#the last time it was quiet in my head it was when i could see a veritable sea of stars

[dilf-docs]

Give Me Coffee, Utah Love

sleazy!joel 'mullet' miller x younger fem!reader

summary: on the run and looking for a fresh start, a cheap gasoline coffee and to-do list slipping from your bag later, you (have lost your mind and) consider this stranger's proposition.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (52/25), pwp, p. in v., fingering, (one) pussy spank, degradation kink, lwk breeding and exhibition kink, nasty filthy sex, public sex, one joke about kys, strangers to ???, pulled an all nighter for this yey me (its 3am and my alarm sounds at 4:10 lol) so forgive me if i made any spelling mistake, i wanna see ur comments/reblogs bc i crashed out so bad i feel like i deserve it

word count: 4,060 words

side note: that one girl who doesn't play abt snl. okay but who works harder? the devil, a7estrellas or me, that only needed two pedro snl sketches and is acting like a yuppie in the 80s doing cocaine on a bathroom after work bc WOW so many new content. yes, men with mullets should die but this is pedro! song of choice for this piece is queen of the gas station by sleazy dilf patroness lana del rey. also up next, reynaldo inspired one shot to celebrate the snl 50 series!

You liked driving at night.

There was simply something about the eerie silence, the shadows casting upon the streets, barely touched by the headlights and the moon, the quiet hum of the radio and the slow shift of your hands on the wheel.

You liked driving at night, but today, it feels off.

Just this morning, you had looked at your house one last time. It still had that white paint on the porch, that had faded due to the sunlight, and those scrapped stickers on what had been your childhood room's door.

He had tried talking some sense in to you, claiming all your life was there, in Arizona. With him. But Phoenix had started to feel like a prison and he was your warden. So you snuck at dawn when no one would notice, like a criminal. Very fitting.

The sun hadn't touched yet the kitchen where you ate when your feet balanced off the chair and now graced the floor in a lazy manner, eating cereal with marshmallows first and now, just about three days ago, just oatmeal, because it seemed like what a grown up would do.

But in many ways you were still the same kid who was too shy to raise her hand in class because she couldn't find her voice, bound to be forgotten among much louder and brigther kids. Yet he had seen you.

So you stayed: put up with dances where he would spin you until the world was reduced to a blur, and the quiet home life in town-- kids running around and barbecues on the summer seemed like a good ending. You dreamed of a truck and a garden, and the few friends you made all seemed to share the same vision. Except for one.

When Dorothea came back from New York, eyes too wide and smile too bright, she seemed like a different person. In many ways she still was the same girl with an accent who had shared her sandwhich with you during recess, but her words now carried ambition and her gaze seemed awoken by a purpose you couldn't find but on the road that drove out of town.

But folks kept her at arms length. The amusement in her smile was infectious as a disease, and with whispered stabs they would talk behind her back. Your friend bore a scarlett letter for wanting more.

You had never wanted more; compliant might of be your second name. But when you'd see her walk by your house, shorts above her knees and that city girl strut with her sneakers against the hot asphalt, you were envious, and Williams seemed so small and dull.

Who does she think she is? he would say, and you'd nod your head, despite the secret admiration hidden in your eyes.

Suddenly, the red truck sounded stupid and the married life with kids could wait.

We could wait, you had said outloud.

He had laughed, like you just told a joke. It was on surprise, but it felt cruel.

Why? like he couldn't understand you-- as if you spoke on a different language. What is there to wait for?

You took your decision that day.

It started slow, by wearing skirts that rode up with the wind, blaming the lack of clothes on the heat. Then with the nicotine between your lips, the forbidden act making clouds that escaped your red lips. Or wearing the other make up Dorothea taught you, now holding hands with her as people whispered she had tainted your naive soul too. He caught your new smell, and spoke harshly about not wearing clothes that made other men turn to eat out the sun-kissed skin of your legs, because you'd turn too, gaze defiant and full of mischief, but that he didn't know. Might as well wear nothin'. But he cried with his face buried in the same uncovered legs, saying he hated to see you like this; he didn't recognize you.

It was easy then.

One day you packed your bags and took the car you'd been given as a graduation gift, leaving town with what seemed a lifetime stashed in the backseat.

You left a note for your parents, neatly placed on a bed you wondered when you'd sleep again in, if you were ever to be back. To him, who you now just start to wonder if you ever really loved or just accepted because it's what there was and nothing more, you hadn't left a note nor explanations.

He wouldn't understand anyways.

Just the promise of what could've been, shining in the middle of your bed.

You had been driving non-stop, afraid like a fugitive who was being chasen. Sometimes, you'd take stops on the road and pulled out a pen and a book, despite your fingers itching from driving and your urgency to check the phone you'd been to coward to turn on to see the wake of messages your disappearance might have sparked.

There was a sting somewhere outside the ache of your bones or the flutter of your tired eyes, and it cried for home and longed for the life you always envisioned for yourself. But it also felt like a second skin you couldn't quite wash off with the cheap soap and cold water of the motel you had crashed in a couple of hours ago.

You didn't want to live in suburban desert dreams back at Williams. You wanted to feel alive.

It's nightime when the little peep sound jolts you awake. You had been driving in auto-pilot; your car needs gas and you needed rest.

Its probably ten at night, and according to your map, Utah isn't that far. It's a fresh start: a place where no one knows your name or your whole life, for the matter.

Your car comes to a stop under faded neon lights in the middle of the road. There's a truck parked next to your car, the guy inside the convenience store, and that's about it. You're filling your tank while suppressing a yawn, when a movement across your station catches your eyes.

The only other customer, a man old enough to be your dad. He's staring at you, leaning against his truck, arms crossed while the biceps flex with the position, tense. Even from your place, you can see how the veins pop here and there, making you gulp on instinct.

The smoke of his cigarrette gets lost in the neon hues and starry sky. Doesn't he know you're not supposed to do that at a gas station? Yet, his lack of care and recklessness picks your interest.

(Hey! The last time you had human contact was about a day ago and after seeing only roads, asphalt, desert and mountains, you deserved a little treat to entertain yourself)

"Like what you see, doll?" sporting the most sleazy smile you'd ever seen.

Something about him was as alluring as uneasy, the nervous tremble of your hands but the warmth between your legs speaking of said conflicting emotions. You pretend to be invested on the task of filling your truck (the reason you're here, after all) but the way your body burns, begs, to look again is humilliating. So you do, but he isn't there anymore, althought his truck is.

"You know, wearin' a dress like that at night isn't a good idea for'a girl like you"

He appears from seemingly nowhere, making you jump. Your heart flutters and you clench at nothing with the sound of his deep voice, low, akin to a rumble or a thunder. It's laced with diversion, and the not so subtle way he eats you out with his eyes like a starved man, wolfish grin on display as he leans now against your car, makes his intentions all the more clear.

"Why?" you feel oddly bold, instead of scared. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, because why the hell would you be flirting in a gas station, at night, entertaining an old and slighlty creepy albeit attractive man when you had been engaged less than a day ago?

"The weather" he appears nonchalant, balancing the cigarrette like a toothpick between his chapped lips. "Or men"

"Bold of you to say that while wearing that" you poke fun at his outfit, which consists of some shorts, worn t-shirt and a vest. He's sporting the tall socks and slippers combo, dressing like a grandpa but he pulls it off alright. "Also, men? Like who, you?"

He laughs, the sound sprouting rich and grave from his chest. It makes you dizzy. Yup, let's blame the lack of sleep again.

