#takes him by the shoulders. WHAT ARE YOU!!!!!!!!!! WHY ARE YOU THE WAY THAT YOU ARE

[goldfades]

TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON

request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me out—reader is sarah’s best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"

The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Camerons’ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like you’re trespassing on a life far removed from your own.

You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second nature—a daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarah’s friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.

Now, it feels complicated. It’s not like you’re unwelcome here—Rose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but there’s always been one Cameron who makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

Rafe.

Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. You’d never understood him, and frankly, you’d never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.

But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore you’d never go.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughter—Wheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.

You weren’t always someone the Camerons—or anyone from Figure Eight, for that matter—gave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarah’s world weren’t interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wanted—no yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didn’t mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.

But everything changed when your dad’s business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties you’d never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They weren’t just tolerating you—they wanted you there.

Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasn’t like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for you—your sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.

Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didn’t mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfiltered—a lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.

When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. “She’s perfect,” Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.

To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didn’t treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.

And if the Camerons noticed you weren’t exactly one of their own, they didn’t seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.

Even after a couple years had passed, it’s a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Camerons’ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like you’re stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, it’s become a routine. Cameron game nights.

It started as an extension of the babysitting gig—a casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was “super quick,” which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.

At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.

“You’re like an honorary Cameron,” Sarah had joked once, and you’d laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.

Wheezie’s voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. “You’re late!”

“I’m literally on time,” you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.

“Technically, Rafe’s late,” Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. “You’re just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezie’s already plotting your downfall.”

You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezie’s sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like it’s all beneath him but still keeping a hawk’s eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.

And then there’s Rafe.

He’s leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.

It’s been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. He’s toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful.

And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.

The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.

You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than you’d intended. It wasn’t your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldn’t say no. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. Downtown isn’t that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, there’s something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when you’re alone.

Reaching your car—a trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dad—you fumble with the keys before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You pause, frowning. That’s… odd. Your car’s old, sure, but it’s never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.

Still nothing.

A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. Not here.

You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarah’s probably asleep by now, and your dad’s a good thirty minutes away—not to mention, he’d definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the car’s maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.

The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It’s just your imagination, you tell yourself. No one’s here.

With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the same—silence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.

Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phone’s battery is hovering at 10%, and downtown—normally picturesque and charming by day—feels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.

You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that you’re being watched. You tell yourself it’s just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “This is how horror movies start.”

You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what you’re doing, but it’s better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.

The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.

That’s when you hear it—footsteps.

At first, you think maybe it’s nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognize—Kooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces don’t—grins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

“Car trouble?” the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.

You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.

“Hey, we’re just trying to help,” the taller one says, holding up his hands like he’s harmless, but there’s something almost mocking in his tone. ��No need to be rude.”

The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. “Yeah, we’re just being friendly.”

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like it’s shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way they’re both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.

Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But there’s no one—just you and these two strangers who clearly don’t care that you’re uncomfortable.

“Look,” you say, trying to sound firm but calm, “I appreciate it, but I’m good. You don’t need to stick around.”

The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. “Aw, come on. You’re out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but they’re too close now, their presence suffocating.

Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“What’s going on here?”

The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.

The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. “Rafe,” he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.

Rafe doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. “Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “You two invited?”

The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. “We were just leaving,” he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafe’s glare.

“Yeah, you are,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafe’s truck idling in the distance.

“You good?” Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.

You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, “Yeah… I am now.”

Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you can’t take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, there’s no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he says, his voice low. “That could’ve gone bad. Fast.”

You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. He’s right. You don’t even want to think about how that could’ve ended if he hadn’t shown up. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s brow furrows like he’s surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Won’t start,” you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. “Not that I’d know what to look for.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to.” His tone lacks the usual edge, though—it’s not a dig, just a statement.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you know—or think you know—about Rafe Cameron, there’s something about his presence right now that makes you feel… safe. It’s unsettling, in its own way.

“You should be more careful,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. “Downtown this late? Alone? That’s asking for trouble.”

You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down.”

He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and you’re struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiority—just calm focus.

He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “Battery’s probably dead,” he says, glancing at you. “You need a jump.”

You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. “I guess I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, already walking toward his truck. “I’ve got cables.”

You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. He’s not offering—he’s telling you he’s going to help. And for some reason, you don’t argue.

A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“You should get in,” he says, nodding toward the driver’s seat.

You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimate—just the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.

“Try it now,” he calls out, stepping back.

You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but it’s no use. The car isn’t going anywhere tonight.

You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. “It’s not gonna work. Battery’s dead for real.”

You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

“Great,” you mutter. “So, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?”

Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. “Or,” he says, “I could just drive you home.”

The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? That’s about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.

But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like it’s no big deal. “You got a better plan?”

You don’t.

“Fine,” you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.

Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. It’s clean but lived-in—practical, not flashy, which surprises you.

He climbs in on the driver’s side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.

“You gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?” Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“I’m not sulking,” you shoot back, turning to glare at him.

He smirks, his eyes still on the road. “Sure you’re not.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just… processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.”

His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesn’t look mocking. “Yeah, well, it’s your lucky night, I guess.”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. It’s not entirely uncomfortable this time—just strange, like you’re both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.

After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone like that,” he says quietly.

You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down,” you mumble.

“Still,” he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Things could’ve gone bad. You know that, right?”

You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Thanks,” you say, softer this time. “For stepping in.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.

Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. “You good?”

You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low.

You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.

“Night, Rafe,” you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.

He nods once, his smirk returning, but there’s a warmth to it now that wasn’t there before. “Night.”

You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didn’t see coming.

The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie you’ve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sister’s direction.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like this—to laugh and tease and forget for a little while.

“Okay, but how does she not realize he’s the bad guy?” Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.

“Because she’s blinded by love,” Sarah says, grinning. “Or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

“Excuse me?” Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, I’d notice.”

“Would you, though?” Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.

The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. You’re halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.

You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. “A girls’ night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. “And you’re not invited.”

“Tragic,” Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Good,” Sarah says. “Bye.”

He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.

The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. You’re halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafe’s voice behind you.

“Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you say, turning back to the task at hand, “I’m kind of a regular around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” he shoots back smoothly.

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Interesting? That’s a stretch.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I don’t think so.”

His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of something—anything—to say.

“Relax,” he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. “You look like you’re about to run out of here.”

“I’m not,” you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was starting to think I might scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.

“Hmm.” His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. “If you say so.”

With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.

By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafe’s voice sounded when he called you trouble.

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[izvmimi]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[willowsnook]

Concerned (LN)

lando norris x neighbor!reader

Another late night working and you were exhausted. You’d been on PTO the week before, so now you were playing catch-up and drowning. Trudging back to you apartment, you rounded the corner and ran right into someone else.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” your neighbor said at the same time you started to apologize. You had met him a couple of times, but he was gone a lot, so it was a pretty standard friendly neighbor relationship.

“You look horrible.” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, and a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His face was haggard, dark circles under his eyes and a weary expression that spoke of sleepless nights. The lines on his forehead deepened as he tried to hide his fatigue, but you couldn't help but notice how drained he looked.

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” he admitted, and you tilted your head, looking for more, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Okay, come on,” you said, heading towards your apartment. With a moment's hesitation, he followed behind you into your apartment. The first thing that caught his eye was the unique decor - the walls adorned with scattered pieces of art, each telling its own story. The colors and textures clashed and complemented each other in a chaotic symphony, creating an atmosphere that felt both whimsical and intimate. He couldn't help but feel drawn in, wanting to explore every inch of this quirky space that was a reflection of you.

You sat him down on a barstool in the kitchen before opening a cabinet filled with various powders and ingredients. He watched as you contemplated a bit before picking a couple down and placing them on the counter. Filling the kettle and putting it on the stove, you turned back to him and tried to figure him out.

“You have a lot of ingredients for tea,” he said, not knowing what to say.

“Yeah, I read this book earlier this year about a woman who owned a tea shop and then became fixated on making perfect tea,” you said and he smiled. He felt himself starting to relax around you, appreciative that you hadn’t pushed on why he looked so tired even though he knew you probably had a good idea.

The comfortable silence lasted a couple of more minutes before being interrupted by the high scream of the kettle, and you carefully poured it into a cup that would turn it into your favorite tea invention.

“Let it cool for a couple of minutes,” you told him, and he nodded, picked it up, and moved to the couch. You unpacked your bag from work, looking up occasionally to see him sipping and staring out of your grand windows. Deciding he was probably fine by himself, you went to take a shower and change into your pajamas.

As you emerged from the bedroom 20 minutes later, you spotted the familiar mug sitting on the coffee table, and him sprawled out, fast asleep on the couch. A small smile tugged at your lips as you quietly made your way over to him, careful not to wake him. The soft light filtering through the window cast a gentle glow on his sleeping face. You reached for a nearby blanket and draped it over his body, making sure he was warm and comfortable before retreating back to your room.

The next morning you slept in a little later before coming back out into the kitchen. Lando was still snoring softly on the couch and you kept quiet as you made coffee and pulled out eggs for breakfast. You heard him stir and looked over your shoulder to see him sitting up, yawning. He slipped off the couch and made his way towards you.

“I owe you one,” he said and you waved him off. “You are my favorite neighbor.”

“What an honor,” you joked and he smiled.

“What can I do to repay you?”

You stood thinking for a second before smirking, “Well I’d love it if you could get me Carlos’ autograph; he’s my favorite driver.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together disapprovingly, causing deep lines to form on his forehead. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his reaction before turning back to the skillet of sizzling eggs.

“I’m going to head out now, but again, thank you for last night. I really needed it,” he said, and you turned, surprising him as you hugged him. His embrace was tight but not suffocating, and his arms felt strong and sturdy around you. When he pulled back, you could feel the weight of his exhaustion in the way his body slumped slightly.

“You need to take care of yourself,” you said.

“It’s hard,” he replied and you pulled back to see his sad eyes looking back at you. Giving him one last smile, he left you to make breakfast, retreating back to his own place.

———————————————————————

The rest of your weekend went by quickly and you enjoyed the relaxation of not having to think about work. Sunday afternoon, you were deep cleaning your apartment, casually paying attention to the football games you had in the background. After scrubbing your kitchen, you took a break, pulling out your phone and scrolling through Twitter.

Now, you weren’t a big F1 fan; you just tuned in every once in a while mainly because you thought it was cool that you knew a driver, but you’d see tweets on your timeline every once in a while. One caught your attention, and you opened the thread to see some account commenting on a recent stream that Lando had been on with his friends. You watched the video of his friends making fun of him for eating expired food and giggled as they ragged on him.

Thinking back to the other night, you started to actually be concerned about him eating expired food. First of all, it was gross as fuck. Secondly, it could easily make him sick. Having an idea, you grabbed your keys before heading off to the grocery store.

A couple of hours later you were outside Lando’s door, having just knocked on it. He was surprised to see you standing there when he swung open the door.

“I have something for you,” you said, and his eyes flickered down to the bag in your hand before letting you in. Setting it down on the counter, you began pulling out all the Tupperware filled with several different things.

“This should last you until you have to leave again to race,” you said nonchalantly, turning to look at you. He looked at you wide-eyed, taking in what you did for him.

“You made me food?” He asked slowly and you nodded.

“I heard that you were eating expired food, which is disgusting,” you said, and a small smile crossed his face. “That could also kill you, and it would be really irritating to have a bunch of police and noise here to deal with it.”

“Mmmhmm,” he said smirking. “So you did it because you didn’t want to be inconvenienced if I poisoned myself?”

“Exactly,” you told him. “If you were my favorite driver, I would say I was doing it because I care about you and want to make sure you are okay.”

“But I’m not your favorite,” he said and you nodded. “Correct.”

He smiled to himself as you bid him goodbye before heading back.

Later that night he hopped on to stream with Max who instantly asked him what he had for dinner.

“A burrito bowl,” he replied and Max perked up.

“Did you order it?” He asked and Lando shook his head.

“No, my neighbor heard that I was eating expired food so she made me a bunch of meal prepped things to last a couple of weeks.”

“Was it your hot neighbor?” Max asked with a smirk and Lando blushed.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“Just so everyone in the chat knows, Lando has been simping over one of his neighbors for almost a year now, and instead of just talking to her like a normal person, he just stalks her on social media and turns into a lovesick school boy anytime he sees her.”

“That’s not true,” he complained and Max laughed.

"Remember when you saw her at the little coffee shop by your place? She chatted with you for what, five minutes? You couldn't stop talking about it for weeks," he teased, savoring the memory of his friend's flustered excitement.

“Shut up mate,” Lando muttered with a slight grin. Little did he know that you had been tuned into the stream, listening to all of this.

pt 2

[kastighur]

← back. ᝰ.ᐟ don’t hate me.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 homicipher. mr. scarletella. fluff. angst if you squint. gn! reader // wc : 957

you were sent to another world by the man with the umbrella, coated in red with a glow that followed him around everywhere. mr. scarletella was the name you had given him.

his delusions lead him to believe that you were giving him gifts, though you were only trying to dispose of bodies in an abandoned building. well, who could blame the man ? if someone was delivering the equivalent of a packed lunch everyday, you’d surely assume that they’d have some motivation.

“ you teach name ? “

mr. scarletella asked, leaning down all the way to meet your eye. the umbrella tilted which shielded you from the non-existent rain, casting that eerie red glow surrounding you both.

clutching your bloodied crowbar in hand, you stood your ground with an unwavering glare but there was no use in hitting him drawing from prior experiences.

“ dislike communicate ? “

he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. his wide eyes never leaving yours. he wondered why you kept silent, he had seen you around others like mr. crawling, you were much more relaxed. even laughed and spoke with the other entity.

what else could..- oh !

an idea popped in his mind.

mr. scarletella reached his hand out, his cold palm plopping itself on your head, up down up down. he had seen this action being exchanged between mr. crawling and you.

“ pet, pet. “

however, you immediately lifted your crowbar, swinging it at him with full force, just to watch as his body glitched out once again. the man now stood at his full height just a step or two in front of you, the hand on your head now by his side.

mr. scarletella seethed with rage, he didn’t take rejection well, but he would never hurt you and instead disappeared.

that was a few days ago, mr. scarletella continued to stalk you from afar as usual though he stopped using the telephone to call, halting his usual random appearances.

mr. scarletella roamed the halls in one of the rare moments which wasn’t spent stalking. unbeknownst to you, he was upset. he didn’t know he was hurting from rejection, he just knew that this painful feeling burning in his chest was foreign and unpleasant. it felt worse knowing the reason behind it stemmed from the human that he was so drawn towards.

he stumbled aimlessly into the room with bits of concrete on the ground caused from earthquakes which moved rooms around. he scanned the ruins, spotting things that were thrown from the world of humans. magazines, dirty shoes, broken cellphones... etc.

the only thing that wasn’t broken or covered in dust was something in a clear ziplock bag, mr. scarletella reached down to pick it up. it looked like a white paper bird..? an origami bird. white reminded him of you.

“ pretty doll... me give pretty human. “

he mumbled, ripping apart the ziplock bag and gently placing the delicate craft on his palm. it was fragile, swaying left and right as he walked, but it was something he needed to protect for you. he had never been so gentle with something before, even slowing his steps just to keep it from toppling, too afraid to touch it in case he ripped it.

luck was on his side, he found you alone without your crawling companion, being separated from him after one of your adventures.

mr. scarletella smiled but he hesitated to show himself to you. this was new. he doubted himself. the aching feeling in his heart returned when he remembered his previous interaction with you. would you reject him again…? did you really dislike him that much..?

