#the humanity of Still Wakes the Deep

[joliackermann]

Just a human

Hello :3 The Addair post I have been warning you all about is finally here. I have so much more to say, but I feel like this post would end up being much too long if I would add all that as well. Spoilers for the game! Have fun :3 And if you have anything to add, feel free to leave a comment! Also please tell me if there are any issues with the screenshots enqonkfmqf I hope everything works! The way the game decides to present Addair is quite interesting. Every step was thought through and with intention. Assuming the player walks around, looking at the different rooms, the first impression one is going to have about Addair is going to be quite a negative one. Like in any other videogame, most people just walk around, looking for things they can click on. The only thing that fits this criteria in Addairs room is this poster:

This instantly lets the player know that this person is not someone who is liked by the main protagonist, and thus probably not a person that should be liked by the player either. The game's intentions are clear. But what I found interesting is that this poster is not the main focus when you view it.

This is what it looks like when you click on it. As you can see, the poster, the thing Caz comments on, is not in the middle, not the sole main focus. Even though Caz doesn’t comment on it, and quite frankly, most people choose to ignore it, there are pictures of children up on the wall as well. The game even lets you get closer to them by putting them basically right in front of you. Like it’s telling you “Hey look, this man isn’t that bad, you just have to look for yourself” but in a really obvious way. Most people just don’t seem to look that far. While Caz only comments on the poster, the pictures are right there. This man is a father and he cares enough to hang his children up on the wall. 

This is a screenshot of his desk, With a letter written by his child, a cute little drawing of an oil rig and a card from someone, telling him to come home soon. This man has a family. They miss him. Reading the letter written by the child, the player learns that the little horse figure belongs to the child and Addair has it there to repair it, just like he did with the child's skates earlier. One of Addairs voice lines is "Think of the money, just think of the money." Working on an oil rig pays well. Going by his voice lines, and the fact that Addair would rather spend the time fixing his childrens toys than buying new ones, it is highly likely that his family has some issues when it comes to money. 

He has even more drawings hanging in his room:

This man has a family at home that misses him and, going by this note from Trots, also a child that something has happened to? It doesn’t really specify what happened, but the note says “Sorry to hear about your wee lad.” Which, btw, beautifully highlights the humanity of these characters. Trots and Addair have quite different ideologies and opinions, but that doesn’t stop Trots from adding this line to his note. He doesn’t have to. Addair would probably not care if it wasn’t there. But this is a beautiful example of how the game makes these characters feel like actual human beings. 

As the player continues his way through the game, most people will probably end up in the crew lounge by this point. There are two minor things I want to talk about here really quickly. The first thing is the darts tournament.

Addair didn’t even sign up, implying that he doesn’t really want to have anything to do with the others, or they with him. 

The next thing are the jukebox suggestions.

Addairs suggestion does not receive a single vote, implying that he is very much alone in his taste when it comes to music. 

Moving on to the canteen where the player talks for the first and the only time with Addair. The conversation is very much negative, with Addair and Caz provoking and insulting each other, Addair even threatening Caz with his butterknife at one point. Realistically speaking, the knife would probably not have done any real harm, but the symbolism speaks for itself. But look at the way Addair is sitting:

He is sitting on his own in the corner of this big room, facing the others. Why is he sitting alone?

They even wrote “eejit” next to his name. 

Why is he facing the room? Maybe because he does not trust the others. Or maybe because, even though they don’t like him and he does not like them, he still wants to feel like he is a part of this group. Imagine being away from your family in the middle of the North fucking Sea, at a workplace where nobody likes you and disrespects you. At some point, you are starting to feel lonely. Especially when you constantly have to see how great everybody else gets along. 

And it’s not just that he is facing the room. He is sitting in the corner, where he can really just see about everything without really having to look around much.

Basically the game intentionally presents Addair in a negative way, encouraging through intentional game design decisions to manipulate the viewer into thinking that this must be a bad person before even ever meeting him. BUT the beauty of this game is that it doesn’t keep you from looking at things. Yes, it encourages you to look at some things more than others, but it doesn’t really keep you from looking at everything else.As already said earlier, that poster in Addairs room is the thing the game wants you to look at. But it never keeps you from looking at the photos of his family, the letter or the drawings his kids made. Even when the game doesn't shove all that information into your face, it’s still all there for the player to look at. 