"Well, look at that. Sure got'a mouth on ya', doll" he gets closer, and his scent floods your nostrils. Wood, gasoline, musk, sweat and burnt ciggars. "Just takin' care of you. Say, how about ya' warm that shaky frame of yers? This place has sum coffee goin' on. Shit, but it works"

He could poison your drink for all you care, but all his teeth are on display and he's got a dimple. Also, you're fighting your fluttering eyelids in here.

"Y/n" it's your way of agreeing while extending your hand.

Instead of shaking it, he pulls you even closer and kisses it, his warm lips brushing your cold hand. You shiver at the contact, and it may be the way his firey auburn holds your gaze while doing so or how big his hands feel, both your mind and heart racing.

"Joel" he says, and then that same calloused palm finds its way to the soft part above your ass in your back, guiding you to the store.

Inside, it smells like cheap coffee and grease. You clutch your bag tighter, and choose a table as the stranger pays for your coffee, or well, Joel.

"There ya' go" and he places the hot brown liquid in front of you.

Now that he's closer and under the yellow-ish lights, you take a better look at his face. His eyes, which mock the drink in front of you. His hands, that seem to almost swallow the small cup with their size, and then his hair. God, alright. He sported a fucking mullet of all haircuts. And boy, wasn't it embarrassingly attractive? Your eyes fall towards his beard and mustache, grays sprinkled across them. But your mind and eyes alike went back to the thought of feeling the slightly greasy looking hazel strands, calling for your touch.

"Gonna take a sip or what?" and he smiles. You don't know if it's in diversion by your doze-off or because he knows why.

You had never felt this hot and bothered. Hell, not even normal hot. He had never made you feel like this, and now some fucking random skanky man was getting your panties on a twist in the middle of the road.

"I-I'm going to the bathroom" you manage to squeak out, running for your life.

Inside the stall, you splash some water into your face, as if trying to make you react. Get yourself together, you tell your reflection in the mirror, but then you're fixing your hair, and as you reach for your red lipstick you realize you left your bag back at the table. Fuck.

You get out, only to find your bag weirdly sprawled on the seat, the handles centimeters away from falling to the floor. Then, he, who you only see his sturdy back and broad shoulders, crouched down, like he's reading something, althought Joel doesn't seem the type of guy who chooses to read in his free time.

"Joel?"

And then you see it: the tiny notebook you had been scribbling on the road, looking even smaller on his grip.

Your To-do list.

It may sound stupid, but a week before leaving, you bought it: the last memory of your town and the start of your new life. At twenty-five, the concept may sound a little stupid with what you've written, but you felt your new life deserved to have space for some of those dreams or fleeting thoughts you had during class written down.

And now fucking Joel was reading it.

"Wow, doll. Ya' sure are full of surprises" he chuckles, flipping through the pages. What sounds better: killing him or yourself? Hmm, maybe throwing the burning coffee at him would suffice.

"Give me that back" you extend your rigid hand, voice clipped.

The stupid trail of decisions catches up to you. Why had you trusted a stranger that had oggled you right in front of your face? You're too starved and horny to think straight, clearly, because now he's mocking you while your face burns with red shame.

"Saved your bag from fallin' when ya' rushed outta da seat. Then this lil' thing came out" he stops on a page. "Skinny dipping. And'ere I thought you're a good girl"

"Shut up and give me that" you seethe.

"Wow, doll" Joel chuckles yet again. "don't get yer panties in a twist. If ya' wanted so, jus' ask"

You scoff at his boldness. "Excuse me?"

"Ya' heard me" he gets up from his seat, body towering over yours.

Was it hot in here? Why was your body warm all of the sudden? Was it the coffee? No, you hadn't even take a sip. Joel searches before looking at you again with a content gaze and an ugly smug grin, like he's used to having his way.

"Sex with a stranger" then searches for other, the sound of the pages the only other sound in the room, still not overpowering the one of your heart, echoing in your ears. "Sex in a bathroom"

He closes the little book and hands it back to you. You take it with force, ears burning at their tip. "So?"

"Funny" he muses. "I can help you with both"

Your head drops back against the cold wall as Joel's lips find your collarbone.

This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Of all the decisions you've made in your life, this one is either the worst or the best. Fuck, you hadn't even arrived at Utah and could cross two things from the book.

His kiss is rushed, rough and sloppy, sucking on your lips so hard you feel them swollen and bruised. Joel's tongue then pokes inside your mouth, to taste your insides and all of you more deeply, content with the savor of your sweet mouth and gloss smeared across his own. It isn't often that he gets a chance like this: sure, casual sex is like breathing for him at this point in life, where he's made it too far without building a home for a wife. But now, here? You, this pretty young thing, the small whimpers coming out of your lips, how you squirm under his frame and groping hands that travel through a body he can't get enough of. Shit, he ain't young anymore but he's painfully hard and can't stop his task despite his aching joints and age. Joel just wants to taste all of you forever, despite the shit place and rather funny circumstances:

You both, strangers, in an dirty dark alley behind a gas station, about to fuck.

He's pressing his knee tightly between your thighs, the same one you had spotted before thanks to his shorts. His strong grip pins your hand above your head, rendering you immobile under his weight, that presses over you. Shit, you should be thinking this through and running away, but the complete submission and reckless choice makes it all the more hot.

Your throat works up soft, needy noises and Joel marvels at the sounds.

"Keep 'em comin', doll. Wanna know I'm makin' you feel good"

His lips leave lazy wet trails across your skin. The skirt of your dress is raised by his leg and pressed knee.

"Hmh, Joel-" you needily whimper.

"Shh" he swallows a moan with his mouth, "but jus' for me, doll. Keep it low, will ya'? Or want the whole place knowin' what a dirty slut ya' are? Fuckin' with da first stranger that looks yer way?"

You had never been degraded, less thought it would turn you this much on.

"Joel" you whimper his name.

He groans into your mouth, lewd tongues tangling and tasting the messy kiss with fiery passion and hate. Your fingers fist into the thick material of his vest, nails about to ruin it, but by the way his eyes darken and he smiles, Joel might be into it.

The man pulls away for breath, a string of saliva connecting you two.

His hand gropes your ass and then moves to your exposed inner thigh.

"What'a dirty girl" your fingers hook into his worn-out jeans, tugging the peaking waistband forward to you. His weight and chest push into you, "so wet and eager for this dick, you cockhungry whore"

To prove his point, his thick fingers rub your clit through the material of your panties. You tilt your head back in pleasure at the newfound sensation, and he takes the chance to mark your exposed neck and collarbone, making you moan his name when he sinks his teeth on the skin.

"All 'tis for me?" and his fingers fingers slink down to trace your folds again. Your back arches, breasts pressing against his chest. You dig your nails on his broad back, making him hiss with pleasure as you grab for support.

His rough digits slide and push your sticky panties aside, then plunge inside your pussy. You whimper quietly, the squelches of your pussy swallowing his fingers the only sound in the dark, aside from the busy road ahead. The calloused pad of his thumb circles your sensitive nub, pressing and massaging as his lips travel down to the valley of your tits.

"Wanna free this bad girls and taste 'em" he pulls down your dress, mouth practically watering at the rosy soft skin. "Fuck, doll. No bra? Ya' were lookin' for this, ain't you? Makin' the job easy. I'm just'a lucky man"

He wants to see how they bounce with each thrust, eyes darkening with the shade of lust.

"I- Fuck"

Joel's fingers thrust in and out at with a rapid pace and delicious movements you had never been pleasured before with. Now, when he curls them? That nearly sends you over the edge, reaching a spot you had never known existed.