“ human. “

he called out, softly. his voice trailing off to a whisper at the end.

he watched you whip around, the same glare in your eyes. though you noticed he was slightly different. his head was tilted down, he wasn’t standing straight, his shoulders were slightly hunched in an attempt to make himself look smaller in front of you.

slowly, he held his arm out, the white origami bird was directly in front of your face.

“ me find, me bring doll you. doll pretty, human pretty. “

they probably didn’t have a word for origami or paper or birds in their language, doll was probably the closest thing to that.

his smile returned when you cautiously reached out to take the gift, watching as you inspected it. the corners of his lips widening when your eyes softened, the tension surrounding you both slowly dissipating but still lingered.

“ you like ? “

your head snapped up towards him.

“ …like, thank you. “

mr. scarletella leaned down, lining his eyes up with yours. his hand reached out once again, hovering just above your hair.

before he could touch you, you stepped aside. clutching the crowbar in your other hand, which he noticed and acknowledged as a warning.

“ can pet ? “

mr. scarletella asked.

you hesitated, well… he did go out of his way to get you this origami bird. plus, as much as you hated to admit it, you did think about him during that period where he left you alone albeit in a negative way.

“ pet one. “

his palm came into contact with your hair, up and down, lingering there for a second before pulling away.

a noise came from the corner of hallway, making you whip around, just to see mr. crawling pop out. he rushed over, blabbering on how worried he was and asking if you were hurt.

you turned around but mr. scarletella was gone.

“ doll pretty ! “

mr. crawling pointed out, looking at the white origami bird on your palm.

“ where find ? “

“…someone give me. “

mr. scarletella watched from afar, smiling to himself, he made a mental note to give you more gifts in the future.

> maybe he’s slightly ooc.

© @kastighur

[nezuscribe]

arguing with arranged!gojo is difficult because he’s not used to arguing with women and you’re not used to arguing period.

it rarely happens, but when it does it gets really heated between the two of you. you pace around your room, huffing as gojo stands there with his arms crossed, nose flaring.

like that one time he found out that one of the new guards the brought in from the west was somebody you used to fool around with.

yeah that was bad.

“why do you even care!” you snap at him, and he can’t find a plausible reason aside from the fact that he was purely jealous.

this guard that they’d brought in from the west, much to your shock, was somebody you used to see in the late hours of the night. you never did anything frisky, just some shared kisses here and there.

but the moment you saw him, your whole demeanor changed. and gojo could tell. it took a bit of picking and prodding (which gojo is great at) but you eventually told him the story.

and he was not excited to hear it.

“i want him gone,” he tells you and you roll your eyes, shrugging indefinitely.

“fine,” you throw your arms up, “get him out. but what about those girls? you think i don’t want them gone whenever we walk into one of those balls or those dinners? when i see the way they look at you? you think that’s easy for me?”

“it’s different,” his tone is unwavering and cold.

you scoff, shaking your head in dismay.

“what? what’s so different? that i kissed him? big deal!” you feel like you want to cry and yell and jump and scream at the same time.

because it was different. for you. because the men didn’t seem to care that gojo had a new wife, or that he cared for her. but the ladies did. they gossiped in frenzied tones, batted their eyelashes at him even more as if that could cast him away from your spell.

so you didn’t know why he cared so much about this one man. why it should matter to him when he’s had far, far more experiences than you.

you felt hurt that he doubted you, angered with his hypocrisy, and tired from spending the entire day ignoring each other.

“this is going nowhere,” you mutter eventually, picking up your pillow as his eyes drop to your hands, “i’m sleeping somewhere else.”

“what-”

“and don’t follow me,” you bite out, not even glancing behind your shoulder as you begin to sulk out of your shared bedroom to your old one all across the estate.

and sure, maybe you’re not being entirely fair. there’s been some petty arguments when he bumps into one of his old girls, but it didn’t hurt nonetheless when he accused you of lying, when the conversation of your old romantic life was just never brought up.

you wipe at the stray tears on your cheek as you slug down the stairs, sniffling to yourself as you curse your husband to hell and back, when a force unlike any other picks you up from behind.

“what?” you squeal, your body manicured over a strong shoulder, your legs near his torso, your eyes facing his back as you kick at him, “let me go, i’m going to fall!”

“don’t make me laugh,” gojo murmured, one strong arm around your waist, the other around your thighs as he hauls you back up the stairs.

“i told you not to follow me,” you grumble, pinching his back but he doesn’t react.

“you’re funny if you think i’ll let you sleep alone.”

your brows furrow, feeling the need to kick him, but also not wanting him to drop you.

it doesn’t take long for him to reach your bedroom, opening the door with his free hand (unbridled strength if the greatest warrior of the north meant he could pick you up with just one hand) and plops you back on the mattress.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking away, hoping he can’t see the tear marks.

because it did hurt. his words hurt you. they cut deep. and he notices, his gaze softening slightly.

“don���t cry,” he whispers, leaning down to trace your tears away but you swat his hand off of your face.

“then don’t make me cry,” you say with a heavy sigh, siting upwards, back slightly hunched.

you take a deep breath, rubbing at your eyes as you glance upwards at him. it’s been a while since the two of you had fought, and the first time over something serious, and he looks awful.

“i don’t judge you for being with those girls,” you start with a heavy whisper, “you did what you could to stay sane. but don’t judge me for doing the same.”

gojo breathes deeply through his nose, blinking.

“you’re right,” he says after a heavy second, causing you too look up in confusion.

he nods again, his big hand cup your jaw, his thumb rubbing your cheek as he catches the stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“you’re right and i’m sorry,” he repeats, and you’ve never had somebody agree with you before, “i just…saw the way he looks at you and…i didn’t like it.”

you offer him a small nod.

“but he just looked at me,” you shift so that your resting on your haunches, hands in your lap. he towers over you, one hand going to cradle the back of your head.

gojo shrugs, like he can’t put it into comprehensible words how he felt when that guard looked at you with hunger in his eyes. how only he was allowed to look at you with such starvation.

“i didn’t like it,” he can only repeat, and you know he struggles with his emotions, spent years hiding them so that they wouldn’t become his weakness.

“do you want to sleep?” he finally asks you, and you slowly blink, trying to hide the tiredness from your face.

“i’ll still be here when you wake up,” he offers and you crack a small smile, trying to hide it from him.

but your smile drops as you think, eyes darting up to his.

“it’s okay to not like something, and it’s okay to feel angry that you don’t. but don’t ever, ever, make me feel like that again because of it.”

your stare is unwavering, and he feels a certain sense of pride in seeing that. and gojo nods, one steady movement as he drops down to his knees, trying to be level with your gaze.

“you have my full authority to strike me down if i do,” he promises, his hands cupping your face, his words serious but you can’t help but giggle.

“good,” you murmur, tugging slightly harshly on some of the strands of his hair as he winces, pushing you back onto the bed with the sheer force of his body, climbing up into you as he hold you close to him.

you let out another laugh as he acts like a bear cub, not wanting to move an inch away from your warmth as he cuddles into you, trying to finish his massive size compared to you.

the two of you laid in silence, a comfortable one, as he laid his head in your chest, hearing the steady rhythm of your heart.

“i am sorry,” he whispers, craning his neck to look up at you as he rests his chin on your sternum, “i’m sorry.” he says again, his words barely above a sound.

you blink again, moving some of the hair away from his face as you observe his sorrowful features.

“i know,” you whisper back.

gojo finds your hands, interweaving your fingers together, heart tugging when he feels your ring against his skin.

he brings the finger to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the ring as you watch him silently. no other words needed to be said, no words left unspoken as he pulls you into his chest.

because no woman would amount to a sliver of you. and no man would amount to a morsel of him.

[milktiicup]

Could you write a fic where we figure out a way to bring Mr Crawling shopping with us? Maybe he could be put in a wheelchair so his height isn't as scary or suspicious to other humans

a day out!

“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.” “Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs. Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 

Leaving Mr. Crawling at home all day left you wondering- does he need fresh air? Does he want fresh air? If you left your old world in the name of romance just to be left inside all day while your partner goes to work and has extra curricular activities at night time- you’d like to think you’d crave being outside, too. 

It gave you the bright idea- why not take Mr. Crawling grocery shopping?

Of course, your roommate-boyfriend-thing couldn’t really walk outside all willy-nilly if he wanted. And yeah, you already knew that he’s not that noticeable to other people- but he’s still noticeable. He needed a makeover, a new wardrobe, and one thing for certain- a wheelchair! 

You felt bad stealing from the hospital, but what could you do? Pay for one? Those things were expensive! You may be a murderer, you may be a monster, but one thing for certain is- you’re not that much of a thief… You paid for his clothes, obviously. A simple oversized black t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. You even decided to treat him to a pair of… black socks. 

You were such a good, kind person. 

“Crawlingggg,” you sang, stepping into your apartment. “I have a gift for you!”

He sits there in the hallway, head tilted and a smile that stretches ear to ear. “Gift? You give object?” 

You wave the shopping bags. “I give object! Give you!”

“Give me?” He giggles, and you’re promptly tackled to the floor in a heap of hair and raggy kimono in a hug. 

You don’t know what you were expecting by giving Mr. Crawling a pair of normal human sized pants, but they fit… for the most part. His entire calves were exposed. He was like a fussy baby when you insisted you had to put the socks on his feet, but with a pout, he let you. Mr. Crawling was quick to look at himself in the mirror, and after you changed out of your work clothes, you were ready to go!#

“Ready?” you ask, gripping the handles of the wheelchair with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. This was, after all, a brilliant idea. Mr. Crawling finally gets to experience the great outdoors. A small trip, sure, but a big leap in the world of integrating your… unique roommate-boyfriend-thing into normal human life.

He glances down at himself, his oversized shirt sagging a little off one shoulder, his sweatpants cinched tight around his too-thin waist. His hair still moves with its own mind, curling around his arms like curious tendrils. Maybe a hair tie would’ve been a good idea. “Look… human?” he asks, poking the fabric of his shirt.

“Close enough,” you say brightly, patting his shoulder. “And trust me, no one will question it. People don’t actually pay attention to other people in public. It’s one of the few perks of modern society.”

He tilts his head, not understanding a word you just said, but he nods anyway. “You push chair. Fast?”

“No,” you say firmly, cutting that idea off before it even starts. You had to be mature, and fight the urges to make him do wheelies down the street. You were an adult. ��We’re going normal speed, like normal people, doing normal grocery shopping. Normal.” You give him a pointed look, and he grins wide.

You manoeuvre him out of the apartment and down the hall, the wheelchair gliding smoothly. His fingers twitch as he grips the armrests. “This… fun,” he murmurs, glancing up at you. “You like push?”

“It’s like pushing a very large, very creepy man,” you mutter, though there’s no real malice in your tone. “But yeah, it’s kind of fun.”

The trip down to the street is uneventful. Nobody spares you a second glance, save for one elderly woman who frowns a little at Mr. Crawling’s hair. Damn… Men can’t have long hair these days, apparently. You quickly steer him away before she can get a closer look, and see the fact he quite literally has no eyeballs.

“Outside,” he whispers in awe as you roll him onto the sidewalk. His fingers tap the armrests excitedly, his head swivelling to take in the towering buildings, the cars, the smoggy sky. “Big.”

“Yeah, welcome to the human world,” you say. “It’s not all bad, though. See those pigeons? They’re kind of cute, right?”

He stares at the birds for a long moment, then tilts his head. “Consume?”

“No!” you hiss, your voice a little louder than intended. A couple walking past gives you a strange look, but you wave them off. “We do not eat the pigeons. We buy food from inside the store. That’s the whole point of this trip, remember?”

Mr. Crawling frowns, but his smile returns as fast as it left. “I understand!”

“Good. Great. Let’s go.”

The grocery store is just a few blocks away, and you’re relieved when the automatic doors slide open. The bright fluorescent lights and neatly stacked shelves feel almost comforting in their mundanity. It’s a sense of normalcy that you… kind of, but only kind of have at home. Your roommate-boyfriend-thing is a monster from another realm. 

Mr. Crawling, on the other hand, looks like a kid in a candy store. “Many object…” he murmurs, his head swivelling in every direction. “Human eat this?”

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing a basket. “You’re about to see how humans stock up for the week. Ready?”

He nods, his grin widening. You just hope the poor cashier is ready for whatever this trip is about to become. You let Mr. Crawling hold the shopping basket in his lap, and push him down the first aisle. 

You knew Mr. Crawling wasn’t dumb by any means. He’s smart enough to pick up things from the TV, understands a majority of the stuff you say in your own language, but you’d never imagine that the day would come that you had to explain what broccoli was to him. 

“What this?”

“Little tree. You know tree?”

“Know tree… Little tree… Healthy?”

“Healthy. If you cook it.”

“Cook little tree…” 

You’ve mystified him. 

Your next aisle - the snack aisle - has Mr. Crawling enamoured. “What this?” he asks, picking up colourful chip bag after chip bag. If he had eyes, you knew he would be eyeing up those boxes of cookies like no tomorrow. 

“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.”

“Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs.

Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 

By the time you reach the checkout, the basket is loaded with a mix of essentials and Mr. Crawling’s curious additions- things like canned soup, frozen potato waffles, and a box of pudding cups that he grabbed without even asking. And of course, the box of cookies that you knew he would eye up eventually. 

The cashier barely glances at the two of you, though she does raise an eyebrow at Mr. Crawling’s hair. You pay quickly, and wheel him outside with your bags of groceries in tow.

As you head back home, he turns to you, clutching the bag of cheese puffs in his lap. “Shopping fun,” he declares, beaming. “Human smart.”

“Yeah, well, let’s see if you feel the same after cooking some of this stuff,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile. “Ready for that adventure next?”

He nods, munching a cheese puff as if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. “Cook tiny tree.”

You laugh. “Okay, Crawling. We can cook the broccoli together.”

[fluffylino]

serpent hybrid hyunjin 🌱🐍🌱

hyunjin never acted like this. you had never seen him behave so much like a serpent. was he experiencing an unusual kind of heat? did snakes do that...well u just gotta find out

i love this concept so much ill scream-

reblogging > liking

-contains mature themes (two dicks and a split tongue ahhh)

snake hybrids weren't exactly judged well in society. stereotypical beliefs calling them mean slithery liars who manipulate people.

they were just misjudged. misunderstood hybrids who needed affection too. maybe the energy exhuded made them look tough and deadly but deep down they were sweeter than even bunny hybrids.

thats why your boyfriend, hyunjin is always by your side.

theres nothing quite different about snake hybrids. except for the patches of scales on different parts of their body.

however some had no scales, instead just forked tongues. hyunjin was no exception. patient and mind numbingly soft at all times. snuggling into you every now and then.

thats why when you step into the house,you aren't expecting the strong whiff of a certain peculiar smell. its musky and fills the whole apartment.

you don't even know what you're smelling until you're embraced by him. his body warm, reeking of musk. intoxicating your senses.

"hyun-" you let out hurriedly, dropping your bag on the ground in shock. his face buried in your neck. hands running all over your body.

practically pushing you against the door, slipping his left hand between your legs while his right hand grabbed your backside. gasping at the way you seem to float off the ground. he's picking you up quicker than you can even process.

"what's going on? baby?" you say, trying to wriggle out of his firm hold. he's stronger than before and he continues holding you off the ground.

hyunjin hisses.

he fucking hisses.

and your eyes widen. thats only the second time he's ever hissed at you. once during an argument and right now. did that mean he was angry?