The player doesn’t have to, but if they want to, all the resources are there to dive deeper into Addairs character. How troubled he is, what things in life are important to him and where he struggles. He is just like everybody else on this rig. Even though this is just a videogame and Addair is not the main protagonist, he feels authentic and complex. He is flawed and vulnerable. He has a family, interests, a hobby, certain skills. Sure, he may be a bit insecure or socially awkward or have a different political view as his colleagues, but at his core, Addair is very much just a human.  

[zeondraws]

Thanks @sukipershipper for sharing a silly video of Gibbo’s VA. I kept thinking about it so I had to make a dumb drawing about Gibbo.

Please watch it if you can (I died of laughter)

[glassandhamsandwich]

if you haven’t already can you draw Trots? I think he’s neat <3

Two drawings for two requests 😼

Trots with a cleft lip WHO'S WITH ME!!!!!!!! (everybody cheers and claps and is so excited)

[c1trvswurld]

Dood still wakes the deep has to be one of the best horror games in recent that I've played. One of the best depictions of cosmic horror that gets more dreadful the more your replay it and realize you doom yourself simply by being there. It was a losing battle from the start

[thegameartist03]

watched a playthrough of Still Wakes the Deep (PHENOMENAL game) and i am disappointed that Caz did not have that taffy in him. everything seemed like it was perfectly set up for him to have that taffy in him (being presumed dead after rescue, knowing where the taffy stuff was around him, surviving as long as he did, not getting horribly injured, hearing things from the Big Taffy) but i completely understand why that wasn't the twist the game developers went for.

however, in order to cope i am now imagining a version of the game where Caz got Ethan Winters'd by the taffy after he fell in the water. this would affect the gameplay at multiple points and add new mechanics as well as incorporate the original ones, and certainly provide some conflict for a man who just wants to get home to his wife and daughters and keep his friends safe.

bonus! being taffy'd would give the player the option to save people who originally died by sacrificing Caz's humanity bit by bit and embracing the taffy more to overcome obstacles. you could even communicate with the already fully taffy'd guys and get them to calm down or move or target specifically you instead of other people.

just a concept, i probably won't do much with it. but i do have a very distinct image of Caz having a shiny oilslick sheen to his eyes like the Big Taffy after he's pulled out of the water.

[jadedaegis]

Oil Rigs look god in the eyes and spits on their shoes

SERIOUSLY WHO JUST WENT:

"Ah, mhyes quite. The Number Must Climb™; sacrifice peasantry to collect the Death that coalesces in locked-away packets of the deepest underground depths. This death has rotted beyond normal decomposition, giving it undue ability to effectively reanimate inanimate matter upon combustion. "

AND THEN CONTINUED WITH:

"Furthermore, we shall build a monument to this Death; a Hell borne of jagged angles and crude iron. Behold, ye witless peons! Harvest for with me! Partake of what we know not of handling! Imbue life into our mechanical automatons; derive VIGOR from DEATH! A brutalist siphon that exchanges life quality for work quantity- directly converting my serfdom's labor into cold! Hard! Cash! This has no chance of hurting the entire species. Harvesting the energy of death is a smart and sane thing to do : ) "

[faerynphoenix]

INTRO

[sysig]

idontwannabeyouanymore (Patreon)

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 2

A normal person should be allowed to have normal problems, right? You’re no exception. You have a job that forces you to get out of bed at 8 AM, a shitty apartment that needs to be cleaned and tidied from time to time, bills to pay.

You have a life, you’re busy. But god, you’re exhausted!

You may be an adult, but you’re still young, and sometimes you just need to take a little break from everything!

So when you decide to spend your money on a modest trip to the countryside, staying in a secluded but cozy cabin, you’re finally able to relax…

CRASH!

Or maybe not.

Yandere! Alien who crashes his ship near your cabin, and is pretty much trapped in the debris.