"S'tight" he groans at your clenching warm sticky walls, fingers slowing but still moving as you ride out your high, drenching him in your liquids.

"Found sum sugar for that shit tastin' bitter coffee, eh?" he takes his own fingers on his mouth and sucks on them with a rather obscene gesture, taking them out with a loud pop. His tongue licks what's left off, and you whimper at the lewd image. "Yer too sweet, doll. Can't get 'nough"

Your arms wrap around him, as Joel rolls his hips, seeking friction to relieve him of the uncomfortable strain against the denim.

"Ready to take me in, doll? I'll just warn ya' somethin'" his free hand unbuckles his belt and tugs down the jeans and boxers down, dick in display: hard, and leaking with precum. He drags his teeth against your ear, and his hot breath ghosts over you with coffee and ciggars. "See that? Think ya' can take it?"

The tuft of sweaty hair leading down to his length has you salivating, and your fingers wrap around him before you realize it. Joel winces at the touch.

"Like a champ" and you swear his erection throbs in your palm, head angry and needy.

What a gentleman.

He doesn't wait for more words, teasing your moist folds with his tip before he's inside, buried to the hilt, rough fingers steady bruising your hips as he thrusts you up against the wall. You look up at the flickering lampost, wondering how did you ever made it here and what the hell are you doing, his groans deep inside your ear as his head is buried in the crook of your neck, labored breaths against your ablazed skin. For a moment, he looses the spot and favors looking at you, to take in the sight infront of him: mouth slightly gaped open, eyes lidded, and fingers desperately digging into his back. You're fucked out of your mind, but so is he.

"Like what you see?" you mimick his words from earlier. He lets out a dry and labored chuckle.

"I do"

He snaps his hips, and you're not sure what is it that creaks, too many things happening outside (the cars, the whiff of gasoline, the nocturnal wind). Joel soon takes up an erratic pace. He's so deep in you, his balls slams into your pussy with each thrust he forces into you.

You should start writing more things on that notebook if they would become true and as good as this. Earn a ridiculous sum of money for free, for example.

Joel grunts, hands busy holding you against the wall, but he so badly wants to play with your bouncy tits, so you let out a yelp when his wet tongue rolls over the skin, mouth then sucking the skin until it's bruised, kissing lazily around your hardened nipples until teeth bite on them.

He's going insane; should go more often late night driving if he'd end up fucking pretty naive sweet-tasting girls behind alleys.

His cock fills you so perfectly it doesn't take long before your walls are spasming around his cock, and you're about to cum for a second time, before on his fingers now over his girth inside of you. Joel can sense it, so his filthy mouth goes for it:

"Go on, doll. Show me what yer made of"

You fall apart with a sharp cry, face buried into his shoulder with a bite to muffle it.

He groans as the pleasure rolls through you. "Milk me dry, c'mon. Take all of ma' seed like the slut ya're" Joel speaks while moving inside you, deeper and quicker, aching for release. Then he's pulsing, cumming with a harsh grunt. "Don't waste a drop, doll. I know you're considerate jus' like that"

His hands slide down to your waist, his long hair drenched, sticking to his forehead. There's the silence of the night and your breaths as you try to compose yourselves.

"That's a good girl" while softnening cock still inside you.

"See? Told you: took you like a champ" you pant, trying not to think of what lead you to now, just focused on the high. "I like to keep my promises"

Joel laughs, but its a soft sound; light. It caresses your chest like a wind chime.

He then pulls out, your folds a mess and his dick coated with your juices. "Shit, look at ya' hungry pussy, doll. Wore me the fuck out"

You help him pull up his pants, looking at the socks while you contain a laugh. Then you think again and the alley pulls you out of your post sex haze. Yeah, filling those two checkboxes in your To-do list will feel good as fuck, but:

Now what?

"Joel?"

"Hmh?"

He pulls up your dress to cover your tits when the wind brushes through the alley, with a weird softness to him, then fixes your panties, giving your clothed pussy a weak slap that sends a shiver through your body.

"Thanks for the treat. I'ont remember orderin' desert"

You laugh as you push him off your body, refusing to meet his eyes. This is the second man who has seen you naked, and while definitely not good at words, his wolf-like hunger in his brown eyes and needy mouth besides the hard dick have said more than enough. Besides, it's a little late to be embarrased but you're still trying to process this wild huge leap you took to celebrate the start of your new life.

"Drive safe" you mutter, starting to walk away, thinking how the hell you'll survive the two hours left in the orad with such a sticky pair of panties and sweaty body.

"Where you goin'?" his deep voice stops you before you've reached the end of the alley.

"Utah" you answer in a beat, heart beating dangerously fast.

The same sleazy smile from the first time you saw him adorns his handsome face, all teeth in display.

"Really, doll? Well, lucky you" he lights up a cigarrette, trail of smoke condensing in anticipation. "'Cause that's jus'bout where I'm headed"

[hitomisuzuya]

bully!yandere scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. cunnilingus. degradation. masochism. sexting (ish). blowjob. stalking. drugging/ use of marijuana and cigarettes. obsessive behavior from scara. mix of soft dom!scara and harsh!dom scara.

i was genuinely surprised how many people got excited for this🥺 i decided to split this into two parts cause it's really quite long.

you knew it was going to be a long afternoon the moment you left your dorm this morning. the moment scaramouche caught sight of you across campus. the last few months, scaramouche has been your bully.

"hey, nerd, you are a little late today," scaramouche bats your books out of your arms, "did you get lost on the way here?" the drink in your other hand was the next to go, batted out of your hand and landing face down on your books.

you stare down at the mess on the floor in front of you. you hate that there is a blush on your cheeks. you could do nothing but stare at the water bleeding onto your papers, swallowing your pounding heart in your throat.

scaramouche sighs, and flicks you in the forehead. "never mind," he pats you twice on your head, "i can see there is nothing going on up there. see you later, sucker. i don't have all day," he laughs at you, waving in passing.

"if you don't have all day, then what are you doing standing around picking on me?" you retort as you kneel to pick up your things. you simply pick up your things and head back to your dorm. you are pretty sure there was nothing major going on in your afternoon class.

you chose to hide away in your dorm for awhile. you flop down on your bed, turn on the tv and decide to see what your friend was up to. you met him online in the chat of a live streamer you both watch. later on through text, he told you could call him kuni and you've talked pretty much every day since.

'hey, what are you up to?'

back in his dorm, scaramouche had been waiting for your text. lately, you have been a lot more comfortable texting him. 'nothing much. i thought you are supposed to be in class this afternoon?' you have no idea it's him you have been talking to. you don't even know that it's someone at school.

it is a very good way for him to have you all to himself.

'nah, it's just a review today. i can safely skip. and this is going to sound so silly but...'

scaramouche eats it up when you trail off in your texts. that told him you are shy and flustered about something. he knows he has to be careful about how he words things when he talk to you. you might surely figure him out easily. 'what's up. is something on your mind?'

'don't laugh okay?'

'scout's honor. kinda seems like you have a lot on your mind. i don't mind listening, you know that,' you are quiet and shy, so he has to coax you little by little to get you to talk, but he likes to think he has gotten pretty good at it.

'actually, i do have a lot to say.'

scaramouche smirks, rolling the ball of his tongue piercing on the roof of his mouth. this was going to be good.