"heat." is all he says, huffing as he slams the bedroom door open. throwing you on the bed. not caring at the funny way, you bounced on the soft mattress.

"what do you mean? I thought snakes..don't get heats..."

you questioned. watching as he paced around the room, trying to control himself.

taking off his hoodie. arms out on display. shining with a thin layer of sweat. his hair soaked.

"fuck i don't know...i was washing our clothes and i got the smell of your shirt..."

he mumbles, and your eyes go down to where theres a prominent bulge in his pants. a wet patch staining the material.

"and its like my senses went wild. all I was thinking of was you. fucking you over and over again..." hyunjin slurs, his forked tongue peeking out.

"jinnie...your tongue"

you whisper. intrigued at how his tongue slipped past his lips every few seconds. he had never done that before.

"i can't control it-" he covers his mouth, gazing at you with needy eyes.

were his eyes always so sharp, you wondered.

"its okay baby, breathe" you reassure, opening your arms for him to come to you. and he does. resting his head on your shoulder, his weight pressing you down into the bed.

leaning into kiss him innocently when all of a sudden, his hands are on either side of your face, pulling you in for a needy kiss.

brain shutting off at the feeling of his forked tongue licking into your mouth. forcing you to be submissive because you knew you wouldn't win this battle.

.

🌱

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"j-jinnie" squirming under him.

his hands pinning your lower half down. head buried between your legs. your toes curling everytime he maneuvered his tongue to simultaneously flick at your sensitive clit and slip between your swollen lips.

"shhh"

u don't know if he's shushing you or hissing at you.

because the next thing you feel is his fork like tongue pushing all over your folds. fingers digging into your hips with strength that had your cunt throbbing.

whining at the loss as he lifts his head up. teasingly using the tips of his wet muscle to prod at your bundle of nerves. face contorting in pleasure at your taste. breath heavy on your warmth.

"breed." he blurts out, surprising himself. your mouth opening in shock when his nails dig into your waist.

his nails had grown longer, into claws and the once hardly noticeable scales on his forearms became visible. gradient shade of black and grey.

"hyun! h-hyunjin, baby b-bab-"

writhing higher into the mattress as he pushed your legs further apart.

nestling his split tongue over your swollen pussy. teasingly managing to place your clit in the Y of his wet muscle.

had his tongue grown longer because you could feel him so deep...

.

.

"h-hyun?" you whisper, gripping his arm to relax your body for him. scales textured and rough under your calloused palm.

"m'right here, baby" hyunjin cooes. placing a hand flat on your lower stomach. eyes fixed on where he was prepping you.

with both his dicks. rubbing the tip over your folds while the other pressed into your entrance. leaking more and more slick that mixed with your own arousal.

"almost in, my love" nudging the first one in with extreme care. your fingers grasping at him. his jaw hanging open as he pushed in, groaning when he slid halfway in.

spreading your thighs so he could start to push his second dick in. the sensation and stretch making you cry in a mix of pain and pleasure.

snake hybrids had two features that only a person who they were close to, would find out about. a forked long tongue means their dicks are the same as well.

hyunjin was not particularly big. actually he was slightly above average considering snake hybrids had longer lengths and lesser girths.

hyunjin had thicker girths and the length of both his dicks were just perfect. neither too big nor too small.

but right now, he felt bigger.

he felt longer. he felt hot.

thats why when he pushes both of them past your entrance, you let out a muffled scream. eyes rolling back at the fullness. quite literally stuffed like this, for the first time.

"f-fuck gonna take me all in"

lowering himself to look down at you. his arms on either side of your head. placing his larger hands on your face. lips brushing against your open mouth.

"thats my precious girl~" and your pussy spasms around him.

getting him soaked because the way the word 'precious' rolled off his tongue, could make you cum on the spot. rolling his s's and a few other alphabets in a serpent like way. something he'd usually never do.

a firm thrust that has your hands flying up to hold onto him. clawing at his back while he buried himself deeper into your cunt. stretching you out with every rough movement.

the scales on his back were larger and travelled down his spine. groaning as you scratched down his back, hard enough to leave red imprints.

"gonna take my cum like a good mate, yes~" hyunjin hisses, watching you so closely. letting his tongue run over your front teeth, all the way down to your bottom lip.

you nod at his statement. wrapping your legs around his waist. pulling him closer. not caring if his patterns of uneven scales scratched you here and there.

plush lips kissing you with such intensity. his nose pressing into your cheek. pushing you deeper into the pillow. trailing a hand down to where your chest touched his. grabbing a handful of flesh and squeezing hard enough to make you arch your back.

taking the opportunity to thrust in deeper. your bottom half nearly lifted off the bed with his strength.

pads of his fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nubs. hooking your leg higher so he could change the angle. filling you up with warmth. it makes your eyes struggle to stay open.

this was nowhere near over...

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hiss hiss need more snake hyunjin ideas FUVKKKKK

[tender-rosiey]

I can’t get thisss out of my head and I wish I didn’t have adhd and could sit and write it correctly but oldest daughter y/n having to marry the brute lord Sukuna (arranged marriage type beat) and the only reason why she agrees is Becuase if she doesn’t marry him one of her sisters will have to and she just cannot bring herself to put her sisters threw that 😣😣😣

a garden among thorns — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: this is longer than most of my works, but i needed to do this idea as much justice as I can

your father’s face is pale as he kneels before the messenger, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his shoulders.

his hands tremble in his lap, and his posture slumps, as if the air has been sucked from the room. the messenger stands tall and unyielding.

“lord sukuna requires one of your daughters to marry him,” the messenger states, his tone sharp and businesslike. “to refuse is…inadvisable.”

your mother gasps, clutching the edge of her robe, and your sisters exchange wide-eyed, horrified looks. aya’s grip tightens on hina’s sleeve, and hina’s mouth trembles, unable to form words.

you remain silent.

sukuna’s name hangs in the air like a curse—the king of curses feared across the land. to be sent to him is to step willingly into the jaws of a predator.

your father stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. “p-please…surely, there must be another way…”

the messenger’s gaze hardens, his words sharp and final. “lord sukuna does not make requests twice. you have until the week’s end to decide. one of your daughters will be sent to his estate.”

the messenger leaves, and the room plunges into a suffocating silence. your father collapses forward, burying his face in his hands, his body trembling with despair.

your mother’s sobs start quietly but grow louder, echoing through the room. aya clings to hina, her face pale with fear.

“I won’t let you choose,” you say, your voice cutting through the heavy silence.

all eyes turn to you in shock. your father lifts his head slowly, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. aya’s small hands clutch your arm. “no, you can’t mean—”

“I do,” you interrupt firmly, despite the turmoil gnawing at your chest. you meet each of their gazes, the weight of the choice pressing down on you.

your mother rises, hands trembling as she reaches for you, her face etched with anguish. “no, y/n. you’re the eldest, yes, but that doesn’t mean this burden should fall on you.”

you step back gently, removing her hands from your face. “do you want it to fall on aya? or hina?” you gesture toward your sisters, who stiffen at your words. “do you think they’ll survive with a man like him?”

aya shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “you’re just as important as we are! why does it have to be you? please, don’t do this.”

you stand in front of her, brushing the tears from her face. “aya, I don’t want to go either. but if we don’t do this, sukuna will come for us.

he’ll take what he wants, and we won’t be able to stop him. you don’t deserve this life. hina doesn’t deserve it. at least I can try to protect you this way.”

aya sobs harder, her small frame shaking. “I can’t lose you,” she cries, burying her face in your shoulder.

you hold her tight, feeling the pain of this decision settle heavily on your chest. hina steps forward, her face unreadable. “be safe,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“I will,” you promise, though the words feel hollow.

your mother sobs uncontrollably into your father’s chest, and he remains silent, broken. he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. you know he wouldn’t, not in the face of sukuna’s power.

you pull away slowly, aya’s small hands slipping from your arm. “I’ll write,” you murmur, turning toward the door. “I’ll write as often as I can. you’ll be okay. just…take care of each other.”

they nod silently, but the fear in their eyes won’t fade.

your mother’s voice breaks through the quiet. “you’re so brave,” she whispers. “but I wish you didn’t have to be.”

you take a last look at your family, standing together in the doorway. their figures grow smaller as the cart takes you away, the weight of their sorrow heavy in your heart.

the world outside seems darker, colder as you leave them behind. the home you’re leaving is more than just a place; it is everything you know.

and with every step, you feel a piece of yourself slipping away.

the journey to sukuna’s estate feels endless, each passing mile colder than the last. the wind bites at your skin, and the clouds above seem to mirror the heaviness in your heart.

the long ride in the cart gives you ample time to think, but there is no solace to be found.

your family, the warmth of your home, and the lives you knew are fading into the distance, replaced by the looming unknown of sukuna’s estate.

your stomach churns with unease as you approach the gates. they are massive, imposing iron structures that seem to swallow the light, and as the carriage slows to a stop before them, the oppressive silence only amplifies the dread in your chest.

the heavy gates groan open with a reluctance that seems to mirror your own, revealing the vast grounds of sukuna’s estate.

everything about this place screams power—an estate built to intimidate, to assert dominance over all who enter.

the stone paths are harsh and cold beneath your feet as you step out of the carriage. the servants who meet you are stiff, their eyes avoiding yours as they take your belongings.

you are no more than a stranger in their world, a burden that they carry, and you feel the sting of that isolation.

as you make your way inside the grand hall, your footsteps echo in the silence. it’s all so stark, so cold. the air feels thick with tension, and as you round the corner into the heart of the estate, you are met with the full weight of his presence.

sukuna sits at the head of a long table in a massive hall, his eyes fixed on you as you enter. the sight of him is enough to take your breath away—his posture relaxed, yet every inch of him exudes power.

his dark crimson robes shift slightly as he stands, towering over you with an unsettling ease. his gaze is sharp.

“so,” he says, “you’re the one they sent.”

you stand tall, refusing to let the weight of his gaze break you. beneath the surface, your heart races, but you force yourself to keep it steady.

“I came of my own choice,” you reply, your voice firm but betraying a hint of the turmoil churning inside.

his lips curl into a smirk, an expression laced with amusement and something darker. “did you, now? brave. or foolish.”

the words sting, but you bite back the retort that rises to your lips. there’s no point in showing him weakness. “I’m not foolish,” you say, your voice colder than you intended, but it’s enough to get his attention.

he chuckles, a sound rich with disdain and amusement. “well, little wife, you’ll learn soon enough what your choice means.”

his eyes glint with a dangerous promise, and despite your resolve, something tightens in your chest.

after that meeting, his presence lingers, an almost tangible force, but he keeps his distance. it’s not until later that night, when you’re left alone in your new room, that the weight of your decision truly hits.

the walls feel too close, and the silence is suffocating.

life at sukuna’s estate is harsh, far colder than you anticipated. the mansion itself is sprawling and filled with echoing corridors, but it never feels warm.

the servants, though polite, are distant, as if afraid to make eye contact. your days are spent in isolation, wandering the gardens or sitting alone in your chambers, trying to make yourself useful without getting in the way.

you are nothing more than a visitor in this grand, empty place—a prize claimed by a man who has no use for you beyond the title you now bear.

at times, sukuna’s presence seems to vanish entirely, leaving you to grapple with the silence. but on other days, his sharp words cut through the air like blades, his moods as unpredictable as the wind.

he is a storm, sweeping through the halls when he deigns to speak, his eyes always sharp, always calculating.

one afternoon, you are working in the garden, your hands busy with the familiar task of pulling weeds, trying to occupy your mind.

the scent of earth and flowers is the only thing that feels real in this place. a soft breeze stirs the air, and for a fleeting moment, you almost feel like you’re back home.

but then, you hear his voice. it’s low and mocking, a drawl that sends a shiver down your spine.

“do you plan to sulk forever?” sukuna asks, his tone cutting through the air.

you glance up from your task, narrowing your eyes at him. he stands in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his robe flowing around him like an aura of danger.

“I’m not sulking,” you reply, your voice clipped, though you know it’s a lie. you are, in fact, sulking—trying to retreat into yourself because it’s the only way to survive this.

“could’ve fooled me,” he retorts, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “you’ve been quieter than a graveyard since you got here.”

you get ticked off by his words but force yourself to stay composed. “what would you have me do? laugh at your jokes?” you don’t know why you say it, but the challenge is there, raw and unfiltered.

he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that grates on your nerves. “I don’t tell jokes.”

you mutter under your breath, “clearly.”

to your surprise, he doesn’t take offense. instead, he raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly as he steps into the garden.

his presence fills the space, as if he owns it. he leans against the stone wall, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something more.

you feel his hand hold the top of your head for a moment, and he hums, “at least you’ve got a spine. I’d hate to have a wife who folds like paper.”

you don’t know what to make of the compliment—or if it’s even meant as one. but his words, though gruff, are the first acknowledgment he’s given you that isn’t full of disdain or indifference.

“I don’t fold,” you reply, try to shake his hand off. you find yourself meeting his gaze, a silent challenge passing between the two of you.

for a long moment, sukuna doesn’t say anything. the tension hangs in the air, thick and unspoken. then, finally, his lips curl into something that might be the start of a smile, though it’s fleeting.

“good,” he says, his voice almost too soft for you to catch. “you’ll need that fire, wife.”

you don’t respond, but as the days pass, his words linger in your mind. slowly, something starts to shift. his unpredictable moods, his sharp words, his occasional moments of unexpected gentleness—they all begin to add up.

it’s not love, not yet, but something else.

you’re not sure if you want to like him, but the more time you spend in his presence, the more you begin to understand him. in return, he seems to start observing you more closely, his interest piqued.

whether you like it or not, you are now bound together in this cold, sprawling estate, and the strange, slow pull between you grows with each passing day.

the first real instance happens during dinner. the grand dining hall is silent, save for the soft clinking of silver against porcelain.

sukuna sits at the head of the table, a looming figure of power, draped in his usual white and black.

his gaze flicks to you once, but he doesn’t speak. it’s a familiar pattern by now—he speaks only when he has something to say, and even then, his words are sparse, deliberate.

but tonight, as you reach for the pitcher of wine, your hand knocks over the glass beside it. the sound of the glass tipping and shattering against the floor startles everyone in the room.

a sharp, echoing crack. the servants freeze, eyes flicking nervously from the broken shards to sukuna.

you stand frozen, the glass at your feet, heart racing. the tension in the room thickens, but no one moves. you glance up at sukuna, half-expecting the usual cold indifference or a sharp rebuke.

but tonight, his dark eyes flicker to the broken glass before meeting yours. there’s something in his gaze—a spark of amusement—before he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his posture lazy but commanding.

“careful, little wife,” he drawls, his voice low and slightly mocking, but there’s no malice in it. “I wouldn’t want to see you spill any more of my wine.”

you nod, instinctively bending down to pick up the shards, but before your fingers even touch the glass, sukuna’s voice cuts through the air.

“stop,” he commands, his tone sharp and unwavering.

you freeze mid-motion, looking up to find his gaze already fixed on you.

“clean this up,” sukuna commands, glancing at the servants, his voice a deep rumble that makes the servants rush to obey without a word.

as they quickly gather the shards, sukuna’s attention returns to you, though his eyes linger a moment longer than necessary.

“you seem eager to be useful,” he observes, his voice tinged with a hint of something almost approving. “but I’d rather not have my wife make herself filthy for something as trivial as this.”

you open your mouth but stop, unsure if you want to argue with him or remain silent.

a week later, you find yourself in the garden again, absentmindedly tending to the flowers that line the stone walls.

the peace of the garden is a brief escape from the heaviness inside the mansion, and you’ve come to cherish the quiet moments there.

this time, however, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. you don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. the weight of his presence is unmistakable.