Yandere! Alien who you manage to find through all the metallic rubble, using all your strength to drag his large body to your cabin. Tending to him despite your raw confusion and fear. Trying your best to steady your shaking hands to clean his wounds. How were you supposed to clean a wound again? Ugh! Maybe reddit knows?

Yandere! Alien who in his almost unconscious state, looks at you through half lidded eyes, taking in your soft features and small frame. You look so cute with his blood all over your hands! He can’t believe he got saved by such an adorable human. He needs to learn your culture so he can court you properly. Oh! Will you accept him right away or will you wait a little? Will you come live with him on his planet or should he just remain here with you?

Yandere! Alien who eventually passes out with a lazy smile painting his face, dreaming of how your relationship will develop.

Yandere! Alien who wakes up the next day with waves of pain rushing through his body. But he can only focus on the faint smell that envelops him. The bed he’s lying in…it must be yours! It smells just like you. He takes a deep breath, taking in your sweet aroma. He then gets up from the bed slowly, letting out a groan, he ventures through the cabin until he finds you.

Yandere! Alien who sees you pacing around the living room with a tired and stressed look. Oh, his poor human. You didn’t expect to meet him, neither did he. But don’t worry, he’ll take care of you from now on. After all, you saved him, so it’s the least he can do!

Yandere! Alien who clings to you constantly. He just can’t be away from you! You smell so good, and you’re cute, and small, and so...his. He thought that physical contact was the universal way to show affection, so why are you trying to push him away when he hugs you? It must be a game, right? Yeah, you’re just being silly!

Yandere! Alien who tries to learn your language through shows and movies, while also trying to learn a more human way to court you. It isn’t perfect, but at least you can understand him now.

Yandere! Alien who completely ruined the normality of your life. Having to take him to your house and give him a home. Cause who knows what could happen to him if you don’t? What if the government finds him and experiments with him in a lab? You don’t want that in your conscience!

Yandere! Alien who hates when you go to work. But if he finds out that you’re going out with your friends or, God forbid, a man? Oh, yeah, you’re definitely not leaving. Have fun trying though.

Yandere! Alien who enjoys seeing you struggle against his grip. He’s so much larger and stronger than you. You could bite, scratch, and push as much as you want. It practically tickles him, and it only makes him look down at you with those lovestruck, condescending eyes of his.

Yandere! Alien who’s romantic advances don’t go unnoticed by you, but you just don’t know what to do anymore! You’ve tried your best to make your intentions clear. You saved him, you took him, and you’ll keep him for now. That’s it. You’ve tried telling him countless times that you don’t like him in that way, so why doesn’t he stop cuddling you and asking you to marry him?!

Yandere! Alien who daydreams about his future with you. He’s starting to like earth, so he truly wouldn’t mind living here with you forever. It has nice movies, food that doesn’t exist on his planet, and a funny thing called ‘internet’. He can’t leave your apartment unless it’s nighttime, so when he found out that he could interact with other humans and learn more about your world through this ‘internet’ he was ecstatic! He started learning ways to court you, to treat you, to make you laugh. He even found a website where he can learn how to please you! That one will come very handy once you two get married.

Yandere! Alien who can’t wait to make you officially his…

This is the first time I write for something that isn't school, so this is very new to me. Please excuse my amateur ass, and if you find any mistakes please let me know, cause English isn't my first language. I would really like some feedback, so be as mean as you want, I just want to grow as a writer, even if nobody reads this. Kisses <3

[zeondraws]

Fellas so like

like, so like. Yeah so- Roper dragon

Why is he a dragon? I shall show with ze AU soon. I already shared it on discord, so figured I can show this in here.

This is the normal dragon form btw

[vrystalius]

Sleeping with the Squid Game men.

No, not like that. The fluffy and cuddly way to sleep with them.

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader (you have a soft chest/boobs)

Summary: What it’s like to share a bed with your favourite man

Genre: Fluff, slightly suggestive

Words: around 500 words per person; around 2.5-3k words in total

Note: The way I had to google for sleepy/sleep pictures for the actors is crazy 😭

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

He is a very light sleeper but never obviously shows it when he wakes up. Your husband likes to act like he is asleep so you can hold him in silence for longer. His favourite position is to spoon you with you facing him, his face buried into your soft chest, getting pleasantly smothered by your warmth.