'well, he is selfish. arrogant. has no concept of personal space. he is academically lazy, but he is so so smart. all he does is poke, poke, poke. he never stops. i don't know why he picks on me, but i don't know how honest you want me to be about this?'

your praise about him being smart made his cock twitch. 'tell you what. i will put my down for two hours. not even look at it. you type to your heart's content and send the messages. when you are done, you can delete them. i won't even read them. sometimes, it helps to just get it off your chest and have that be that.'

of course he didn't do that. he kept his phone in his hand the whole time. honestly, he is completely unashamed about manipulating you like this. there is something rattling around in that pretty head of yours. there is no way he is going to pass this up. for extra encouragement, he texts, 'i'm putting my phone down now. just do your thing.'

back in your dorm, you couldn't help but smile a little. kuni really is a good friend. you feel nothing but secure talking to him about anything. so naturally, you just typed without thinking. he wasn't going to read it anyways, and you trust him. your fingers shook a little as you started typing.

'well, lately i am starting to enjoy when scaramouche bullies me. as wrong as it is to say, there is just something about that way he talks down to me. it just sounds so good. it's starting to make me really wet. that's why i had to skip class today.' not wanting the texts to be too long, you pressed send and started a new one, and just let yourself type.

'his arrogant confidence is infuriating, but at the same time, there is this commanding dominance in the tone of his voice. like all i could think about earlier was him bullying me down onto my knees, telling me it's okay to be a weak little slut and take his cock into my mouth like a good girl.'

"oh holy fuck, you little masochist," scaramouche whispers nearly dropping his phone reading your text. and you are typing still. he knew he couldn't say anything though, so he waits, his hand itching to reach down and stroke his cock.

'and i would gladly sink to my knees for him. i am blushing just thinking about it. i even want to play with myself, it's so hot to think about. it's making me really wet thinking about him degrading me while i choke on his cock. i want him to tell me it's okay to be weak. to not think and just focus on pleasing him because that's what i am ultimately good for. omg i am so sorry, please don't read this. thank you.'

scaramouche quickly took a screen shot before the messages disappeared. as much as he wants to find you and force you onto your knees exactly like you describe, he knew he wouldn't benefit him any. in fact, it would blow everything to hell. he reads your texts again, his hand fisting his hard cock, wishing the cum that spilled onto his hand was going into pretty your mouth instead.

over the next few weeks, scaramouche relentlessly bullied you, and you settle into something of a routine with kuni. once scaramouche was done with you, you would text kuni, spilling your racing thoughts into what you thought were blank text messages that you deleted unseen when are done.

'i can't thank you enough for always letting me do this, kuni. it's really helping a lot. if you ever need to vent in the same way, please do so. believe me, i can barely type these words. i didn't get much sleep last night. all i could think about was scaramouche tying me up, and degrading me for begging him to cum inside me while he fucks me senseless. i know i should stay away from him, but i can't help it.'

'he can never find out about this.'

you are effectively giving scaramouche all the tools he needs to corrupt you. you have no idea you are putting opportunities gift wrapped right into his lap. now, he could start sinking his claws into you.

you have no idea just how close he really is. there are only so many places you could go on campus. scaramouche knows your routine like the back of his hand. he has a few classes with you, and it's always easy for him to be in the right place, watching you while he bullshits with his friends.

usually, when you are out getting food or in between classes, you always text kuni, letting him know exactly what you are up to and where you are. you probably text kuni because being out around people makes you nervous.

'hey, kuni. i hope you have eaten today. i am grabbing some quick dinner right now. after, I'll probably go back to my room and watch tv or something.'

scaramouche looks right at you from across campus while you type. you are so painfully naive that it's adorable. you had no idea he's been following you the entire day, carefully blended in and unnoticed.

'hey, i just ate a little while ago. how was your day?' he texts back, immediately putting his phone in his pocket. you are defenseless and easy pickings right now. and he now knew you had nothing to do tonight. he is going to change that.

scaramouche waits until you get your food, and makes a beeline right for you as you leave the campus cafeteria. "so even nerds eat, i see," he trots up behind you, snatching your food out of your hand.

"will you please give that back? i didn't have breakfast earlier. i kind of..overslept," you reach for your food container, a blush dusting your cheeks as he holds your takeout box above his head.

"like i give a shit," he scoffs, watching your tits bounce as you jump to try reach for your container. smirking, he puts a hand on your chest and gently shoved you backwards. "what do nerds eat anyways?" he laughs, dancing away from you as he opens the container.

"what's it matter to you? you aren't eating it," you shyly try and reason with him while at the same time trying feebly to stand up for yourself. but you felt yourself getting weak in the knees like you always did. you could clock your body down to the minute it reacted it had become so routine for you.

"maybe i am hungry," scaramouche flips the lid closed, and walks away with your food. exactly like he thought, when he looks over his shoulder, he sees you coming after him. he revels in how much darker the blush on your cheeks got so fast.

"look, at least give me half if you want it that badly," you try several times to grab the container out of his hand, only for him to take it right out of your reach as he walks.

scaramouche laughs as he stops in front of his dorm. "nah, i don't share," he tosses your container into the trashcan next to his dorm room and opens the door. you wouldn't need that anyways. if he got his way, and he would, you wouldn't be leaving his dorm tonight. he can always get you something to eat later.

he is completely used to always getting what he wants.

you stare in disbelief at your food in the trash can. "i..i..why did you do that?" you swallow you pounding heart in your chest. it shouldn't feel this good to be bullied. you didn't think your cheeks could get any more red. the condescending tone he has sent a pleasant shiver right down to your clit.

sighing, scaramouche curls his fingers underneath your chin. "you should see the look on your face," he tilts your head up to look him. "yeah, that one right there," his hand caresses your cheek, his thumb lightly skimming across to your lower lip as you look at him.

"what do you mean?" it felt like a reflex for you to turn your cheek into his hand, the action happening before you knew it was. you long forgot about your food. the only thing you can do is focus on him. just looking up into his eyes flusters you.

"you look like you would get down on your knees and suck me off if i asked you to," it's infuriating how cute you look to him right now. your cheek was nuzzling slightly into his hand, much like a pet would.

clicking the ball of his tongue piercing on his teeth, scaramouche waits for your reaction. if you chose to walk away, he would let you. but he knew you wouldn't. whatever happens next is entirely up to you.

"what if i told you i would?" you shook a little as the words came tumbling out of your mouth. hearing his words reminds you of how wet you are. it took everything you had not to look away from him.

scaramouche froze for a moment, processing what you said. he honestly didn't expect you to be so straightforward. he thought he would have to bully it out of you. "c'mere," he takes his hand off your cheek, and grabs your wrist.

hastily, he pulls you into his dorm and shuts the door. "i'll bet you can't show me you are serious. weak nerds like you cave so easily," he scoffs, deciding to test you a little by putting his hand on your shoulder.

you shiver the moment he applies pressure, sinking to your knees if front of him. scaramouche's eyes widen for a moment as you look up at him. "i can prove it," you say, smiling softly at you nuzzle your cheek on his pelvis. "let me prove i can be a good girl for you." right now, in this moment, this is exactly where you want to be.

he grit his teeth looking down at you. "you know, you look adorable on your knees," he has spent so many nights with his hand fisting his cock, thinking about you in this exact position. looking up at him with utter adoration. fuck, it is making him hard.

you stay submissively quiet on your knees as he unbuttons his jeans. taking out his cock, he puts a hand on the back of your head. "open," he commands, tapping his index finger on his lips.

your eyes light up as you willingly open your mouth. his hand on the back of your head brings your mouth close to his leaking cock. he pokes the tip against your lips, smearing precum on them as he pushes it into your mouth.

your tongue flattens as you lick the slit, wrapping your hand around his cock. "fuck, i knew you were a weak slut," scaramouche hisses as your tongue glides wet on his cock head. his hand tightens in your hair, pushing your mouth onto his cock more, "be the good girl you promised you would be and suck."

you moan, opening your mouth to take his cock in. it pulses thick on your tongue as you suck. he groans as you gently grind the roof of your mouth on his cock. your clit throbs at his degradation, your panties clinging wetter between your legs.

he drinks in the look of adoration welling deeper in your eyes. it straight up makes him moan with pent up need. "that right, slut. keep sucking just like that," he holds your head in place, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth.

your pussy clenched hearing him degrade you so harshly. you muffle a moan on his cock, your sucks turning more eager as you stroke your fingers on the part that wasn't in your mouth. scaramouche rests his head against the wall, bobbing your mouth on his cock.

you rub your thighs together as drool pools out the corner of your mouth. you didn't need to think about anything other than pleasing him. your throat spasms around his cock as it suddenly hits the back of your throat.