“I see you’ve found your little sanctuary,” sukuna’s voice comes.

you don’t answer at first, focused on trimming the overgrown vines. his footsteps stop, and for a moment, there’s just the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and the faint scent of flowers in the air.

“are you going to ignore me every time I approach?” he asks, a hint of curiosity and a bit of annoyance lacing his words. “you don’t seem like the type to hide from confrontation.”

you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for a brief moment. his eyes are narrowed, but there’s no hostility in them. it’s a rare look for him—almost like he’s testing you, waiting for your response.

“I’m not hiding,” you reply, your voice steady, though there’s an edge to it. “I just prefer peace.”

sukuna steps closer, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you work. “peace? in my estate?” his laugh is low and dark, more of a scoff than an actual laugh. “you won’t find that here, little wife.”

you focus on the flowers in front of you, resisting the urge to let his words unsettle you. but for some reason, you can’t quite brush off the way he’s watching you.

“I didn’t expect to,” you reply, your voice quieter now, softer.

there’s a beat of silence, and then, to your surprise, sukuna crouches beside you. his presence looms close, his eyes scanning the flowers you’re tending to. “they’re not bad,” he says.

you glance up at him, meeting his gaze. for a moment, the weight of the estate, the pressure of being in his presence, fades away.

it’s just the two of you, sitting in this strange, delicate quiet.

“well, they’re not as high-maintenance as you are,” you mutter under your breath, a playful jab that you can’t quite hold back.

he chuckles—a low sound that vibrates through the space between you. it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh like that—without mockery, without an edge. it’s almost human.

“high-maintenance, huh?” he muses, his tone teasing, but there’s a shift in the air now. “maybe you’ll find that out the hard way.”

the words are playful. you’re not sure what to make of it, but it stirs something in you, something that’s both unsettling and... intriguing.

over the next few weeks, these small moments become more frequent, threading together a fragile tapestry of connection. sukuna’s presence is still overwhelming, but it feels less suffocating now.

he no longer seems entirely distant, nor does he hover with the same oppressive force. instead, he’s there, always watching, always waiting for something unspoken to unfold.

one evening, as you sit alone in the garden again, this time reading a book your family had gifted you, you hear his footsteps before you see him. sukuna doesn’t announce his presence this time.

he simply stands there, watching you with his usual, inscrutable gaze. you feel his eyes on you, and for once, you don’t feel the need to pretend you don’t notice.

“I’m surprised you can read,” he says, his voice a low murmur. there’s no mockery in it, only a genuine comment. “thought you’d be too busy sulking.”

you glance up from your book, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sulking,” you reply, the words more matter-of-fact than before. there’s no need to explain yourself to him anymore.

he steps closer, his presence heavy as always, but this time it doesn’t make you want to shrink away. “what are you reading about?”

“it’s just a story,” you say, closing the book slowly. “something to pass the time.”

“hmm,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to the book. “must be a boring story if it’s keeping you this entertained.”

you chuckle lightly. “maybe I just need a distraction from you.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a tension in the air, as if the words have just cracked open something between you.

the turning point comes one evening when you receive a letter from home. you’ve been sitting by the window, when you notice the familiar parchment.

aya’s neat handwriting graces the top, and as soon as you read her name, your heart stutters.

you eagerly unfold it, fingers trembling slightly as you begin to read.

her words spill across the page with such love and longing that they cut deep, each line filled with updates about their daily lives, the little things that no longer seem so insignificant to you.

she tells you about hina’s recent antics and how their mother insists on planting a garden in the courtyard, even though the soil remains stubbornly unyielding.

she writes about how your father has been more quiet than usual, always looking out toward the horizon, waiting for the day when his daughters are reunited.

but more than anything, the letter is a reminder of how deeply you are missed, how the absence of your presence has created a space no one can fill.

you can feel the tears welling in your eyes before you realize it. they sting hotly as you read on. the weight of being apart from them—your sisters, your parents—becomes almost unbearable.

you can’t suppress the sobs that rise in your chest, so you quickly wipe them away, desperate to regain some composure.

but you’re too late. the door opens with a soft creak, and you don’t need to turn to know who’s standing there. sukuna’s presence fills the room as it always does.

he pauses, his sharp eyes narrowing in on you. his gaze flicks over your tear-streaked face then down at your hands.

“what’s that?” he asks, his tone surprisingly less abrasive than usual. it’s subtle, but there’s a shift in the way he speaks.

“a letter,” you reply quietly, your voice thick, the emotion still lingering. “from my sisters.”

his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, studying you with an intensity that seems to reach beyond your tears, deeper into the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep hidden.

he steps forward, closing the distance between you, and before you can react, he takes the parchment from your hands, his fingers brushing yours just slightly as he does so.

you watch him scan the letter, his expression unreadable, as though the words don’t mean anything to him.

but you notice the slight twitch in his brow when he reads aya’s mention of hina’s mischievous behavior and the mention of your father’s quiet gaze.

he hands the letter back after a moment, his face still impassive, but something lingers in his gaze as he meets your eyes.

“they miss you,” he says simply, though his voice is quieter than usual, less detached.

you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. you nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I miss them too.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. the room is thick with the weight of unspoken words, the quiet intimacy of the exchange hanging in the air between you.

you wonder if he understands what it means to miss family—what it means to be torn from them, to feel so distant from the people who raised you, loved you.

you wonder if there’s a part of him that understands loneliness, even though he wears it like a badge of honor.

his expression remains unreadable, and for a moment, you think he’s about to leave, to retreat back into the distance that has characterized most of your interactions.

but then, to your surprise, he speaks again, his words low and deliberate.

“you may go visit them,” he says.

your breath catches in your throat, and you stare at him, eyes wide with disbelief. the words don't seem to register at first, not fully, and you find yourself unable to respond immediately. “what?”

his gaze remains steady, unwavering. “you heard me,” he repeats, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone. “you may visit them. if it’s that important to you.”

the shock slowly fades, replaced by confusion and a strange warmth that spreads in your chest.

you’ve always thought of him as a cold, imposing figure—a man who ruled through fear, who demanded respect through power.

but now, in this moment, you realize that he’s offering you something more than you ever expected. something human.

“I... thank you,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely a whisper.

“don’t make me regret it,” he warns, his voice returning to its usual gravelly tone. “I’m not doing this out of kindness. I simply don’t want you moping around here for the next week.”

you nod, the weight of the gesture sinking in, even as his words remain curt.

you don’t know if sukuna truly cares for you, or if this is just another act of power—his way of testing your limits or asserting control over your emotions.

but for now, you can’t help but feel a flicker of something more, a warmth that feels entirely out of place.

“thank you,” you repeat, your voice firmer now, despite the uncertainty that still lingers in your chest.

he grunts in response, turning to leave, but there’s a moment where his eyes meet yours again. and for the first time since you’ve arrived, you don’t see just the ruthless lord in those dark depths.

the journey back to your family’s home is a blur of emotion. the reunion with aya and hina is everything you imagined and more—warmth, laughter, and the comfort of familiar faces.

for the first time in months, you feel like yourself again, surrounded by the people who’ve always known you.

but even as you relish the joy of your visit, something lingers in the back of your mind. sukuna’s words, his unexpected offer to let you go, echo in your thoughts.

the days with your family fly by too quickly, and you can’t help but feel the ache of leaving them again.

aya hugs you tightly before you leave, her words of encouragement like a balm for the unease building in your chest. “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, her arms tightening around you.

when you return to the estate, everything feels oddly unchanged, yet different. the servants carry on as if your absence was nothing more than a passing breeze, and the cold, vast halls are just as you left them.

but sukuna is nowhere to be found—until you’re alone in the courtyard, unloading your things from the carriage.

the familiar sound of footsteps reaches your ears. the air shifts, heavy with his presence before you even see him. then, his shadow falls over you. you don’t need to look up to know it’s him, but you do anyway.

his gaze fixes on you, unreadable, but his lips are curled in that signature smirk. “back already?” he asks, his voice low.

you stand still, setting down the basket you were holding.

his eyes are sharp, studying you, but there’s an underlying softness you weren’t expecting. you nod, keeping your expression neutral. “I couldn’t stay away forever.”

sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, instead stepping closer. his feet crunch against the gravel.

you can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on you, assessing, like he’s trying to understand something about you that he hadn’t before.

“do you miss them now?” he asks, his tone surprisingly casual.

you hesitate for a moment, feeling the vulnerability of the question. “of course,” you admit, your voice softer than you intended. “but I missed you, too.”

there’s a brief silence, the words hanging in the air between you. you can see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, something momentarily caught off guard by your honesty.

it’s rare that sukuna is disarmed, but somehow, your admission does just that. his lips quirk, but it’s not the mocking smile you’re used to. this one is different, almost amused in a way that doesn’t feel as patronizing.

“did you now?” he murmurs, taking another step toward you. his hand reaches up, and he places a finger under your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze.

the touch is intimate, but there’s an unspoken weight to it, like it’s a silent acknowledgment of something neither of you are quite ready to voice. his thumb brushes lightly against your skin, the gesture soft but somehow grounding.

“I didn’t think you’d miss me,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble, softer than usual.

you’re suddenly acutely aware of the space between you, of the way your heart seems to beat a little faster in your chest, of how his presence pulls you in like gravity.

the tension, always so thick and unyielding before, now feels different—softer, but just as real.  

your breath catches. “you’re not as bad as they said you are,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly, and he takes another small step forward, the tension rising again, only this time it feels like a slow burn.

his fingers curl gently under your chin, his thumb stroking your skin as he leans closer, his breath mingling with yours.

“and you,” he murmurs, voice hushed, “are much more than I gave you credit for.”

before you can respond, something shifts between you. the air crackles with an intensity that neither of you can ignore. his lips are so close now, and you don’t think.

you lean in, your mouth brushing against his, tentative at first, like testing the waters of something new, something dangerous.

but then, without warning, sukuna’s hand grips your waist, pulling you into him. the kiss deepens, slow and steady, as though he’s savoring it, taking his time.

his touch is commanding, yet there’s a tenderness to it that surprises you, a carefulness you didn’t expect from someone like him.

when you finally break apart, your breath mingling in the space between you, there’s a quiet understanding in his eyes.

he doesn’t speak immediately. instead, he holds you close, his hand still resting on your back, steady and sure.

“you’re fully mine now, wife.”

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a/n: as promised, here is part three of the bodyguard!bucky story ৎ୭

summary: “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, smut, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, staying for two weeks at a chateau in the south of france, forced proximity, bucky is a shameless hoe and we love him for it, kissing, love confession, shower sex, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, handjob, fingering, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 3870

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“I’m sorry, darling. I tried to get out of it, I really did, even for just one day, but I can’t join you at the chateau this time.” 

“It’s alright, mom,” you exhaled, “I understand.”

Soothingly rubbing her palm down the length of your arm, she suggested, “well, since it won’t be as crowded down there, why don’t you stay a little longer? Maybe a proper break might cheer you up. Maybe one extra week?”

“Actually, two weeks of alone time is just what I need right now,” a faint smile managed to emerge on your lips, “thank you.”

“Great! You go and pack your things, I’ll let Barnes know to do the same,” she announced, and squashed the brief relief you felt just as soon as it had washed over you. 

It felt like ages that Bucky made you sit and wait in the car while he went around the estate to do his initial sweep, making sure it was safe and secure before you got to enter. 

The tenseness that still floated ethereally in the air between you didn’t fade away when he finally came back to crack open the door for you to exit the vehicle. 

“So,” you exhaled once the two of you had crossed the threshold of the chateau, “my room is the one upstairs and at the end of the hallway, yours is wherever the fuck you want, there are like a million bedrooms in this place.”

Your footsteps echoed against the elegantly tiled floors as you twisted to check that he even heard you. He had, seeing as his gaze was still ever glued upon you, though he didn’t offer you a reply. 

Shifting the large bag that hung from your shoulder, the luggage that you stubbornly hadn’t let him carry, you paused just before your stride began to ascend the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

“Also, I think we should come up with some ground rules.” 

Your bodyguard’s dark eyebrows then crinkled as he half scoffed, “ground rules?”

“Yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

Exhaling slowly, he simply stated, “whatever you say.”

Before you then began to drift up the wide steps, you cast a glance over your shoulder and said, “meet me in the kitchen in ten.”

“Alright,” you breathed, leaning against the cold marble of the kitchen island as you stared down at the small list you’d scribbled down on a stray post-it you had found in the bottom of your bag, slightly crumbled and with a doodle on the other side, “first rule I’d like to instate is an obvious one, but still needs to be set and stone in order for us to be here together. We can’t sleep together.”

When you heard a low sigh seep from Bucky’s lips, your eyes snapped up to glare at him. 

“Hey! Take this fucking seriously, okay?”

“I am,” he assured you, though his tone indicated the complete opposite of his words. 

“So, rule number two is in prolonging of the first one, which is that we can’t do anything that’ll make us want to sleep with each other,” you cast your glance back down to your messy handwriting, “two A, no swimming in the pool, two B, no nudity, two C, definitely no drinking, and two D, no staring at me,” your eyes flickered back up to catch his blue ones, “especially not like that,” you swiftly gestured to the way he gazed at you.

“Like what?” he didn’t change the manner he looked at you. 

“Like you’ve seen me naked!” 

Your shriek unfortunately only won you the glimpse of a smug smirk upon Bucky’s lips, one you swiftly tried to ignore. 

“Okay,” you blinked in an effort to redirect your attention back to the task at hand and not the butterflies that now soared in your stomach and made you slightly dizzy, “rule number three is technically also under the subsection of number two, but we can’t eat our meals together. No candle-lit dinners, not even a snack.”

Budding in, the man on the other side of the kitchen counter then said, “can I say something?”

With a soft sigh, you mustered the courage to look up at him, “shoot.”

“Do you wanna decide what I wear as well while you're at it? Maybe also when I’m allowed to breathe?”

His jest didn’t as much as conjure a twitch at the corners of your lips as your gaze simply narrowed in his direction, “are you mocking me?”

Boldly leaning his forearms down against the tabletop, he stared back at you, “so what if I am?” though when you assumed he was kidding and you let out a groan, you heard him go on, “all I’m saying is that maybe we don’t set a list of hard rules just to avoid each other. We seem to do just fine when we toss them all out the window.”

“I'm sorry, wait, what?” you blinked. 

“We’ve got two weeks here, so why don’t we make them count?” he shrugged. 

Mouth agape, you dumbfoundedly stared back at him, “you’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” calmly, his head tilted slightly as he held your stunned gaze, “just think about it.”

The sun only barely managed to set before you felt yourself crack and give in to your bodyguard’s offer. 

Storming into his room, his dark brows only got the chance to rise slightly in astonishment before you nearly tackled him to the ground, throwing your arms around his bulky frame and crashing your lips against his before any of you could say even a single word. 

You didn’t try to hide the raw emotions that came pouring out, causing your efforts to be rough and desperate, though it didn’t take long before Bucky’s touch mirrored the feral nature of your own, leaving you dizzy as you eventually withdrew from the starved kiss, clutching onto his shirt for support as you breathlessly ordered. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Keeping your eyes closed, you tilted your head back to let the drizzle of water rinse out the shampoo from your locks. 