He’s a very quiet sleeper and barely ever snores, but his hand sometimes twitches in his sleep and accidentally slaps you lightly.

His sleeping face is soft and almost angelic, his lips squished together into a soft pout when he’s asleep. His hair is spread over the pillow and his arm tightly wrapped around you, as if afraid to be alone again like before he met you.

You took a picture of his sleeping face once. You wanted to use it as a wallpaper for your phone because of how adorable his cheeks looked on there but you somehow lost it. Maybe it was deleted somehow or by someone.

In the mornings seeing him so confused and messy, his hair ruffled by sleep and his eyes still droopy is quite a sight.

His groans are deep, sleepy and raspy. When you brush your hand over his face, you can feel a little bit of a morning stubble on his chin and cheek.

The morning is the only time you can see your husband so off guard, so comfortable. He’s always so on guard otherwise, but now? A dreamy smile and quiet hums of content scape his lips as his eyes sleepily scan your equally tired features.

You two don’t often have lazy mornings but when you do, your husband likes having your head in his chest while his hand traces invisible patters all over your skin, his other arm behind his head in a comfortable posture.

“Are you comfortable like this? I can make some breakfast for us if you like.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 240

Snores loudly, takes up all the space in bed, drools and doesn’t give a fuck. Thanos likes to spread himself out and then complain about you not spooning him like it’s your fault his arm literally took more space on your bed than you had for yourself.

He talks in his sleep and has periods where he snores very loudly and then goes very quiet, making you think he’s either awake or dead. He is neither though, just in a very deep sleep.

He hogs all the blankets too, that dick. Thanos steals them from you and cuddles onto them, thinking you are the blanket, whining in his sleep about you not hugging him back and his drool spilling all over the blanket.

Also, has the ugliest sleeping face ever. So ugly it’s almost cute, especially the way his mouth falls open and he gets a double chin when his mouth falls agape, or when Thanos begins to frown during his sleep or even cross his arms angrily when he doesn’t like the dream he’s having.

In the mornings he is more like a zombie than a human. He can’t get up without you practically dragging him out of bed and even if you succeed, your boyfriend will curl up on the floor and continue sleeping there.

During cozy mornings, he likes getting his chin scratched by you. He pouts and lazily holds his head up so you can give him the mandatory scratches while his eyes slowly close again as you lull him back to sleep.

He also is very sensitive when it comes to where he can fall asleep. There either has to be complete silence or some white noise playing in the background. Like a child, he can’t fall asleep in front of the TV or when anything else is playing in the background.

Thanks to you he Thanos can’t sleep on his own anymore. Either he has to facetime you and fall asleep on the call or be there with you. He is your problem forever now.

“I don’t need to announce my visit, I’m your boyfriend! I don’t give a shit if it’s 2am either, move your gorgeous ass, I wanna lay down too.”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

For some reason, Nam-gyu cannot lay still. He turns and moves around all night, even talking full on sentences while being fully asleep. If you’re lucky you can have full on conversations with him.

He doesn’t move towards you but in fact actively tries to escape your cuddles. Apparently he likes his freedom. And your pillows.

Instead of stealing your blankets, Nam-gyu snatches the pillow from under your head to hug it and hoard it for himself. He doesn’t drool on it but you did catch him giving it an awkward kiss while he was out like a light.

His sleeping face looks stressed for some reason. He’s frowning as if he just went through the messiest divorce or was abandoned by his mom in the mall. It softens up once your fingers brush over his cheekbones to push some hair away.

Nam-gyu is not a morning person but can force himself out of bed pretty easily. To wake you he heads to the bathroom to let cold water wash over his hands in the sink and then throws the water droplets at your exposed skin or grabs your warm feet from beneath the blanket.

Due to his job as a club promoter and not really having anything to do during the day, your boyfriend is almost always available for many lazy mornings.