"good girl, choking on my cock so well," he pushes hit into your throat again to feel the pure pleasure of it spasming pliable on his cock. you look so intoxicating right now, content to let him use your mouth to get off. the look in your eyes screams, please, enjoy me.

scaramouche has to bite back his whimper as his cock pulses in your mouth. "fuck, i am cumming," he mumbles as cum spurts warm and salty into your mouth. "swallow it all, whore," he groans, relaxing his hand on your hair and letting you suck him through his orgasm. his hand strokes through your hair until he pulls out of your mouth.

you obediently swallow, blushing as you saw a string of saliva connecting your tongue with his cock. sighing, he puts his cock back in his pants. it's so fucking sweet how you are looking up at him for some sort of guidance as to what to do next.

you really would look so pretty all collared up for him like the perfect pet.

"have you ever smoked pot before?" he asks, walking to grab a joint off his nightstand. he knew exactly what your answer would be. as he sits down, he pats the bed in signal for you to come sit with him.

"no, i haven't," you get to your feet, shyly making your way over to sit on his bed, "but i have been curious," you thought he would send you on your way once he got what he wanted. your heart is skipping beats in your chest at the thought of staying with him.

scaramouche spends the next few hours, shotgunning hits into your mouth while you watch him play video games. with each hit, his tongue devours your mouth, his lips needy on yours. he doesn't stop until your eyes look glazed over and hazy, and you are lying relaxed next to him on your stomach.

admittedly, he couldn't say he have an interior motive. as much as he wants his precious to relax, getting you high would make you more pliable for him. after a few hours of some conversation and smoking another joint, scaramouche turns off his game and rolls you over onto your back.

without a word, he captures your lips in a rough kiss. it strokes his ego how it takes no time at all for you to start moaning softly into his mouth as he devours yours with his tongue. his kisses turn more possessive as he takes your clothes off, carelessly tossing them on the floor.

he chuckles seeing the blush on your cheeks as he spreads your legs and slots himself between them. "why do you look so shy, hm?" his tongue dips between your folds, "you were sucking my cock like an eager slut a couple hours ago. it's cute, really," smirking, he licks stripes up and down your pussy.

your hips rock up to grind your pussy on his mouth. the wagging of his tongue piercing on your throbbing clit makes whimper tinged moans bubble up in your throat.

you don't know how much time passes as scaramouche tongue fucks your pussy until you start whimpering and moaning uncontrollably, his hands possessive and bruising on your hips as your hips they buck into his mouth.

you'd sucked him off so well. he has to reward you by returning the favor. as much as he wants to sink his cock inside of your tight, wet cunt right now, he knows just his tongue fucking into your hole will have to do. a delicate thing like you had to be corrupted slowly or you might shatter way too fast.

you passed right out shortly after cumming hard on his tongue, whimpering and shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. he keeps you tucked under his blanket, curled up against his side with your head resting on his chest.

"hey, are you awake?" he asks softly, tapping his index finger on your head. you didn't even stir, and he wasn't surprised. this had been your first smoke pot, and he had gotten you quite high before eating you out.

"don't worry, winter break is coming. everything will be okay then," he whispers, stroking his hand through your hair. you'd looked so fragile and delicate standing in the food court earlier. overwhelmed and tired. that if someone clapped at you the wrong way you would break.

life is full of loud and scary things. things that would break you. he couldn't have that. when winter break comes in a few weeks, he would make everything okay. before he went to sleep, he read a text that you'd sent a few days ago:

'i think i am really in love with my bully.'

[luvst4rc0r3]

Just imagine Jinx about to devour your pretty pussy and stops to write on your thigh: JINX WAZ HERE, with an arrow pointing toward your wet center, before finally devouring you like a hungry woman. I would love it if you could write it down if you can!

IM SORRY IF THIS IS NOT WHAT WAS EXPECTED!! I’m not good at writing smut😭😭☝️☝️😒

“Welcome Home”

Jinx x f!reader

WARNINGS: Smut

WC:1848

Def not proofread

Jinx is full of surprises.

They can be good! But they are definitely unexpected.

She had been pent up from the last couple of weeks because she has gotten mission to mission back to back with no you to comfort her.

You had also been on missions back to back but in Ionia for weeks.

You haven’t been able to see each other for three weeks!

But now that all changes

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The door had barely clicked shut before you felt a body slam into yours, nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“Jinx—”

“Shut up.”

Her arms locked around your waist, and her face burrowed into your neck, breathing you in like she was afraid you’d disappear again. A breathy, almost whiny exhale left her lips, and she pressed a kiss to your pulse point.

“Three weeks,” she muttered. “Three. Weeks. D’you know how long that is? Do you know how fuckin’ much I missed you?”

You sighed, dropping your bag onto the floor and wrapping your arms around her. “I missed you too, baby.”

She pulled back, blue eyes flicking over your face, scanning you. The exhaustion must’ve been obvious—the deep-set tiredness in your eyes, the tension in your jaw. And if that wasn’t enough, Jinx could read you like an open book anyway.

“What’s wrong?”

You groaned, rolling your head back. “People. That’s what’s wrong.”

Her brows furrowed. “People?”

You exhaled sharply, fingers twitching against her waist. “Every time I turned around, someone was flirting with me. Some rich bitch, some cocky business guy, even my damn driver. I was so close to knocking a guy’s teeth out yesterday, Jinx, I swear—”

Jinx had already been irritated about the fact that you were gone, but this? This was fuel. Her fingers curled against your back, her nails digging just a bit too hard. She always got possessive, but this wasn’t just jealousy—this was frustration, anger, pent-up need.

And she wasn’t about to let you sit there all tense and frustrated and wound up tight when she could do something about it.

“C’mere.”

Before you could react, her fingers curled into your jacket and yanked you forward, crashing her lips against yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was Jinx, raw and desperate, pouring all of her missing-you and how-dare-they-look-at-you energy into the kiss. Her teeth scraped against your bottom lip, her tongue dipped into your mouth, stealing whatever breath you had left.

Your hands shot to her hips, squeezing as you stumbled backward, your back hitting the door with a quiet thud. Jinx was on you, fingers fisting in your hair, knee slipping between your legs as she pressed you against the wood.

“You’re mine,” she mumbled against your lips, her breath hot, her hands sliding under your shirt, nails raking up your stomach. “Bet they wanted you.”

You shivered as her lips trailed down your jaw, her hands sliding under your jacket to press against the warm skin beneath. “Didn’t matter,” you managed, voice breathy. “They weren’t you.”