The door to the bathroom was wide open, so when you twisted your form to face the showerhead, you didn’t notice as your faithful protector stopped in his slow tracks right on the other side of the threshold. His eyes trailed down your glistening spine till the sight of you caused him to crumble completely and take advantage of the gift that had just fallen into his lap.  

A low purr vibrated within your chest as the warm water rained down upon you, though suddenly, it wasn’t just the hot shower embracing your form, as a pair of burly arms snaked their way around you. Leaning back into his bulky frame, you caught sight of a crumbled bundle of his clothes tossed on the other side of the fogged-up shower door. A blissful hum crackled within you like a roiling fire as you felt his lips begin to plant soft pecks along the line of your shoulders. 

Though as his touch began to bloom and wander boldly down your frame, a gentle hiss tore through your lazy smile as his fingers came into contact and brushed over your core. 

Nipping at your neck, he murmured, “oh, do you want me to stop?” not removing his metal hand, though halted the pattern he had begun to draw over your petals. 

He already knew full well just how sore and swollen you still were. It would have been impossible not to be after the vigorous activities you’d kept the past week busy with.  

Digging your digits into his forearms to keep you in his embrace, you shot back hazily over your shoulder, “don’t you dare,” before a whimper rippled out of you as Bucky once again rolled your puffy pearl beneath his steely touch. 

“How is it that we’ve already done this for a whole week, yet it only feels like a day?” his voice tickled the shell of your ear as you leaned more of your weight back into him. 

“Really? Because I don’t believe you’d be able to fuck me in a day as many times as you have this past week,” you jested through a whimper, “even for a guy with your stamina.” 

“It’s a good thing it’s just the two of us here… imagine if we hadn’t been alone, if it hadn’t been me walking by and seeing you seduce me like the wicked temptress that you are?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort,” you chuckled airily. 

“Really?” he teased just as his touch did, “leaving the door open, that wasn’t on purpose?” 

“No, I swear,” you then tilted your head and admitted, “at least not this time…”

“You mean the time back a month ago when didn’t close the door while taking a bath,” he murmured casually, “then called out to me, asking if I could fetch you a towel, and I had to pretend not to hear you?”

Spinning around at once, your eyebrows were nearly at your hairline as you blinked, “you knew?” 

“Baby, you never had to play that hard just to torture me,” he smiled down at you, “that move was downright cruel,” before he reached for the knob and switched off the water.

A squeal bubbled out of you as Bucky then suddenly plucked you up into his arms, wasting no time before he stepped out of the shower, only pausing for a beat in the comparatively more spacious area, though only in order to manhandle you further and toss you over his shoulder before his feet began to shift once more, leaving wet prints in their wake on the cool tile as he strode towards the exit. 

Strung over his shoulder as if you were a wet piece of laundry and he was the line, you giggled, “wait!” and just managed to catch one of the fluffy towels hanging on the hook he passed. Blinking down at the floor as he crossed the threshold, you watched as droplets of water dribbled down from you both and left a trail on the herringbone flooring, “you’re dripping, you’re gonna get the whole house wet!”

Landing his wide palm in a wet smack across your ass, he chuckled, “I thought that was my line, sweetheart,” teasing about the manner your pussy drooled for him, already leaking down your thighs at this point. 

Soon, the long hallway disappeared from your periphery as Bucky entered the nearest of the many bedrooms, though you barely had time to register your new surroundings before the world fell out from under you and he plopped you down on the bed in the middle of the room. 

Standing his ground and looming above the giggle that was your horizontal form, he stole the towel from your grasp before dragging the terrycloth across your skin. As he dried off the droplets of water that clung to your body, a handful of pecks adorned your flesh as well, often shadowing the cloth. 

Gazing up at him with smile-crinkled eyes, you stretched your feet up in the air, against his torso, and rested them against his wide shoulders as he briefly paused to dry himself off as well. But as he returned to sweep the towel across the last remaining spot upon your body that still glistened from the shower, the peck he pressed to the valley between your boobs was swiftly halted as your grasp found his jaw and you guided his face up towards your own. 

As you brought his lips to your own, you swiftly felt the mattress dent and ripple as he crawled up to hover above you. 

“Ahh, fuck…” he then groaned against your lips as your hand snaked down between your bodies and began to stroke his throbbing girth. 

Tossing the towel to the side, a gasp soon tumbled out past your lips as Bucky’s palms found your tits in a gentle squeeze. Your pebbly nipples stood up to the challenge as he swept a knuckle teasingly across one of them before capturing it in a pinch and tugging slightly to summon a sinful sound deep within your body. 

As your fist slowly twisted up and down his hard length, his close proximity caused your own knuckles to brush across your clit at every heated pass. Almost unconsciously, you tilted your hips slightly and nudged the bulbous tip of him through your glistening petals, the pleasure of which caused your eyes to roll in your skull. 

But just before he could take the initiative and catch your fleeting invitation to let him inside, you caught him off guard and suddenly rolled him onto his back with your frame plastered atop of him. 

Propping yourself up slightly, you grasped his fat girth before slowly sinking down upon it, “o-oh my god,” couldn’t help but breathlessly tumble out of your lungs as a flat palm came down to brace on his broad chest and your thighs gently quivered at the sudden stretch of him. It was a few times that you had to pause on your slow journey down just in order to catch your breath, as his intimidating size caused you to question yet again how you’d ever been able to take it before. 

“Atta girl,” his grip dug into your hips when you slowly began to move, “just like that…” though you still couldn’t persuade your pelvis to sink all the way down to meet his own. 

As you found a gentle roll, one of Bucky’s palms scooped up past your waist and caught one of your tits. Your back arched slightly as he played with your boobs, his hand travelling back and forth as you rode him, though a shuttering moan rippled through your body as he landed a gentle tap down upon one of them, a shiver swiftly trickling down your spine at the spark.

But just as you thought the bodyguard beneath you was blissfully enjoying the show and letting you do all the work yourself, his hips then abruptly offered you a greedy buck.  

“Bucky!” you nearly screamed as he buried the last few inches that you had so fiercely struggled to conquer on your own, “that’s–, I–, holy fuck!” 

You hadn’t been able to take all of him on your own, so he just gave you the little nudge that you needed, even if that nudge thoroughly punched all of the oxygen out of your lungs, he still made you take every staggering inch.

“Come on, don’t stop now,” a chuckle escaped him at your reaction before his palm came down upon your ass to get you back to work, “make yourself cum on this cock.” 

Shakily, you tried to pick up your rhythm once more, dropping your hips to meet his, though he couldn’t remain still for long before he began to fuck up into your warmth. Heavy taps echoed throughout the room as his balls slapped against your slick skin at his efforts. As he met your movements halfway and drove his cock much deeper than you could muster on your own, your left hand drifted down to strum your buzzing clit. 

Already dangerously close to the edge, your hazy gaze flickered down to watch not only how your pussy magically swallowed his big dick, but your eyes also caught sight of the dull bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, making your brain feel even more fuzzy than before. As your glance flickered back to try and catch his, you found his own stare to still be fiercely locked on the same spot where yours had just strayed from, watching intently at just how deep he went, nearly rearranging your guts just to mould you perfectly to fit his shape. 

When you finally reached your peak, your cunt nearly choked his cock as your silky walls clambered down on him, a small accompaniment of sinful gush squirted around him and drizzled to soak the sheets below. 

While you were still foggy with your eyes barely open, Bucky rolled you both over, his dick still throbbing deep within you. Welcoming the softness of the bed beneath you with a gentle sigh, he then captured your lips in a kiss and swallowed the whimpers that promptly bubbled up as he began to fuck you once more, offering you long, deep strokes that sank you so far into the mattress that you began to wonder if you might rock through it completely.  

“O-oh, so fucking d-deep,” you blubbered. A rhythmic cry forced its way out of your lungs each and every time the tip of him kissed your cervix, nearly bullying the deepest parts of you in a manner that made you feel like the wobbliest of jellies. 

“You scared I’m gonna break you, baby?” his soft lips ghosted against your cheekbone. 

“I–, maybe,” you admitted, blinking up at the way his frame eclipsed your vision, “but it feels so good, I don’t care if you do,” though your confession ended up not only exclusively being about the purely physical entanglement you currently found yourselves in. 

A deep growl rumbled in his chest as his hands scooped down beneath your bottom, before he let himself manhandle you, repeatedly dragging your hips up to grant him a better angle for him to fuck into. A bit of drool trickled out the corner of your mouth and found the pillow below your head when his cock soon throbbed within you, pumping you full of his hot load. 

When he pulled back out of your warmth, your pussy didn’t get to stay empty for long as his cool metal fingers swiftly took his dick’s place. Plugging you full, his frame shifted slightly to grant him a good view of the leaky mess he’d made of you. As he pushed his cum deeper inside of you, scooping it back in as his fingers forced it out, he increasingly added more and more digits till the amount matched the girth that had just split you apart, before he withdrew them all at once and grinned proudly at the way he made your hole gape slightly for him, before winking back to a closed as if he’d never even tickled you before. 

It didn’t take long with all of his molten motions before your pussy wept for him once more, a display he only drew out as his fingers stayed hooked inside of you while his other palm came down to offer your puffy pearl a few taps. 

A hazy giggle was bubbling out of your shaky frame as his attentive touch finally faded and his kisses fluttered back up your body till your arms wrapped around him and drew him in close. 

As you layed there in the plush bed and stared up at the ceiling, you didn’t know yet that the man sprawled out beside you was awake as well. 

You just couldn’t find rest no matter how hard you tried, for how could you as tonight was your last night in the chateau. 

Carefully, you slipped out from under the covers, grabbed your long robe from the armchair it was draped over, and tip-toed towards the wide French doors that lead out onto a balcony. Pushing the doors open, a mild gust of wind rustled the robe as you fastened the tie around your waist and crossed over the threshold. 

Though you knew that you didn’t have any other choice, the thought of returning home in the morning still broke your heart. The last thing you wanted to do was burst that dreamlike bubble that you and your bodyguard had built together and go back to a world completely desaturated of colour. 

Not only had you made the grave mistake of repeating history, but putting it under such an intense microscope didn’t help matters either, as well as your feelings, those having become terrifyingly clear over the past two weeks. 

“Hey,” you suddenly heard the doors behind you creak and you tore your hazy gaze away from the dark gardens below to spot Bucky gently leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” you breathed, keeping a flat palm on the ivy-covered stone railing as you twisted your frame slightly to glance at him, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake,” he shrugged slightly before joining you outside in the pale moonlight, “you okay?”

“Yeah…” you sighed, casting your gaze back upon the woods blooming in the distance. 

“…well, that didn’t sound very convincing,” he chuckled gently as he settled in beside you, leaning both his forearms against the half-wall, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Sucking in a breath, your eyes flickered over to catch his own, “I just–…” you hesitantly began before admitting, “I don’t wanna go back to Paris…” 

“Why not?” though a crinkle found his brow, his expression still softened, “is there something going on with you and your mother?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” you shook your head, “I just don’t wanna go home yet…” staring at him a moment longer, you then heard yourself confess, “…I–… I don’t want this to end yet…”

Watching closely as his lungs expanded with oxygen, for the first time you witnessed the gruff man look utterly and completely stunned, simply staring down at you with bated breath. 

Parting your lips once more, you nearly whispered, “…I don’t wanna go back to pretending that I’m not in love with you…” 

Bucky didn’t say a word, only continued to stare as he tried to comprehend the truth you’d just professed.

“I love you,” you gathered up the nerve to spit out, “I love you now… I loved you this morning… I loved you after you’d probably only worked at the embassy for a few weeks…” your vision became blurred as tears began to form in your eyes and you continued to babble, “and I don’t think those feelings are planning on changing anytime soon, so it only seemed fair for you to be aware of that for when I ask you in two seconds if you wanna keep this thing between us going, because I do, though probably for different reasons than you–, not that I don’t enjoy that part, you are an incredible lay, I just didn’t think it would be fair for you to be unaware of the feelings I've developed for you, because I don’t know how to ignore them anymore, and–, oh my god, please just say something, I feel like I arrived naked at school or something–”

But before you could ramble any further, Bucky seized your face and fiercely pressed his lips to your own. A shiver ran down your spine and nearly caused your knees to buckle as he kissed you, and when he withdrew, slowly pulling back, he found your stary gaze and uttered, “…I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” he then sucked in a breath before confessing, “because I–… Y/n, I love you too…” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[bonniepop]

atsumu opens the door to his house and is greeted by silence and a dark first floor. it’s to be expected; it’s nearly midnight, and he got stuck in traffic on the way back home from practice.

toeing off his shoes by the door, he leaves the keys to his car on the console table and uses the flashlight on his phone to help him navigate in the darkness. he climbs up the stars and hears muffled voices. it sounds like a movie.

the upstairs hallway is fairly lit, so he uses the sound to guide him to his child’s door. gently, he turns on the knob and pokes his head in. there’s a laptop playing a children’s movie on the desk, a flurry of toys on the floor, and a mother and child snuggled on the bed.

“hey, sweetheart,” he greets softly, grinning when he catches his daughter’s attention and she perks up.

“mommy,” she says, tiny hands tapping her dozing mother’s cheek. “mommy, daddy’s here.”

—

“mommy,” your daughter calls again, and your eyes blearily blink open. “mommy, it’s daddy!”

you twist your head and smile sleepily when your gaze lands on your husband. “hi, tsum.”

“hi, baby,” he greets, slipping inside and dropping his gym bag by the door. he moves to sit but his daughter stops him.

“no, daddy,” she whines. “you can’t go on my bed. you’re dirty!”

you snort while he blinks, and you push yourself up to sit.

it takes him a while to process what she just said. “i’m not dirty!” atsumu protests, placing his hands on his hips. “i’m clean! i changed clothes before i left the gym—”

“no,” she says, wrinkling her nose and pointing to his bag by the door. “you have to shower.”

“these clothes are clean—”

“nooooo,” she whines, slapping the cushion in frustration. “shower!”

“but mommy’s on the bed and i wanna be on the bed, too—”

“but mommy’s clean!” she whines again. “shower, daddy!” she extends the r of the word shower, baring her teeth in a scowl.

his jaw drops, then he turns to gape at you. “you’re not gonna say anything?”

you tamp down your smile and shrug. “it’s easier if you just do as she says. i had to shower before i even entered her room.”

“where did you learn this?” he asks, turning back to his daughter with disbelief. “i bet it was from your grandma, ‘cause your mom ain’t as much of a neat fre—”

“okay!” you interrupt him, climbing off the bed before your daughter could expand her vocabulary. “i’ll make sure your dad bathes, sweetheart.” you lean down to kiss your daughter’s forehead.

“thank you, mommy,” she says sweetly, kissing your cheek.

“what about my kiss?” atsumu asks, shouldering his bag and frowning.

“shower first,” his daughter says resolutely.

“jesus,” atsumu mumbles under his breath, low enough that his daughter can’t make it out, and you herd him to step outside the door.

you laugh when it clicks shut behind you. “it’s your bag, you know,” you mention, walking alongside him. “whenever she sees it, that’s when she thinks you’re dirty.”

“why? i spray this thing all the time with the little—” he makes a spritzing-like motion with his fingers. “what’s it called? the thing you gave me.”

“deodorizer?”

“yeah!”

“smelling deodorized and smelling clean are different,” you point out, then point to your bedroom. “go. shower.”

he sighs in dismay, but true to himself, he's not down for long. he wiggles his eyebrows in your direction. “care to join me?”

you roll your eyes. “nice try. i’m gonna put your gross clothes in the laundry room.”

he brightens. “i can do that! after we shower together, that is.”

you sour. “and let the stink simmer? no way.” you reach out your hand. “give it to me; i’ll do it.”

he pouts a little. “but it’ll be more fun if we shower together!”