He likes to lay his head on your warm stomach and scroll through his phone or angle his camera to snap a selfie of your sleeping beauty face and putting it as the wallpaper of your chats.

Also, an admirable talent of his is that Nam-gyu can fall asleep anywhere at any time. Loud wedding you were invited to? He’s catching a quick nap in the corner of the venue. He has 10 minutes before the club opens? His head is resting on your shoulder in deep sleep while you two wait on a random bench nearby.

“You don’t like the pic I took? I think it’s pretty. And I think you look pretty no matter what… don’t act like you ever took a picture of me when I was sleeping. I know you.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

Thanks to both growing up in a big household and his time serving in the marines, once he’s out, he’s out. Dae-ho can sleep through vacuum-cleaning, hammering nails into walls, a storm, you trying to wake him up and through most of his alarms.

You know that calling out to him like a drill-sergeant would be extremely mean and insensitive to his troubles. You know he’s still scarred, so you’ll keep trying to talk and shake him awake.

Your boyfriend barely snores, just lets out the occasional sigh and groan here and there. His cheek is often squished against his pillow while he lays on his stomach, his lips parted and mouth slightly agape. His sleeping face is extremely cute, vulnerable almost.

His voice is extremely raspy in the mornings and his expression formed into a permanent sleepy pout while he is standing by the stove to make himself a grilled cheese. You just sit there and enjoy the view of his defined muscles in the back working.

Dae-ho needs to hold you to fall asleep. It grounds him in reality and reminds the scared part of his brain that you’re here with him, that you’re not going anywhere and leave him on his own. Whenever you’re with him, he can fall asleep with a smile.

Your smell and warmth alone can lull him into a deep sleep in seconds. If your hands begin to remove his hairtie and your fingers run through his hair to untangle any knots, he’s an absolute goner.

Lazy mornings are pretty rare with him, you’d have to tire him out the night before to get him to still be sleepy in the morning.

Dae-ho took a video of you being asleep and squished up against his soft chest, your drool staining his shirt on one side of his chest and your free hand squeezing his other. You never saw that video before, it cracks him up too much to let it be deleted by you.

“Don’t let go, I still need you here with me… I love you, you know that?”

Gi-hun // Player 456

Gi-hun curls up into a fetal position when he sleeps. His face is hidden beneath the sheets, only his eyes and nose peeking out. He snores very quietly and they stop abruptly whenever he begins to stir.

He thinks he’s being slick by acting asleep and listening to what you’re doing but it’s pretty obvious when those adorable snores stop.

Even if he isn’t much of a morning person he still forces himself out of bed and brews a cup of coffee for you two.

You watch as Gi-hun sits with his cup at the edge of the bed, watching the sun rise higher and higher, enjoying the quiet morning. Peace, even if it’s temporary.

He likes holding you in his sleep and having your head nuzzled in his shoulder, but your boyfriend prefers to be held instead. He desperately craves comfort and security and you always spoil him with exactly that.

Your hand slowly and soothingly brush over his back while his arms were tightly wrapped around you, his eyes tightly shut and face buried in your warm chest.

His sleeping faces are surprisingly handsome and peaceful, his mouth shut most of the time. His brows are furrowed in permanent stress though that only seems to go away when he feels the bed shift beneath him, indicating that you just joined him.

Gi-hun likes sharing a bed with you. It’s intimate and a sacred tradition. Falling asleep and waking up next to you feels like you two bonded over night, two souls enjoying being near each other. Maybe it sounds sappy but that’s how it feels to him.

Lazy mornings are rare because he cannot seem to relax and let his guard down, ever. There’s always something on his mind, something to do and that damn salesman to find. You can shut him up by smothering him with a pillow once he begins to ramble about those weird games again.

“I’m exhausted, I’m sorry if I’m being selfish, but join me? I can’t sleep without you.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

You’ll have to force him to sleep for more than 4 hours a night. Even if the games are not happening right now or it’s still half a year until recruitment, In-ho is always busy with something. It sometimes feels like he’s trying to get out of sleeping in the same bed with you.

When you finally get him to stay in bed with you, it takes a while for him to fall asleep in addition to him being a very light sleeper in general.