Jinx let out a low hum, pleased, as she nipped at your neck, her teeth grazing over sensitive skin. “Damn right,” she muttered before sucking a mark there, her tongue flicking over the spot to soothe the sting. Her hands roamed—slow, teasing, like she had all the time in the world now that you were finally home.

Your fingers tangled in her hair as she kissed her way back up to your lips, her breath hot against your skin. “Jinx,” you whispered, almost a plea.

She smirked, her hands gripping your thighs before effortlessly lifting you, making you gasp. “Shh, I gotcha,” she murmured, carrying you toward the bedroom. “You had a long trip, baby. Time to remind you where you really belong.”

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Here you are. On the edge of your shared bed begging for another release.

“A-ah…baby please” you moaned out arching your back closer to her face to feel more. Your fingers were intertwined with the bed sheet .

She stops and looks up at you, “please what?” She cocks a sly smile while she says that.

You pout at her words but reluctantly give in, “I… I need to cum” you move your hand to cross your arms making your boobs pop out.

“Well when you ask like that…” she suddenly stops at looks behind you grinning.

You turn around to see what she was looking at and she grabs your chin turning it back to her and chides “who said you could look away?”

She kiss your lips and lets out a soft hum. “I’ll be right back”

You lie down on the bed closing your eyes, hoping to get a bit of shut eye before she came back.

You were too drown out in your thought of what was she doing to realize that she came back and was writing something on your inner thigh.

You didn’t even register it at first but when she complied the first stroke you jerk up.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh…don’t you worry your pretty head about it” she says while slowly caressing your underboob before slowly moving up to your nipple, pinching it softly.

You let a whimper before looking down at her. She was…writing or drawing something on your thigh?

You didn’t really care because she was making you let out these pornographic moans but just playing with your nipple.

When she took her hand away you let out a sad whimper at the lost of her touch.

“It’s ok baby” she reassures you before diving back into your drenched cunt. She was moving at an ungodly speed, her tongue lapping around your poor swollen clit.

“Jinx— fuck. Please—ah. please let me cum”

You barely let out your moans betraying you mid sentence.

She hums into your clit sending vibrations up your body as to say ‘yes’

With the hum of her approval and her still lapping at your cunt maybe going even faster, you came all over her face while moaning out wildly.

“Ah! Fuck Jinx. Mm… ha—ha!” Your body jerks uncontrollably towards her face. Your fingers were holding onto the bedsheets for their life.

Soon the your high came down and you collapsed onto the bed. Closing your eyes you could barely register Jinx’s words before you were knocked out.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You woke up groggy, the remnants of last night’s chaos still buzzing faintly in your skull. The room smelled like gunpowder, sugar, and something vaguely chemical—classic Jinx.

Stretching, you groaned, only to feel something… weird. Like dried paint, flaking against your skin. Blinking away the sleep, you sat up and glanced down.

Oh.

A streak of neon pink ran along your inner thigh, the texture thick and dry like it had been applied with purpose.

Jinx-level purpose.

You swallowed, a creeping sense of mischief crawling up your spine. Carefully, you swung your legs over the bed and shuffled to the cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

And there it was.

Scrawled in messy, chaotic letters—

“JINX WAZ HERE”

The paint marker had bled a little, the letters smudged at the edges, like she’d been giggling too much to keep a steady hand.

“Jinx,” you muttered, running a hand down your face.

As if summoned by sheer audacity, a snicker came from behind you.

Turning, you found her sprawled across the bed, grinning wide, blue eyes glinting like she’d just robbed a candy store.

“You like it?” she asked, chin propped on her hand.

You huffed, gesturing to your thigh. “You vandalized me.”

Jinx gasped, all mock offense. “Pfft, vandalized? No, no, sweets, this is art. My masterpiece. A statement.” She rolled onto her back, kicking her feet in the air. “Now everybody knows you’re mine.”

You crossed your arms. “Yeah? And what if I walk outside like this?”

Her grin widened, sharpened.

“Oh, I dare you.”

Your face burned. “You’re the worst.”

“Aw, babe,” she cooed, winking. “You love it.”

…Yeah. Yeah, you did.

IM TRYING TO COMPLETE ALL OF MY REQUEST TODAY AND TMR!!

I NEED FOOD

[princesseilish]

MAKE IT OUT

Boxer!Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Paige Bueckers is an up-and-coming boxer in New York, fighting to make a name for herself while navigating the gritty reality of life in the city. Her girlfriend, Y/n, works double shifts at a diner to make ends meet, their small apartment barely enough to live in. Despite their love for each other, the pressure of their struggles and Paige’s demanding boxing career threatens to pull them apart.

Warnings: Heavy emotional themes, Financial struggles and poverty, Depictions of physical exhaustion and injury (boxing-related),Mild language and suggestive, Angst and relationship tension

New York was a loud, chaotic city—impossible to escape, impossible to ignore. But inside their tiny apartment, it was quiet. Almost too quiet. The worn-out couch sagged in the middle, and the windows rattled every time a bus passed by, but that was home. That was their home.

Y/n wiped the last remnants of grease off her apron, flicking her long hair behind her shoulder as she stepped into the cramped kitchen. Her boss had kept her on the floor for hours longer than she’d planned. Of course, he’d made a few comments, too. The usual sleazy stuff—nothing she couldn’t handle, but it was enough to leave her feeling worn.

She kicked off her shoes, sighing. “Paige? You home?”

Paige’s voice floated from the living room, low and slightly muffled. “Yeah, just finishing up some stuff.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. She should’ve known. Paige was always “just finishing up some stuff.” More like she was.

“You want me to heat up dinner or something?” Y/n walked toward the living room, poking her head around the doorframe to see Paige, sprawled out on the couch in a pair of workout shorts, her body flexing as she went through her footwork drills. The glow from her phone screen lit up her face in the darkened room.

“You can heat up some food if you want, but I’m good,” Paige replied without looking up. She was already covered in sweat from training earlier, but there was something about the way she moved—aggressive and fluid, like a fighter in her prime. And Y/n hated it. She hated how much Paige pushed herself, even when it wasn’t necessary.

But then again, she loved it, too.

“You know, I don’t get why you don’t just let me help you more,” Y/n said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “It’s not like you’re getting paid a ton for these fights.”

Paige stopped, finally looking up at her with a grin. “You’ve got your own stuff going on, babe. Don’t worry about me.” She turned back to her phone, scrolling through her manager’s messages. “I’ve got a fight coming up. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

“Another fight?” Y/n scoffed, walking into the room and flopping onto the couch beside her. “You can’t even get enough sleep because of these stupid underground fights. That can’t be your answer, Paige.”

Paige shot her a look. She knew this conversation all too well. “If I don’t fight, what am I supposed to do, Y/n? Sit at home and wait for something to fall into my lap?”

“You could take a break for once. Let me take care of you,” Y/n said softly, glancing at her girlfriend’s clenched jaw. “It’s hard enough already. I don’t want to lose you, Paige. I just… I don’t want you to do something stupid.”

Paige exhaled deeply, resting her phone on the coffee table and running her hand through her damp hair. “I’m not doing something stupid. I’m doing what I’ve gotta do to survive. If I stop fighting, then everything—” she motioned to the small, cluttered apartment around them “—this goes. We go.”

Y/n’s heart sank. “I know. But it’s too much right now. You’re pushing yourself so hard… and for what? A scrap of cash every couple of weeks?”

“Every scrap adds up,” Paige shot back, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll get there. I promise.”