“no.”

“come on! for me?”

it's almost emasculating, seeing him beg like this, but your gaze is stone cold serious. “no.”

he grumbles in defeat and hands his bag over. “fine. but just so you know, i’m not a happy husband right now and you’ll need to make up for the lack of love and commitment at some point.”

“i give you plenty,” you say with finality before turning on your heel and heading down the stairs.

“you promised for better or for worse and i am going to collect!” he calls after you.

"shower first, then we'll discuss my marital commitments."

[amastarxoxo]

ㅤ        ㅤ            ⠀ꕀ⠀𝆹⠀⠀ׄ⠀⠀ִ⠀ worthless talking ⠀ּ ּ    ✧

Arguments with various characters

S1! jinx , S2! vi , S2! caitlyn , and ekko x fem! reader

arguing , mention of having a crush ( vi ) , hurt/no comfort , cursing , mentions of marriage ( caitlyn ) , drinking ( vi ) , mention of reader working in the brothel ( not prostitute ( vi ) ) , suspected cheating ( caitlyn ) , injured reader ( ekko )

not proofread or requested

JINX

arguments with her are usually light and can easily be dismissed or solved quickly but this is very different. silco has been pressuring her as of late about her weapon for the hex gemstone; which has been stressing her out and getting more irritated by everything little thing. “jinx baby?” you spoke softly, trying to not make her anymore irritated. “yes toots?” she frantically looking back and forth at her parts and blueprints for her fishbones, “are you doing okay? do you eat?”

she shrugged her shoulders, continuing to screw the screws in. you silently gulped and walked closer to her. “listen baby…can you take a break or something? i don’t remember the last time you slept or even eat and—” “shut up.” you immediately looked her way like you misheard her. “i-im sorry what..?” she kissed her teeth, “ i said shut up! all you ever do is nag and nag around me! do ever shut up? i’m trying to work so i can hurry up and finish this project, but no you just can’t seem to leave me alone while you’re—” she stops mid sentence, looking to see where you were last standing, “y/n?” she asked to absolutely nothing. she rolled her eyes, not bothering to think about you anymore, too focused on the hexgem project.

walking through the streets of Zaun, tears blurring your vision as you do your best to wipe them away but if anything you made your mind clear as day in Piltover; she doesn’t need you there anymore. continuing to walk through the lanes until you reached your home.

VI

pitfights. you hate no—loath them. so imagine your reaction to hearing that your crush becamea pitfighter after that massive fall out with the stupid top side girl. you watched as a friend of hers drag her up the stairs then she starts pushing him off and telling him to fuck off. you watch as the friend just walked away; already tired of her bullshit.

you breathe, mentally preparing yourself and your lecture of what you want to say as you head up the stairs slowly until you reached the door. out of curiosity, you reached for the doorknob, and its unlocked. ‘of course this idiot wouldn’t lock the door.’ you thought, twisting it and slowly pushing the door, seeing vi collapsed on the bed but still awake. you clear your throat loudly, catching her attention as you stand close to the now closed door. “vi.” your voice cautious but fed up. watching her destroy herself over a top side is so pathetic, even jinx powder would laugh in her face. vi groaned tiredly, “can’t seem to catch a fucking break anymore.”

“fuck a break! what do you think you’re doing?!” you wave your hand around, as you often talk with your hands. “what the hell are you talking about…!?” vi retorted back. “look around you vi, and your hair! your outfit! you’re a damn pitfighter.” you pointed at everything you mentioned, “why?! is it because of that fall out you had with that stupid top side girl..?!” vi abruptly gets up and stands in front of you. the smell of strong beer and whiskey clog your nose, in her breath, her clothes, everywhere, “don’t you dare bring her up.” you scoffed, “why not? she treats you like shit but now you’re a floor licking puppy for her..?” you stare at her, raised eyebrow, “at least she was better than you in many ways than one.” “excuse me?” “get the fuck out y/n. go back to being a fucking prostitute or something.” “i’m not a prosti—” she punched the wall next to your head, you flinch, hard. “out.” her voice threatening. your hands and feet quickly move as you open the door and fumble out of the apartment was vi was was.

CAITLYN

a lot has happened in a short amount of time, well, caitlyn proposed to you, then jinx blew up the council and killed her mother, then your fiancée became a damn Dictator and has been worked and training nonstop with Ambessa, and you’re starting to worry. she has been looking burned out a lot more and tired to even notice you sitting next to her on her desk as she stresses over paperwork.

“dear?” you twirled your finger around her loose hair. she jumps a bit, snapping out her thoughts and looking up to see her fiancée, you, “sorry darling, do you need something?” she fidgets with her pen and fingers, you smile at her weakly, “your dinner is cold.” you point to the cold dinner plate, nothing eaten on the side table next to her. caitlyn sighs heavily. “right, i apologize my dear, ill…make sure to eat.” “this is the fourth time dear. you can’t be a commander with zero energy.” you cross your arms over your chest, “i know know i’m just” “i’m starting to think ambessa was a bad idea again. i worried about all this pressure and process. like especially after your mother died, this isn’t good..” caitlyn’s fist banged against the desk, stopping you mid sentence.

“i don’t need your pity or concerns right now.” you stare at her, confused. “what are you talking about right now dear?” “i’m saying you talk too damn much.” she stood up, the chair scratches against the floor and walks away from the desk, “where are you going?” you asked while sliding off the desk, “out. i need some fresh air.” you tilt your head to the side and keep your arms crossed, “fresh air? or maddie?” the blued hair commander stopped dead in her tracks, “what…what did you just say?” you scoffed, as you walked past her, bumping her shoulder. you open the door, revealing maddie with paper works in her hands, “i’ll take my leave.”

EKKO

patrolling the area around the safe area, but your mind consumed with the thoughts of your boyfriend, he’s starting to overworking again. and that’s pissing you off. months of you guys dating and he still doesn’t get the memo. you sat on top of the tunnel entrance towards the hideout. staring up at the stars, wishing ekko was here with you.

suddenly, you feel a long cold metal jabbed into your side. you immediately clutch it to stop it from entering further until the culprit kicked you in the back, causing you to roll off the top and your body thudding against the cold concrete then you saw black. you wake up, the knife removed and you’re wrapped in bandages around your stomach and your arm is in a cast. your eyes adjust to the light shining down upon you, you wince as a headache rises and you hear muffled sounds of someone screaming your name. once your mind finally adjusts to everything, you hear ekko,

“hey hey hey! firebug! what happened?” his hands placing everywhere patting you down. you wince again, “ekko…that hurts..” you fully open your eyes. “what happened? why did someone find you outside of the base, bleeding out?” he raised his voice, not scary but scared. “i…i was patrolling around the entrance and—” “patrolling? didn’t i say you’re not allowed to patrol unless i’m there?” his voice switch to low. “i can take care of myself ekko.” he gritted his teeth, “well clearly you can not! look at you now! you don’t ever listen huh?” he started pacing back and forth, “it’s like you’re deaf or something, i said no! and you do the entire fucking opposite!” he grabs his mask and hoverboard, stops to say something but rejected that idea and just left.

ekko was so hard to do ngl cause what has he done for to cause an argument🧍‍♀️and you notice how short-ish jinx is? yea cause i can never actually be mad at jinx.

©︎ A M A T E R A S U. all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

[nochepsicodelica]

It's two in the morning and you're knocking on your own front door after a night out with your friends. Your mind has been occupied by static, not allowing you to remember that you have a key to let yourself in, so you stand there alone, waiting to be let in. You plant your hand on the wall to keep yourself balanced, looking left and right to see if anybody or any car is looking at you as they pass by.

Just as you're about to knock, again, the door opens and you flinch, your other hand flying to the wall to remain steady on your feet. You look up at your man with warped vision, blinking a little to try and clear your view of him. You can't contain your laughter when you see the stern look on Toji's face, his green eyes laced with concern you can't process in this state.

"What the fuck..." Toji mutters, to himself. What kind of friends would just drop you off without making sure that you get inside your house, safely? It's late. Who knows how long you had been standing there before you knocked. Anyone could have snatched you away.

Toji will catch you. You know he'll catch you if you just lean forward into him, like a backwards trust fall, so you set the plan in motion. You drag your feet and move your hands along the wall until you're in the safe zone, and then you just fall forward.

"Woah, hey." He's quick to hold you up against him, to prevent you from sliding down his body and to the floor. "Hey, you good? Talk to me. Can you walk?" Toji doesn't receive much of a response from you. Just quiet little giggles and incoherent mumbles. He sighs and picks you up, draping you over his shoulder. The door is shut and locked, before he makes his way to the bedroom. The light is already on, because he was awake the entire time, awaiting your arrival. Toji sets you down on the bed and briefly sits on the edge, by your feet.

"You didn't answer my calls, and I texted you like twenty times." He lifts your feet and takes their place, before setting them down on his lap so that you are comfortable. His fingers make haste of undoing the buckles on your high heels and he sets the shoes down, placing them under the bed.

You simply hum in response, not entirely sure of how you got to the room. The light is so bright and it's irritating your eyes, making it hard for you to hold them open.

"Told you to let me know if you needed me to pick you up, dummy." Toji wraps his hands around one of your ankles, his fingers kneading with little pressure, incase the area is tender.

"N-Nooo, i'm... here. Here," you babble.

It's so frustrating to be unable to get a full explanation out of you, right now. Your responses are borderline illogical and it's not doing Toji any good. He feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He can't calm down, after he spent the last few hours wondering why you stopped responding to him and why you weren't answering his calls. To open the door and instantly get a whiff of your night out was enraging, not because you got extremely intoxicated, but because there was no one looking out for you by the end of your time out.

Toji understands that there is no point in digging into this, now. You can't even walk or see straight, so he settles for making simple conversation that you can easily digest.

"Did your phone die or something?"

You shake your head, side to side, and his blood boils all over again. This was supposed to be an easy conversation, but he was just so damn worried. His entire body is tense with concern.

"Fuck." He sighs, nodding slightly at your response. "Yeah, okay."

A few seconds of silence go by and Toji thinks you may have fallen asleep, but then you speak up, out of nowhere, again.

"Took lots of pictures..." you mumble, eyes closed as you dig into your pocket for your phone. Once it's in your hand, you toss it on the bed for Toji to grab. He puts your massage on hold and picks up your phone, unlocking it and going to your photo gallery, where immediately, he sees previews of the pictures of you and those so called "friends" who abandoned you on your doorstep. The only reason he cares for those group photos is because you're smiling widely, seemingly laughing, and overall looking extremely happy in every one of them, but as much as he loves the look on your face in those, he loves the pictures you took of yourself and the ones your friends took of you, more. Some you had already sent to him, others he hadn't seen until then, so he sent those pictures to himself.

Toji turns your phone off and sets it aside, before grabbing ahold of your other ankle and repeating the same treatment that he did for the first one.

"There was... ugh..." you sweep away some strands of hair that almost went into your mouth. "A man. I dropped my phone and he- and he got too close behind me when I bent down to pick it up." You nod, with your eyes as wide as they can be in this state, like you're trying to prove that you aren't lying by looking him straight in his eyes.

"That's fucking disgusting, mama." Toji's eyebrows furrow, discomfort written all over his face with this new information you revealed. He squeezes your ankle a little tighter, his mind beginning to cloud with thoughts of never letting you go out without him again, but before he even thinks of spilling these thoughts to you, he asks you the most important questions.

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

"Mm-mm, no." You shake your head as quickly as you can without getting dizzy. "Saw his legs behind my legs and I got up and gave him this look..." You furrow your brows and lid your eyes, a gaze that doesn't seem intimidating or warning enough, now, after so many drinks. Your face quickly relaxes after and you roll your eyes with a tired sigh. "Yup, that was the face I made and then I walked away," you say, your attitude more upbeat.

"Did he leave you alone?" Toji asks, hoping nothing more happened. If there is more, he'll have you describe this man to the best of your ability, and he will hunt him down until he can positively assure that he's no longer part of the world's population.

"Yeahhh, don't know where he went." You hum like you're trying to remember, as if you even have that knowledge. You walked away and didn't turn back around, something that finally concludes your brief inability to recall. "Think he got lost." You giggle.

"Good. I'm glad," Toji says. You hum in agreement, and your eyes fall shut, gracing you with two seconds of sleep before your head nods and you wake up, again. Your bashful smile evolves into a short laugh, one that has Toji smiling at how precious you are. "You tired, mama?"

You nod and blink slowly in response, fighting the urge to shut your eyes for longer. Your lips curl into a lazy smile, when Toji presses a kiss to your ankle, before he moves your feet and sets them on the bed so he can get up.

"Let's get you ready for bed, then."

[lexcys]

★ crimson tension rafe cameron x reader

summary: who knew rafe getting beat up and being vulnerable would end up giving him what he needed most - comfort

warnings: blood, wound description

a/n: ughh this took so long to write but it was worth it cuz I made myself giggle and kick my feet a few times. maybe this is a little cliche but I’m a sucker for these so sorry not sorry

loud music blasted over the speakers, laughter and unfamiliar voices rang around the manor, people spilled out from every room, clutching red plastic cups. the air was thick with the smell of beer and something sweet mixed with a faint undertone of sweat, the wide open doors leading to the cameron garden offered little relief, serving more as a passage to the outdoors than a true escape from the stifling atmosphere of tannyhill

the kitchen was a maze of half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and a few glasses perched on the edge of every counter. it was hard to believe none had shattered, considering the steady flow of people jostling past each other

right as you are about to take yet another shot you hear some barely audible shouting

curiosity overtaking your body faster than your mind and your legs start moving on their own accord, shot getting lost on the counter. making your way through the crowd but merely getting to the hallway as a mass of people block off the way and view to the living room, you hear a loud voice that undoubtedly belongs to rafe

whispers and 'oohs' pass through the crowd, before you notice rafe pushing past people with practiced ease, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he moves forward. his focus unwavering, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you, a destination in mind

you catch a glimpse of the huge gash right above his eybrow - your eyes widen and you move towards him

after seeing his look and eyes you realize why he doesn’t react to you calling out his name - whatever substance he had taken prior was showing on his face, the haze clouding his expression, a disheveled look, glassy eyes with dilated pupils, fluoride stare as well as furrowed brows were noticeable as he brushes right past you

you glance around the room and the absence of attention on rafe doesn’t go unnoticed. you realise whoever had been on the other end of his rage must look worse - a chill runs down your spine imagining the ugly sight

being sarahs friends, tannyhill was not a foreign place for you so you knew where he was headed as he moved up the stairs

you hesitate but decide to follow him, once you’ve reached his room you rethink whether or not to knock, uncertainty creeping in but the worry gnaws at you too strongly - after calling out to him and getting no answer you enter the dimly lit room

the music dampens as you close his door. you pay no attention to his room, a already familiar space, your eyes immediately noticing him right ahead

the weight of the silence between you both grows heavier as you step closer, torn between reaching out and giving him space

he’s standing on his balcony, slumped onto the railing all though theres so much tension present in his shoulders that you can see it from a few meters away. his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the smoke lingering in the air making it evident that there was a cigarette resting between his fingers

he merely spares you a glance when you say his name again, turning around without muttering a single word

carefully you make your way toward him, situating yourself onto his right in complete silence, taking in the scene before you - the music has gotten louder and you look down at the people dancing below you, they payed absolutely no mind to rafe above them and in comparison to the loud laughs and voices the ocean before you was calm - the steady motion of the water, the endless horizon, seeming to soothe him

analysing his face you conclude that whatever fight had just occured - it was a heavy one - rafe had a busted lip, bruised knuckles, a bruise was already forming on his nose and the eybrow gash that was bleeding rather harshly. your face twists imagining how much his head must be throbbing

right now was not the time - but you also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has never looked hotter

the moonlight hit his face just right, highlighting his tired eyes, making the blood adorning his face less unsettling, cigarette held between blood covered fingers, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, yet there’s something almost striking about the way his hands look, the way they’re still so perfectly shaped, even in their damaged state - his pain and his beauty so closely intertwined. even in this state, even with blood streaked across his face, there’s something undeniably captivating about him.