He’ll count every tile in the ceiling, scan your face for any new features he might’ve missed or that have changed since last night, then he’ll waddle into the kitchen for a glas of water and then maybe, maybe he’ll begin to slowly fall asleep.

When you wake him up in the mornings, he wakes up like he had the most horrific nightmare just now; eyes shot wide open and a deep gasp emitting from his lips. Your husband always assures you he doesn’t have any though.

He snores in his sleep but it’s more of a pleasant/relaxing sound rather than an annoying dad-snore. They are quiet and rhythmic, giving you quiet reassurance that he’s still peacefully resting next to you.

His face is relaxed as the worry lines in his face slowly melt away, his hair uncared for and his arm shifting around to find your warm skin to touch. He prefers to be the big spoon and have your face nuzzled into his chest or neck, where he can always feel your warm breath and heartbeat.

You gave into the temptation to take a picture of his adorable face once, but In-ho felt an disturbance in the air and shot his eyes open to stare at your face before you could snap your picture. This man can never be caught of guard it seems.

Sometimes you catch him falling asleep in his office, his body curled up in the leather chair as his head hung forward slightly, his glass of whiskey still in his hand with a firm grip on it. He almost dropped it once you woke him up by the way In-ho got startled awake.

“Sorry, I lost track of time. I’m coming to bed now, no need to drag me—“

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I always write about the things I want the most; sleep and cuddles. Sleepy cuddles? Whenever I use C.AI I always choose a “sleepy” prompt since I mostly use it after waking up or during breaks, times where I am always very sleepy and in need of affection 😭 Hope this wasn’t too weird to read.

Also I did T.O.P so nasty with the pic I chose I’m sorry 😭😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <33

Take care of yourselves and stay safe my dears!!

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[zepskies]

Wanderlust

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂

I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.

You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.

Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself.  

You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.

You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.

You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.

“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”

You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.

“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.

Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.

If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.

You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.

You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  

Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.

“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.

“Like a tease,” he muttered.

You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.

Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.

“How about that?” you asked.

“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You smiled too.

“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”

“Mhmm,” he responded.

He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.

His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.

Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.

A girl could get used to it though.

AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[blkkizzat]

PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟏 — 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐨, 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨

⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 1st, 12:03am ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: cockwarming + dubcon + somnophilia + pussy drunk + creampie + nemuidere!reader  ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 1777

𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Haunted by old traumas and abandonment, it’s no surprise that Choso struggles with insomnia. Plagued with nightmares the moment he closes his eyes, Choso would easily spend the entire night awake—if not for you—his ultimate source of comfort.

Therefore, it makes sense why the only way Choso can successfully fall and remain asleep peacefully is when his cock is nestled in the comforting hug of your tight pussy. Your tender sweet cunt could always keep his fears at bay so it’s how he falls asleep most nights.

This is also Choso’s way of protecting you.

Nothing could happen to you, and you couldn't possibly leave him, when his hefty girth is plugged balls deep inside you. He'd sleep all night like that if you'd let him.

Most nights you did too, it was much easier than denying your cute puppy-like boyfriend when he'd start his adorable whimpering.

But tonight happens to be the first night of 'No Nut November'—or it will be in 20 minutes. 

There’d been too many times you’d wake up to the syrupy feeling of an early morning creampie oozing out of your sore pussy. Choso often woke up in the middle of the night regardless and slow fucked you until he fell back asleep.

You needed a break. 

So of course you refuse Choso when he cuddles up behind you in bed to be the big spoon and presses his stiff erection against the crease of your soft ass cheeks. 

Choso in turn, whines like a kicked-puppy into your ear at the reminder of NNN, he hates this stupid bet so much. He doesn't understand why humans participate in this at all and loathes the fact that he let Yuji and Todo goad him into this at the Halloween party earlier that night.

To be honest he didn’t even know what it was about at first, he legit thought you just didn’t eat nuts all month.

But not being able to cum!?

It wasn't just about not fucking you, he wouldn't even be able to jerk it to your angelic face while you slept either!

And for what even—bragging rights?