Y/n took a deep breath, her chest tight with frustration, love, and everything in between. “I’m already working two shifts at the diner. My boss—” She stopped herself. There was no need to get into it now. “It’s just… hard, okay? I’m so damn tired. And I know you’re tired too.”

Paige’s eyes softened, and she leaned over, brushing her hand against Y/n’s cheek. “I know you’re doing your best, babe. And I appreciate it. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I just…” She sighed, dropping her head onto Y/n’s shoulder. “I just don’t know how to stop.”

Y/n let out a breath, running her fingers through Paige’s hair. “I don’t know either. But I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

Paige didn’t say anything for a long while, just sat there, pressed against Y/n as if she could hide from the weight of everything for a moment.

And Y/n didn’t mind. Not one bit.

A Couple Weeks Later

The evening was quieter than usual. Y/n had just gotten home from her shift, but Paige wasn’t in the living room. She walked into their tiny bedroom, and there she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at something on her phone.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “You look… pensive.”

Paige glanced up. “I’m just waiting for the call. They want me to fight at the Underground League next weekend. It’s big. Could be my breakthrough.” She bit her lip, unsure of how to gauge Y/n’s reaction.

“Oh yeah? Big enough to make us not have to eat ramen for a month?” Y/n asked, leaning in the doorway.

Paige shot her a tired but playful smile. “Bigger. Maybe even a hundred bucks more than usual.”

“Wow, rich and famous now, huh?” Y/n teased.

Paige stood up and walked over to her, wrapping her arms around her waist. “More like still struggling. But I want us to be okay. I just want more than this, Y/n.”

Y/n sighed softly. “I know you do. I just wish it didn’t come with so many punches.”

Paige cupped her face, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You know me. I’ll fight my way through it.”

Y/n smiled softly, her heart full of all the unspoken things between them. “Yeah. You will.”

Paige looked down at her. “But we’re doing this together, right?”

Y/n leaned into her, closing her eyes. “Yeah. We’ll get through this together. Even if it’s just one more fight at a time.”

It wasn’t a lot. But it was theirs.

And in the end, that was enough.

The Fight Night

Paige stood in the locker room, slipping her gloves on. Her coach paced nearby, talking to her about strategy, but her mind was elsewhere. She could feel the weight of the crowd outside the gym doors, waiting for her to fight. She hated the noise. The pressure.

But when she stepped out into the ring, her heart found its rhythm. She saw Y/n in the front row, standing with her arms crossed, her tired eyes fixed on Paige. She didn’t smile, didn’t cheer. She just watched.

Paige nodded to herself.

Just one more round.

And then maybe, just maybe, things would be different.

But for now, it was just the two of them. Fighting for what was theirs.

The sound of the crowd faded as Paige’s focus zeroed in on her opponent. Her gloves tightened around her fists, and her breath came in steady, controlled inhales. Each movement felt like a heartbeat, rhythmic and deliberate. This was what she’d been working for—this moment, this fight.

Her manager’s voice rang in her head, reminding her of the prize money, the opportunities that could follow, but Paige only had one thought on her mind: Y/n.

She glanced to the front row, catching her girlfriend’s tired, but determined eyes. Y/n didn’t look happy—she never did when Paige fought—but she was here. She always was.

The bell rang, snapping Paige out of her daze. The first punch from her opponent came fast, but Paige was faster. She dodged, countered, and landed a solid jab to the jaw. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, but there was something different tonight. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The fight dragged on, round after round. Sweat stung her eyes, and every bruise felt like a reminder of the life they were living—the stress, the struggle, the fights both inside and outside the ring. She was getting close to breaking. The fight wasn’t going the way she expected.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the fog.

“Come on, Paige! You’ve got this!”

Y/n. Paige’s heart skipped a beat, the words cutting through the chaos. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough. It was always enough.

With a deep breath, Paige shifted gears, landing blow after blow. Her body moved like muscle memory, the pain forgotten, the exhaustion ignored. The fight was hers now.

As the final round approached, she could see it. Her opponent was slowing down, and so was she, but she could feel the end coming. She needed to finish this. For her, for Y/n, for everything they’d been through.

The crowd roared as the two fighters exchanged punches, both tired, both ready to give it all. But Paige had the last word. With a final, swift blow, she knocked her opponent to the mat, the referee counting down.

And just like that, it was over.

The bell rang. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Paige barely heard it. She collapsed to her knees, chest heaving, sweat dripping from her face. But through the haze, she saw Y/n.

The same tired, strained expression still on her face. But there was something else too—pride, maybe? Love? Paige couldn’t tell.

Y/n wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t disappointed either. She was here, and that was enough for Paige.

She stumbled to her feet, the weight of the victory barely sinking in. The manager was already on the phone, talking numbers. But Paige didn’t care. She stepped out of the ring and made her way toward the front row, her eyes locked on Y/n.

“You okay?” Y/n asked quietly, stepping toward her.

Paige took a shaky breath, a grin tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. I won.”

“I know.”

Y/n’s voice was soft, but there was a warmth to it, a softness Paige hadn’t expected. It was as if all the tension between them had melted away. She reached out, pulling Paige into an embrace, her arms wrapping around her tight.

Paige rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder, finally feeling like she could breathe again. “We’re gonna be alright, aren’t we?”

Y/n pulled back, looking up at her with that familiar glint in her eyes. “We’ll be fine. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we’ve got each other. That’s all we need.”

Paige smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was everything.

Together. That’s all they needed.

As they walked out of the arena, the night still felt heavy. There was no guarantee that things would get better, no promises that the rent would be paid without another fight. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. They were making it through—just one more round at a time.

And that was all they had. And it was enough.

The following days weren’t easy, but they never really were. Paige’s manager was already pushing her to keep going, to find another fight, to make the next move. The money from the win was nice, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Not with rent overdue and Y/n still working those exhausting shifts at the diner.

But things had shifted, in a way. There was a quiet understanding between them, a subtle reassurance that neither one of them had to face this struggle alone. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was their reality, and they were in it together.

Y/n worked a double shift the night after the fight. Paige had told her to rest, to take the night off, but Y/n never could. She liked the independence it gave her, the sense that she could still contribute to their tiny apartment in some way. Even if it meant dealing with the perverted stares of her boss, she’d endure it to make sure they were okay.

“I’ll be alright,” Y/n had said as she grabbed her bag and headed toward the door.

Paige looked up from where she was lacing up her gloves. “You better be,” she said, her voice softer than usual. She hated that Y/n had to do this. She hated that Y/n had to work under conditions that made her uncomfortable. But she wasn’t in a position to do anything about it—not yet.

Y/n smiled weakly, but Paige could see the exhaustion in her eyes. She placed a hand on her cheek before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You’ll see me later, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here when you get back.”

It wasn’t a lot—just a kiss, a touch. But in their world, it was everything. They didn’t have the luxury of big gestures. They didn’t have the space for extravagant dates or trips. They only had moments like this. Small but meaningful, like their own little secret.

Later that night, Paige couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The apartment felt quieter than usual, the stillness almost suffocating. She’d been training, punching at the bag with more intensity than necessary, her focus on the pain. But it wasn’t just physical—it was mental too. The fight she had won wasn’t enough. It never would be. Not when the world kept pushing back.

She grabbed her phone, debating whether to text Y/n, but she didn’t want to interrupt her. She knew she was probably on her break, and she didn’t want to add more stress. But after a few minutes, she gave in, typing a quick message:

Paige: “Miss you. Be safe. I’ll be waiting for you.”