quickly pushing those thoughts aside you catch rafe looking at you for a second with a seemingly emotionless look, tension still present in his eybrows

you know he probably wanted to be left alone, his body language said it all. the desire to comfort him tugs at you, wanting to step forward and reach out, to brush your fingers along his jaw, to caress the sharpness of his stern yet tender face

''why are you here?'', he bites in a monotone tone, ripping you out of your thoughts

you clear your throat, ''I just wanted to see if you’re alright... maybe help you,” you say, the words feel awkward, out of place, like you’re intruding

his eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something sharp, almost like a reflex. then, it morphs into a cold, bitter look of disgust. “I don’t need any help,” he mutters

''rafe you’re bleeding - badly'', you utter throwing a glance toward the gash which, even in bad lightning, was clearly deeper than he realized as it had oozed so much blood that it had almost covered the right side of his face. ''I just-'' you falter before sighing, ''I didn’t know what happened and I was concerned''

you weren’t entirely sure why you were confessing your concern - it wasn’t exactly something that came naturally with rafe cameron. the alcohol in your system seemed to loosen the edge

seemingly bother by you answer, not even sparing you a look he replies, ''I don’t need your pity, run back to sarah or something'' he motions you away with his hand

you bite your lip, clearly fighting a mental battle whether or not to leave him alone. you notice his hands shaking, not sure whether it was from anger pain or something else

slightly tipsy you gather the courage to ask once again, pushing his annoyance aside because you so desperately want to help him, feeling your heart hurt seeing him like this

you try one last time, ''your hands are shaking, you sure you can patch yourslef up? I really just wanna help you rafe. but if you really want me to go say it - then Ill leave'', finishing you realize how pathetic you sounded, internally cringing but hoping it would convince him and make him see that you really did care about him

silence

rafe looks at you quickly noticing your concerned face filled with worry, even though his look was quick you notice that it changed, something changed, but before you can even get close to figuring out what he turns back around and takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the cool air, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not meeting yours again

he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting up in a haze, but the tension in the air thickens instead of easing

defeated, you turn away, the weight of the silence too much to bear. you don’t say anything, no last attempt to reach him

suddenly you hear a quiet ''wait'' from rafe, so faint it wouldn’t have been audible if you had taken two more steps

you turn your head around quickly, trying to figure out if he really just said that but when you catch him putting out his cigarette into the ashtray you realise that he did

he turns around as you take a few steps towards him. his face barely visible from his dark room - only illuminated lightly by the moonlight and the soft glow from the party below - holds a stern and tense look, his jaw clenched with tension, vulnerability present in his eyes

rafe still hasn’t said another word but you’re easily able to read his expression and figure out what he wants you to do

relief washing over you you exhale a big breath, ''okay where’s the med kit?''

''bathroom'', is the only thing he says, voice low, eyes still focused on you - unwavering

you turn around and step into the bathroom, the small space a contrast to the size of his bedroom. quickly you begin searching the cabinets, your mind already running through the steps you’d need to take. already thinking about where would be the best place to clean and dress his wound, somewhere where he can sit down, somewhere you can work without too much trouble - before finding the med kit under his sink

a subtle warmth creeps up your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. you turn around noticing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door - watching you with those empty yet pleading eyes before his gaze flickers over to the mirror - he’s lost in his reflection for a moment, studying himself

rafe stands there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. then, with a quiet click, he closes the door behind him, fully stepping into the bathroom. the music muffles and the air between you tightens. you swallow, heart racing - you try to focus on the medkit in your hands. he moves past you slowly, sitting down on the toilet lid

right now, in the bright light of the bathroom, you’re finally able to see the full extent of his wounds as he holds his head up, avoiding your gaze. examining his wounds you settle on tending to his eyebrow first

you can tell that he’s not ready to talk about the fight or whatever happened. the air is heavy and something in his silence tells you not to push. so, you don’t, you stay quiet. setting the med kit down on the counter searching for the right tools, you feel suffocated by the silence, so awfully aware of every, rigid and nervous, breath you took

ready you turn back to rafe whose gaze is set onto the ground, still lost in thought - you try to clear your throat to catch his attention, to notify him that you’re ready and willing to tend to his wounds

he looks at you with a look, a look so vulnerable and hurt that it pulled at your heart. whatever he was just thinking must’ve hit him hard - the weight of it is there, written across his face, and you feel it in your chest. rafe’s eyes still carry that glassy, fluorid stare, as if he's still not fully aware of everything around him, making you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s letting slip

you figure that however you were to approach this - it would be awkward either way

you looked at him with a nervous look, alcohol-soaked cotton pad in hand - standing right in front of him, you hesitated as your eyes met his. he lifts his head a little farther up for you to get better access to his wounds. rafe is leaning forward, legs spread with his forearms resting on his knees, crossing his hands slightly in front of him infront - still at an awkward length until he fully uncrosses his hands, resting them on his knees. you waited, unsure if you’re allowed to enter the space, looking for a look of approval in his distant eyes. he nods - the faintest movement of his head, barely visible

his eyes carry a look that’s hard to read, an expression that makes you wonder if there’s a storm raging inside his mind or if he’s drifting into an unsettling emptiness

settling in between his knees - still trying to keep some sort of distance, unsure what was or wasn’t crossing the line, you bring the cotton pad up to his face. you gently start cleaning off the, mostly already, dried blood before moving on to his gash. the second it hits his skin again his eyes - which have been avoiding yours from the second he nodded - close, his jaw clenching pain evident although he tried not to show it, putting up some sort of barrier to, even in this vulnerable state, seem unbothered - strong

while cleaning you notice his hands, resting on his knees, and fingers lightly grazing against the fabric of your shorts, the lightest of touches—almost like a subconscious gesture. it’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but the tension it creates fills the space between you

you focus on your task, but it’s harder now, your hand faltering slightly with each light graze of his fingers

the delicate movement of his fingers almost like a distraction from the physical discomfort he’s trying to hide so well. it makes you wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or if he’s just too lost in the moment to notice what he’s doing

after cleaning everything off in the best way you could you apply some zip stitches to at least momentarily close the wound. his breath hitches as you press the last stitch into place, but he doesn’t move or make a sound, the mask of stoic restraint still firmly in place

you couldn’t figure out if rafe was actually aware that he was pulling you closer to himself

by the time you were ready to clean his lip the distance between you was so minimal that you could barely clean it properly. the closeness making every slight movement feel amplified now, the soft brush of his breath, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between avoiding yours and briefly meeting your gaze

you gently press the cotton to his lip, your fingers grazing his skin in the process. the way his gaze flicks up to meet yours for a split second makes your heart skip, throwing off your rhythm.

you hesitate for a moment, your heart racing in the silence between you. the closeness is overwhelming, and you know you need to steady yourself, to find a way to regain control. your fingers tremble slightly as you lift your hand, almost instinctively, and you gently place it on the side of his face. the warmth of his skin is a shock, he lets out a soft exhale which you wouldn’t have noticed if you werent holding his face with your hand - but he doesn’t pull away.

you angle his face just enough to get a better view, but the movement feels more like an anchor for yourself, the subtle pressure of your hand on his skin keeps you tethered, even as the air between you thickens with something unsaid

you press the pad to his lip slowly, careful and deliberate, but your fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath brushes against you, warm and shallow

it’s hard to focus with the way his gaze lingers on you, the way your hand feels on his face

his lips part quickly as you tend his wound - the area lightly swollen, thankfully not comparable to his eyebrow gash

you finish tending to his face, placing a last small plaster, hurting at the loss of contact. you take a look back and admire your work and him. the quiet stillness between you both feels oddly heavy, but the comfort of knowing he’s patched up - protected for now - settles in

you dread saying the words a loud, not wanting to lose this moment, not wanting to end it - not sure what it even was

''done''

the hands behind you tighten their grip, slowly pulling you even closer, eliminating the space between you. your body freezes for a second - caught off guard. his head reasts on your upper body, sending a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, you're aware of every breath, every beat of your heart

his breath is steady, slow, but there’s an unmistakable force in the way he holds you, a quiet urgency that makes your mind go blank

his grip, though firm, isn't forceful - more like an unspoken invitation, urging you, pleading you, to stay within the space he's created. he held on with such a purpose - it made it seem like you would evaporate the second he let go

you place one hand gently in his hair, testing the waters, seeing if he'd be comfortable with you running your fingers through it. the other one rests on his back

rafe flinches when you tryto pull him closer, putting pressure on his back

you let the moment linger for a few seconds more before speaking up, breaking the comforting silence which rested between you, ''rafe let me see your back''

he pulls back and looks at you for a second, his look completely unreadable. this time he complied. he stands up with a slow, deliberate motion and turns around. he lifts his shirt as far up as he could, pain clearly holding him back. gently taking hold of the shirt from his hand, you ease the fabric upward, careful to avoid causing him any more pain as you lift it higher

his back is painted with all sorts of colours - some bruises worse than others. you flinch at the sight, although you’re a little relieved to see no cuts

seeing there is nothing you can do you let his shirt fall back down, very carefully smoothing it on his back - hoping to provide some comfort with the soft touch

as you move next to him to rest a hand on his bicep, you ask him with a hushed voice, ''can I get you a new shirt'', meeting his gaze, ''yours is full of blood''

fully aware that the line that was not to be crossed has now become blurred

rafe nodded

you leave his side, moving to his drawer - your fingers fumble slightly as you sift through the clothes, searching for a shirt. you pick out a loose one, one that would not press against his back too much or that would be a struggle to put on

he now sat on his bed, patiently waiting for you, watching you

you turn back to him, seeing his eyes, his expression. a storm of thoughts no longer visible, only exhaustion

''is this one okay?'' you questioned. he nodded before clearing his throat and lowering his gaze, ''can you help me put it on'', clearly exhausted

you pull hisshirt up slowly, carefully and for a moment you’re stunned, staring in silence. the sight that greets you is just as shocking as it is heartbreaking - his chest is as bruised as his back

rafe is clearly avoiding your eyes, looking to his left with a tense jaw

without saying another word you pull the other shirt over his head, standing before him, ''are you gonna go back down?''

he replies with a shake of his head, ''no''

you quietly stars at him for a few seconds more, debating how to continue then letting your legs carry you towards the bathroom to clean up. but just as you turn to leave, you feel his hand snap out, gripping your wrist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. the touch was immediate, urgent, as though he couldn’t let you go. but then, as quickly as it had come, his grip softened, the tension draining away as he loosened his hold

your eyes flicker back to him

“stay”

[dreamsteddie]

AITA Steddie Au Part Three

Part Two

Hello! Sorry for the delay! This week was very busy with student conferences and my own midterms so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. This is more of an interlude building up to bigger things, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also! Get in the comments if you have any ideas of an actual name for this series so I can stop calling it AITA Steeddie Au. I can't think of anything good 😓

------

Eddie takes Steve on that second date.

And then a third and a fourth and eventually he stops counting because he's seeing Steve as often as he can between their jobs and other responsibilities. He feels high off it, giddy with possibility and hope for this new thing that he's never had before.

Eddie has done relationships before, a couple of times. A small handful of boys and girls he took out on dates and tried his best to woo all went up in flames one way or another, but none of those relationships left him feeling so gone so fast. He felt like he was always holding himself back from giving himself up completely, too afraid of falling without a safety net to reach for that deep devotion he's always craved.

Steve makes him feel like they're plunging into that unknown together.

Still, no matter how much he's been trying to avoid it, the looming specter of what the hell to do about his friends is looming over his head.

------

"Are you fucking serious right now dude?" Eddie asks, a complicated mix of righteous anger, humiliation for himself and Steve, and complete disbelief at Gareth's unwillingness to back down from this making it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that Steve is like, the complete antithesis of literally everything we stand for. He's a nepo baby business major who's never had an original thought in his life! I would know! I've read one of his papers." Gareth says, forced nonchalance coloring his tone and riling Eddie up even more.

He rears up, shoulders pushing back and hands grasping at the air like he could pull down his frustration from the either and condense it into a solid ball he could lob at Garteth's head to finally knock some goddamn sense into his brain.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, Eddie, I'm really sorry about this. It was a fucked up idea, I don't know what we were thinking." Jeff interveins before the frustrated banshy noises Eddie is letting out turn into another yelling match that won't get anyone anywhere.

"I think we just got too caught up wanting to help you get out of this rut and it all turned into something completely insane. You don't gotta forgive us Eddie, but if there's anything we can do to try and make up for it, we'll do it. Isn't that right Gareth?" Jeff pointedly asked with a look that says agree with me right now or else.

Gareth doesn't say anything.

The thing about all of this that Eddie just can't wrap his head around is the why. Why would his friends, his sheepies, do something so cruel? He knows none of them have ever looked kindly at people like Steve. Too many traumatizing high school humiliations behind them all to trust when someone who looks so much like all the guys who bullied them in high school tries to reach out, but Gareth and Jeff have never tried something like this. In fact, it's used to be Eddie doing most of the anti-jock revenge planning back in the day, even if nothing ever actually came from it.

He thought, incorrectly it seems, that they had grown out of the worst of it by now. It's been three years since Garteth graduated, and five since Eddie made his final attempt, and leaving their hometown behind did a lot to heal old hurts.

So why this? Why now?

"Is this seriously how it's going to be man? You won't tell me what the fuck any of this was really about and you're not even going to try and apologize? Seriously?" The righteous anger is starting to seep out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Gareth just continues to stare at him defiantly, not saying a word.

Eddie pinches his nose and takes a deep breath, "You know what? Fine. Whatever. If this is how it's going to be then I'm out. Jeff, I'll talk to you later, probably not for a little bit though. Gareth?" The other man lifts his head from where he'd been looking down at his shoes. There were tears in his eyes, just a little bit but enough for Eddie to clock it. Face red from some unnamed cocktail of emotions Eddie doesn't have the energy or desire to interrogate right now. "Call me when you're ready to grow the fuck up. I've got a second date to plan."

With that, Eddie turned on his heel and made for the open garage door.

"What about the band, man?!" Gareth called.

Eddie kept walking.

-------

That was over four weeks ago.

He hasn't spoken to Gareth for most of that time. The first couple of days he blew up his phone with angry to half-apologizing texts that Eddie promptly ignored. After the second day, he sent a single text back letting him know he didn't want to talk unless he had a real explanation and apology to give both him and Steve and that he was going to block his number for a little while. He could let Freak know if he was ever ready to talk like adults. Eddie trusted him to tell if Gareth was being genuine.

In other news.

Waking up to strong arms secured around his naked waist is fast becoming Eddie's favorite way to start the day. He and Steve slept together for the first time last week, and since then it's like neither of them can get enough of each other.

