasn’t life great?

Steve hunkered down into Eddie’s lap once more, and they both purred so loudly the sofa shook with it.

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