This was pure madness to Choso as there are no better bragging rights for him than to be able to say his cock was the one that was sheathed in your guts every night. Knowing he couldn't sleep with his cockhead cozying up to your womb for an entire month was driving him mad already.

“Please princess, I need her—one last time!”

Choso’s voice is so pathetic as he whimpers kisses into the back of your neck. It’s a move that usually would have you caving but the effect is greatly dulled by the bags of sand weighing down your eyes. You had to get up for work in the morning and all the hot spiked ciders you had at the party were finally taking their toll. 

“Choooo, *yawns*.... but it’s the first night... you can show a little control *yawns* ….can’t you baby?” But Choso is desperate!

“It’s 11:43pm babe, it’s still Halloween—please!”

Choso’s voice breaks slightly as he gathers you up in his arms, pulling you deeper into a toasty cocoon surrounded by his bare chest and blankets. His embrace is so warm and so comforting it's rapid lulling your sleepy eyes closed, you don't have the will to fight him on it this time either.

“Fine C-Cho, *yawns*...but you better fall asleep in 17 minutes—and set an alarm….you hafta pull out before midnight.”

“Thank you baby! Thank you, thank you!”

Choso continues to groan his gratitude into your skin, pulling your tank top straps down to pepper kisses on your shoulder. The relief he felt on being allowed to slip his cock into you was the only thing he could focus on.

Actually considering if he would even be able to keep his promise was the furthest thing from his mind.

Spoiler alert: He wouldn’t.

Slipping down his pajama bottoms and pushing up your nightie, Choso doesn’t waste time slotting himself inside you. He doesn't even need to prepare you. His hard weepy cock meets little resistance to rest against your cervix as your gooey pussy eagerly accommodates him in your drunkenness.

You're fast asleep but your body is still responsive, constricting around his thick throbbing intrusion.

Credit to Choso, he does try to close his eyes and join you in sleep.

Yet your runny cunt is extra sloppy from all the alcohol and it's not long before she is fluttering around his thick girth. Oh god, your pretty pussy was practically begging Choso to fuck you into the mattress like she didn't give a single fuck about 'NNN'.

Bracing himself, Choso lightly presses his clammy palms into the flesh of your hips trying to keep still—but to no avail.

His sanity is slipping, stripped away by your sloppy wetness. Soon, there's no stopping Choso's the tiny micro thrusts from slowly spearing his length deeper into your core. Choso’s fat bulbous tip is planting soft smooches on your womb and the moist suction of your cunt to constricts around him in turn, pulling him in that much deeper.

A sheen of sweat is already over his body as he looks at the time:

11:48 pm.

Fuck!

Choso needed to cum so badly.

He had to get a nut out before midnight—just one. 

You wouldn’t be upset with him if he did that, right? 

As long as it was before midnight?

You never said he couldn't nut in you, just to pull out before midnight.

Checking to make sure you were still asleep, Choso lightly pushes up your knee. His blunted nails dig into your thigh as he steadily slides his pulsing cock in and out of you with more deliberate strokes. 

It takes a strenuous amount of effort not to groan hotly into your ear and wake you and as a result Choso is chewing his lip near bloody. Any thoughts in his head quickly dissolve as it feels too fucking good to bottom out in your slick silken pussy over and over again.

“...m’sorrrrrry…m’so sorrry!”

Choso whispers apologies for his disobedient cock while he slobbers open mouth kisses down the column of your spine.

God, he wanted to keep his promise to you so bad but it was your tight lil’ cunts’ fault for being so slutty when you drank—even in your sleep.

How was he supposed to fall asleep with your core being so warm and twitchy around him? 

“Ah—ooo shiiit…Choooo…b-baby…”

Your soft sleepy mewls are almost drowned out completely by your lewd pussy talking so loud the room fills with milky squelches. Choso hears them though, his chest pounding from knowledge that he was dicking you down good enough for your sleepy slutty ass to start dreaming about it too.

FuckFuckFuck!

This wasn’t just about his nut anymore. He couldn't allow you to have a bad ending to your dream if he were to just edge you without making you cum!