"Hey, baby." Steve rasps in his ear, tilting his head down to smear sleepy kisses onto his shoulder. The hand that was resting against his ribs meanders its way down to the trail of hair under his navel, scratching just a little and making Eddie feel like a contented mutt. He's not sure if he should feel horny or like he could sink into the mattress and sleep for another full 8 if Steve keeps holding him like his.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he says deciding that a couple more hours of sleep is definitely the way to go. Steve, it seems, has other idead.

"What you thinkin' about this early in the morning?" He asks, hand continuing to scratch lazily at Eddie's stomach like he's not completely destroying Eddie's will and ability to focus on anything but the warm body behind him.

But it's been a long time coming, and as much as he doesn't want to, Eddie needs to start thinking about what he wants to do about his friends? former friends? estranged family? band and Steve deserves to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie sits up, bringing Steve up with him to rest against the headboard. "I've been thinking about the band. Gareth and Jeff, that is." He pauses, waits for some kind of reaction that doesn't come. Steve looks concerned, but not in the way he thought he would.

"Ok." Steve responds, waiting for more.

"I guess I just don't know what to do." He looks out into the middle distance of Steve's bedroom. Takes in the display of swim, basketball, and baseball trophies displayed proudly on a shelf, catching the early morning light. "I'm still so fucking mad. It's honestly kind of irritating how mad it makes me to think of what they did. It was so fucking stupid."

Steve hums a little, letting Eddie get it out.

"But at the same time I can't help but fucking miss them. Miss the music and the campaigns and everything else." It's honestly been eating him alive, the mix of anger and longing he's been feeling for his friends. The constant longing to go back in time and stop them from concocting this shit show but also, like, stalk Gareth to his 8 AM Business class so he can run into Steve and they can fall in love at first sight or some shit.

Silence.

Steve shifts. Moves so he can look Eddie right in the face. He looks thoughtful in a way that Eddie had to get used to. Sometimes when Steve is thinking hard about something, he scrunches his face in such a way that it makes him look like he's judging you. He isn't, it's just an unfortunate fact of life that his baby has a resting Judgemental Face™.

Steve heaves out a big breath, bringing Eddie back down to earth. "I mean, I don't want to, like, cloud your judgement or whatever but maybe you should try and talk to them one more time. Jeff appologized right?"

And, ok that's definetly not what Eddie was expecting to hear. It must show on his face because Steve is suddenly looking away, embaraced.

"I just..." He trails off, taking his own turn staring out at the dull shine of his old acomplishments. Eddie watches as his face once again turns pensive as he stares harder at the remnents of his high school acheivements.

"I used to be a pretty shitty guy. Did the same kind of shit your buddies did a couple of times." This isn't necessarily news to Eddie. They've talked a little about who Steve was in high school and how much work he put into himself before he decided to go back to college. It's still a bit of a shock to hear, though.

"So I get how someone can make a mistake like that, y'know? So if you want to try and talk it out, I won't be offended. I know we're in this together, now." Peace said, Steve reaches for Eddie's hand and gives it a squeeze.

It hits Eddie again, just how good Steve Harrington is. It hasn't been long, not really, since they got together but they've fallen together so completley, so easily, that it's easy to forget that there's still so much they have to learn, so many layers for Eddie to peal back. Behind every judgemental remark and complaint about the frequent phone calls he gets from chuldren he used to babysit in his hometown is a man who cares deeply and is capable of great forgiveness, even if it hasn't been earned yet.

Eddie squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it's not we have to totally forgive them, right? But I think you need to get a real answer from both of them about why it happened. Maybe you can find a way past it, maybe they'll say something that puts the nail in the coffin." He responds.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and thinks.

Steve is right. Eddie isn't satisfied with any of the answers he got last time, and he knows that there has to be more to the story than "trying to get Eddie out of a rut" and he's not going to be able to put any of this to rest until he understands.

"Ok, yeah. I'll call them." Steve gives him an encouraging smile at that, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand where they haven't let go yet.

"Good, I'm glad. And I can come with you if you want. Hit em from both sides." he says. Eddie think's he'll take him up on that offer, but right now he had more imporant things to do. Namely, tackling his sweet boyfriend onto the mattress and having a mid morning tousle.

"We'll see. Right now I've got more imporant things to do." He says in his best aproximation of a sultry voice. He doesn't know how good it really is, but it seems to work based on the way Steve's eyes get hooded and he looks down at Eddie's mouth.

Gotcha.

Before Steve can lean down and kiss him, Eddie snaps his hands down to his boyfriend's sides in a well executed tickle atack. Steve immedietly jolts and starts howling with laughter, yelling between breaths that Eddie is "a fucking asshole" as he continues his relentless atacks.

Eventually, Steve manages to regain his bearings and go on the offence, turning them over and trapping his boyfriend's hands beneath his knees so he can atack Eddie's equally ticklish sides.

Once the late morning has passes into early noon and they've both settled back into Steve's signifigantly more rumpled be, Eddie takes one more moment to think about the furute to come before he shelves it. He knows that whatever conversation is to come, it won't be easy, and even if things go as smoothly as possible with Gareth and Jeff, things will never be the same between them all.

Looking down at Steve, who is sporting the most outrageous bedhead in human history, laughing at the stream of reals Robin sent him in the middle of the night, he thinks he'll be okay either way.

Tag List

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[aakeysmash]

a favour from college!sukuna for teaching yuuji about female private parts? deal!

college!sukuna masterlist

Your house keys dingle from your pointer finger while you get your shoes off on your front door porch.

“Hello, I’m ho- what are you doing?” You stop walking, seeing a distraught Sukuna.

“The time has come,” he tells you gravely, not looking up. His hair is a mess and his eye bags are darker than usual.

“What time?” You ask confused, pit patting toward the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate. You ponder for a moment with the cabinet doors open, thinking about whether to make him one too or not, finally shrugging and deciding on picking up his cup.

“You know. That time. Yuuji. At school,” he deadpans, breathing hard between words.

“What are you even talking about?” You respond, still not grabbing the concept, swirling a spoon in both cups. You just get a grunt that sounds awfully close to a whine from Sukuna. That’s such odd behaviour from him.

“Are you going to faint? Do you have a fever?” You say, now worried, reaching his still crouching form. You gently lift his face with one hand, putting the other one on his forehead. The way he lets you do it, compliantly and so naturally, worries you even more. He just stares at you, a little frown between his eyebrows, eyes a little bit lucid and he almost looks… he almost looks cute.

“You’re alright, big guy,” you softly say, booping his nose, getting your hands off of his face and hurrying back to your hot chocolate cups. He is definitely in a moment, because usually he would've bitten your whole finger off. He wrinkles his nose, scowling, before apparently realizing something and hastily getting up. He grabs your wrist and spins you around, but the strength he does it with whips you around so suddenly that you bump into his chest quite hard.

“What?!”

“You do it,” he tells you, crazy eyes wide open. He puts his rough hands on both your shoulders, stabilizing you, keeping you close enough to be able to talk to you properly but not far enough you can get away.

“What the fuck do I have to do now?” You bark, trying to wriggle out of his hold, unsuccessfully.

“Teach Yuuji about your sex parts, I’ll teach him about mine,” he rushes out, pleading eyes turned on your face.

You gape up at him, stopping your movements, and you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. You raise an eyebrow, as if asking him if he’s serious, but his expression doesn’t change. A snort comes out of your throat.

“You mean to tell me you’re fussing about having to talk about vaginas?” You ask him, now full on laughing in his face. He pushes you a bit, releasing you and grumbling.

“I’m not doing it,” he tells you, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know where to start! He came home asking me where the fuck the urethra is in females and I crashed out,” he shakes his head, distraught, your laugh still ringing in his ears.

“Do you even know the answer to that?” You smirk, turning around to put some whipped cream on your hot chocolate, and giving him his cup (no whipped cream: it's "too unhealthy" for him).

“Want me to point it out on your pussy, baby?” He scoffs, taking one big gulp of his drink.

You gasp, punching him in the stomach. He doesn’t budge and his smirk widens.

“You’re so crude. That’s it, I’m not doing it,” you tell him, walking past him, trying to contain your laugh about how his face drops immediately.

“No, wait- baby, you know I was joking,” he complains, following you toward the couch. Like a lost kitten following its owner when it hears the sound of croquettes.

“Why can’t you do it yourself anyway?” You chuckle. “Are you afraid of vaginas?”

“I wouldn’t be afraid of yours, that’s for sure,” he says, alluring, giving you a once over while you sit. He licks up a drop of chocolate left on his lower lip.

You scoff again. "Boo, bitch."

He tries a different approach. “You’re smarter than me on the subject, you’d be better than me anyway,” The act of complimenting someone is taking a toll on him. He grits his teeth.

“What am I getting out of this?” You grin, getting whipped cream on your nose and crossing your legs.

“Whatever you want, baby. Please, come on,” he crouches in front of you. “I even said please, see? You complained about it last week and I listened,” he croaks, clicking his tongue on his palate. Being nice is harder than he thought. If he has to keep it up he’s going to have a heart attack, he thinks.

“Yeah, because you want something out of it. It doesn’t count,” you sigh, closing your eyes. He shrugs. “But I’m in. I’m helping Yuuji on the big bad wolf his brother is scared of and you’re doing me a favor. Deal?”

“I’ll always deal with you, baby,” he winks. He leans over you, swiping the tip of your nose with his thumb, proceeding then to put his finger in his mouth.

“Stop with the double entendres!”

"Why don't you do this color?" asks Yuuji, next to you. There are 3 different shades of pink nail polish in front of you, and you've been thinking of which one to use on your nails for the past 10 minutes.

"I don't know, isn't it a little bit too pink-brownish?" you respond, tilting your head, pondering.

"Then this one. It matches my hair, so we could be matching!" the little kid says excitedly. Then he turns to look at you properly, the tip of his ears turning a deep red. "Only if you want, though," he continues, shily, averting your gaze after uttering the words.

Your heart squeezes painfully. "Of course I want to, Yuuji. I think that's the prettiest color out of the three," you say, ruffling his hair sweetily.

"Can you not stink the whole fucking place?" grumbles Sukuna entering the living room, grimace present on his face, barely nodding at Yuuji's wave.

"It's just a bit of nail polish, Itadori," you roll your eyes.

"I don't even know why you bother with that," he scoffs, going toward the couch, grabbing the tv remote.

"Because I'm pretty and I'm not a hater like someone else in this room," you throw back, scowling. He stays silent. "What, you don't think I'm pretty?" you ask, baffled. Sukuna side-eyes you, raising one eyebrow, before turning his gaze back to the tv.

"I think you're the prettiest," answers Yuuji in his brother's place, smiling.

"I can always count on you, Yuu," you coo, hugging him tight, and he chuckles, happy. Sukuna makes a weird sound, like he's actually disgusted about the topic.

"You know what? You're going to get some nail polish too," you say, pointing an accusatory finger in the oldest direction.

"Hell no," he immediately answers, glaring your way.

"Uhm, hell yes," you sneer.

"I said no, woman."

A light bulb figuratively pops up next to your face, and you grin, getting up and around the table to face him better. "Matter of fact, Sukuna, you owe me, so you'll do what I say."

He snaps his head toward you. "You wouldn't dare."

"Get your ass over here, big boy, you're getting your nails painted," you sing-song, doing a come here motion with your index finger. You see his jaw tick incredibly hard from where you stand, and he begrudgingly reaches you with his fists clenched.

"I hate you, bitch," he seethes when he's right in front of you.

"Can I get it too?!" screams Yuuji, bouncing up and down.

"Done," you say, delicately putting Sukuna's left hand on the table. After arguing for 15 minutes on the color, he only agreed to let you paint his nails black. If it was for you, he'd have at least 5 different colors on them. He hums.

"It's not that bad, is it?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "I think I did a pretty good job. Black fits your hands really well," you ramble on, applying hand cream on his rough finger pads. Actually fucking training will do that to you, he barked when you complained about his callouses a few minutes ago.

"Stop acting like I'm one of your girls," sighs your roommate, shaking his pink roots.

"You're my main girl, Sukuna," you smirk, sending him a flying kiss.

He gags. "Never say that shit again or I'm pulling out your vocal chords with my new freshly done nails," he says, mocking you in the last part of the sentence, tilting his voice incredibly high.

"Ohhh. You actually like them, huh," you respond, seeing through his bluff, smiling with your full teeth on display. He scoffs, looking over at his now black nails. He has to admit, you did your thing with them.

"Like is a strong word."

"So, you... love them?"

"Shut up."

[sturn777]

fb!chris meeting dealer!reader for the first time . | ( female!reader ) wc 0.7k ( library ) + ( request )

꒰ა " you got me high, you got me high, and i ain't coming down . " ໒꒱

the bass thumps so loud you can feel it in your chest, rattling your ribcage like a warning. the frat house reeks of stale beer, weed, and cheap cologne, the air thick with sweat and bad decisions. you weave through the crowd, the thin material of your top brushing against sticky red solo cups and the occasional wandering hand. you don’t stop, don’t even look back, just give them a sharp elbow or a glare over your shoulder. they get the message — you’re here on business, not pleasure.

chris notices you the second you walk in.

he’s leaned up against the kitchen counter, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, looking like sin in a backwards cap and a hoodie. he’s laughing at something nate said, the sound low and careless, like he owns the world and everything in it. and maybe he does. at least, this world—the frat house, the party, the girls who keep brushing against him, pretending it’s an accident.

but then his eyes land on you, and the smirk slips just a little.

you don’t notice him at first. or maybe you do, but you don’t care. you’re too busy scanning the room, looking for your buyer, the weight of the little baggies in your pocket pressing against your thigh. it’s not until you hear his voice, lazy and dripping with confidence, that you turn around.

"yo, yeah— you. y'gonna sell me sum stuff or nah?"

he’s closer now, standing right in front of you, and you have to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. his usually icy blue eyes are dark, hooded, like he’s already bored with whatever game he’s about to start.

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “depends. you got cash, or are you just here to waste my time?”

his smirk returns, sharper now, like he wasn’t expecting you to bite back. most girls don’t. “damn. y’got some bite, huh?” he steps closer, crowding into your space, testing the waters. you don’t move, don’t flinch, just hold his gaze with a steady calm that throws him off. “i don’t bite unless i’m paid extra.”

he huffs a laugh, low and rough, taking a slow sip of his beer while his eyes rake over you. “yeah, a'ight. let’s see what you got.”

you don’t break eye contact as you pull a small baggie out of your jacket pocket, holding it up between two manicured fingers. the overhead light catches on the powder, making it shimmer like something expensive.

he leans in, close enough that you can smell the beer and weed on his breath, the faint trace of something minty. “this the good shit, or you tryna scam me?” you tilt your head, a challenge sparking in your eyes. “best around. can y'handle it?”

his jaw tightens, just for a second, before the smirk’s back in full force. “y'cold, ain't ya?" he mutters, shaking his head like he’s impressed. you shrug, slipping the baggie back into your pocket.

for a moment, he just stares at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then he steps back, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “how much?”

you name your price, and he doesn’t even blink, just tosses a couple of bills onto the counter like it’s nothing. you hand over the baggie, your fingers brushing for half a second before you pull away. “pleasure doin’ business,” you say, already turning to leave.

but his voice stops you, cutting through the haze of music and voices like a blade. “what’s your name?” he calls out. you glance over your shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “why? planning on writing me a love letter?”

he laughs, the sound warmer than it should be, and for a second, you almost believe it’s real. “nah. just wanna know who i’m gonna be thinkin’ 'bout later.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you walk away. but you don’t miss the way his gaze lingers, following you through the crowd like a promise.