Choso couldn't possibly let you suffer, not even in your dreams.

Sliding a hand down your hip to fondle through the soaked folds of your cunt, his thrusts become much deeper, shaking the bed with increasing friction as he continues to spoon and fuck you. Choso pants sound like a dogs whimpers as he sucks the skin behind your ear and rubs circles more furiously on your puffy bud. Disonnected from reality Choso is utterly pussydrunk. His madness is spurred on by the messy acoustics of your soggy clit clicking and joining in the with vulgar melodies from you being split open on his cock.

“C-Can’t d-do it! C-Can’t live…w-without ‘er—w-on’t do it! M's'sorry!”

Choso’s incoherent babbles and frantic thrusts weave their way into your dreams, his pathetic whimpering bleeding into your subconscious. His free hand slips down to press firmly against your belly, right where he knows your sweet spot lies in your core. The pressure sends a jolt through your body, your pussy spazzing around his length as a flood of wetness gushes down your thighs, soaking a large spot into the sheets beneath you.

Your legs twitch as your orgasm peaks, the overwhelming pleasure pulling a soft, sensual moan from your lips, even in your slumber.

Already on the edge, Choso's cock soaks in the tremors of your ecstasy, as you continue to cum from his relentless flicking on your clit.

Choso isn't thinking straight when cruelly pinches your swollen bud so hard you contract on him like a vice and he instantly is cumming buckets inside your cunt. The load inside your pretty pussy is so large you would have thought he actually had waited all of November to fuck you if you'd been awake. Not being able to control his moans Choso turns his head into the pillow as he tries to calm himself, his hips never stop rocking into you until every drop of cum is out of him.

Body sweaty and shuddering against yours Choso eventually pulls out of you although reluctantly. Nerves still tingling from his orgasm, Choso bitterly muses that the real torture hadn’t even started yet.

Choso looks at the time, it wasn’t even November yet, it’s only—

12:03 am.

Damn…welp—fuck it then, right?

His thick cock twitching to life again, Choso guides you over now on your belly, sliding a cushy plush pillow under your hips as you sleepily moan from your dreamworld for him 'not to make your pussy lonely again.' 

Well he would certainly remind you of this, in the morning. Sure, it was his fault he fucked up but he surely couldn't keep his pretty princess' pussy empty if that's what she requested of him.

Gripping the base of his cock, Choso buries himself to the hilt once more. He means to ease himself in but momentarily loses control, as strangled cry escapes him and he rams himself back into your guts. Chest heaving, Choso squeezes his eyes shut to hold off cumming so soon again.

The sound and force is enough to make you stir fitfully in your sleep, but Choso is quick to press soft pecks to your forehead to soothe you. “Shhh, princess. I gotchu.” The sleepy reassurances Choso murmurs lulls you back into slumber instantly. Choso takes a moment to admire your angelic face, brow slightly furrowed as you continue to softly hum in sleepy pleasure, before he resumes fucking you.

Yeah, fuck ‘No Nut Novemeber.’

Choso would rather stay inside your sweet pussy for the entire month straight then go a single night without you.

He’d have to apologize to you properly in the morning—perhaps by having you ride his face. blkkizzat ©2023-2024 no ai, reposting, plagiarism or translation allowed.

𝐚/𝐧: next 12/12 6:00 a.m. PST queued otaku!gojo.

Comments and reblogs make my coochie wet tysm !

[julymusings]

will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?

i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over

or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]

jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda

You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.

You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.

“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.

You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.

“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.

“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.

He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight, you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.

“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.

“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.

You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”

But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.

He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?

You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—” 

He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”

You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear what you're not saying. You need him to hear you.

“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.

“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.

You start with his shoulder, which is decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but rather several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise which covers his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth. 

His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him? 

You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.

“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.

“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”

You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”

“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”

You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.

“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.

You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.

There’s a pause. Then:

“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.

You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.

You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.

His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.

“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.

You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.

“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“But if I’d just—”

“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”

“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.

“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”

He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.

“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.

He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.

The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”

He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”

Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.

“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”

He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.

It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.

And you know he can hear you.

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