She sent it and immediately regretted it. It sounded needy, weak, but it was how she felt. She was scared—scared of everything. Scared that they’d never escape this cycle. Scared that even with all her hard work, nothing would change.

The ping of a text cut through her thoughts:

Y/n: “I’ll be home soon. Don’t wait up for me. Just got a new tip from the old guy at the counter. Gross, but at least it’s money.”

Paige couldn’t help but feel a flash of anger. That old guy at the counter—she knew exactly who Y/n was talking about. The guy who made Y/n uncomfortable, the one who stared too long. She hated that Y/n had to deal with it. Hated that she felt forced to.

But she didn’t have the words. Not yet.

Instead, Paige responded with a simple message:

Paige: “Don’t let him get to you. I’ll be here. When you get home, we’ll forget about all of this.”

She stared at the words, wishing they were true. Wishing that they could just forget about the struggle, the stress, the pressure. But they couldn’t. They were stuck in it. Together.

When Y/n finally walked through the door hours later, looking exhausted but still managing a tired smile, Paige immediately crossed the room. She didn’t say anything at first. She just pulled Y/n into a hug, holding her tightly. It was all they could give each other right now.

“I’m so tired,” Y/n whispered, her voice muffled against Paige’s shoulder.

“I know,” Paige replied softly. “You don’t have to do it all, you know.”

Y/n pulled back, her eyes meeting Paige’s. “We don’t have a choice, Paige. You know that.”

Paige looked at her, her chest heavy with a truth they both had to face. “I know.”

But for a moment, they just stood there, holding each other, allowing the world outside to blur into nothing. In that moment, it didn’t matter that their rent was still overdue or that Y/n had to deal with disgusting customers at the diner. It didn’t matter that Paige’s manager was already breathing down her neck about her next fight. All that mattered was that they were together. And that, despite everything, was something worth holding on to.

“Tomorrow’s a new day,” Paige murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n’s face.

Y/n nodded, her hands running up and down Paige’s back as if to ground herself. “Yeah. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

And with that, they fell asleep in the cramped bed they shared, the sound of the city just outside their window. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now, it was all they had, and for as long as they had it, they’d keep fighting—together.

The following weeks were a blur of training and late shifts. The cycle never seemed to end. Paige’s fights, though more frequent, didn’t provide the recognition she needed. Her manager, ever impatient, pushed her harder, always looking for the next match, the next payday. But Paige was running on fumes. Her body ached, her hands bruised and calloused from hours of sparring and punching the bag. She was constantly battling fatigue, but every time she stepped into the ring, her mind was drawn to Y/n. To their life. To the future they wanted but couldn’t seem to grasp.

Meanwhile, Y/n’s job at the diner was slowly wearing her down. The tips were decent, but it wasn’t enough to make a real difference. Her boss—rude and lecherous—had grown bolder in his advances, making her feel more and more uncomfortable with every shift. Y/n wasn’t naïve; she knew that the best way to stay in his good graces was to smile and ignore his inappropriate comments. But it was getting harder to fake her enthusiasm, especially with the strain of her relationship with Paige constantly on her mind.

She missed the old days when it felt like they were invincible. When they could spend hours talking about their dreams without worrying about rent or bills. The love they shared had always been something pure, something real. But now, every conversation felt like it was tinged with frustration. She could see it in Paige’s eyes—her exhaustion, her frustration with the lack of progress. Paige was losing herself, piece by piece, and Y/n didn’t know how to help.

One night, after another draining shift, Y/n came home to find Paige sitting at the small table in their dingy kitchen, her gloves sitting beside her, her face buried in her hands. The apartment was eerily quiet, the usual hum of the city outside muted by the exhaustion that hung in the air.

Y/n stood at the doorway for a moment, unsure of what to say. She had a million things on her mind, things she wanted to confront, things she wanted to fix. But right now, all she could focus on was the woman in front of her, the woman who had fought so hard to get here.

“You good?” Y/n asked quietly, stepping into the room.

Paige didn’t look up, but the tremor in her voice gave her away. “I don’t know anymore.”

The words hit Y/n like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t that she didn’t know Paige was struggling—it was obvious—but hearing it out loud, hearing Paige admit it, made it all the more real. This wasn’t just a phase. This wasn’t just a bad week. This was the reality of their lives.

“I don’t want you to do this anymore,” Y/n whispered, her voice catching in her throat. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself for nothing.”

Paige finally looked up, her eyes meeting Y/n’s, and for the first time in weeks, there was no deflection, no walls. There was only exhaustion and something deeper, something painful.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/n,” Paige said softly. “I don’t. We’re barely getting by, and I’m not even close to being good enough. If I don’t keep pushing, we’ll lose everything. Everything we’re trying to build… it’ll be gone.”

Y/n’s heart ached at the words, at the desperation in Paige’s voice. She had always admired Paige’s determination, her unwavering drive to succeed. But lately, it felt like that drive was driving them apart rather than bringing them together.

“I know you’re trying, P. I know you’re doing everything you can. But you’re killing yourself for something that might not even happen. You don’t need to do this for me. You don’t need to do this for anyone. Not if it means losing yourself in the process.”

Paige’s eyes flashed, the weight of Y/n’s words cutting deeper than she expected. “So what do you want me to do? Stop fighting? Stop trying to make something of myself? Stop trying to give us a future?”

Y/n took a step closer, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want you to stop hurting yourself. I want you to be happy. I want us to be happy. And I can’t do this anymore, P. I can’t keep pretending like everything’s okay when we’re both just… drowning.”

The silence in the room was suffocating. It felt like they were both holding their breath, waiting for the other to crack, to admit the truth. Y/n could feel her chest tightening, the tears welling up behind her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Paige said finally, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just… I just wanted to fix everything.”

Y/n reached out, cupping Paige’s face in her hands, her thumb gently brushing away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. “I know. I know you did.”

They stood there for a long moment, neither of them knowing what the next step would be. All they knew was that they had reached a breaking point, a crossroads in their relationship that neither of them had anticipated. Y/n wasn’t sure if they could keep going down this path, but she knew one thing for certain: they couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Paige murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Then let’s figure it out together,” Y/n whispered back. “We’re in this mess together, P. We’ve always been.”

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n believed it. Whatever the future held, they’d face it together.

The next few days were a blur of heavy conversations and quiet moments shared between Paige and Y/n. They had always been able to talk about anything, but now, it felt like they were both navigating a minefield, every word carrying the weight of their unspoken fears.

Y/n continued to work double shifts at the diner, her boss’s lecherous comments still lingering in her mind. It was hard to focus on anything other than the constant stress of making ends meet. Paige, on the other hand, was training harder than ever, as if each punch she threw could somehow punch away all the tension and anxiety clouding her mind. But it wasn’t working. She could feel the pressure building, her muscles screaming for rest, but she couldn’t stop.

One evening, after another long day for both of them, they found themselves sitting in their tiny kitchen, a take-out container between them. The silence was thick, but neither of them knew what to say anymore. It felt like everything they had been trying to hold together was slowly slipping through their fingers.

“I’ve been thinking…” Paige finally broke the silence, her voice quiet but firm. “Maybe it’s time for me to step back from boxing for a little while.”

Y/n’s head snapped up, surprised by the admission. “What? Really?”

Paige sighed, running her hand through her hair. “Yeah. I don’t know… I’ve been pushing so hard, and it’s not helping. It’s only making things worse. I can’t keep pretending like I can handle everything—this, you, the pressure from my manager, the bills… I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”

Y/n’s heart ached hearing the vulnerability in Paige’s voice. She had always seen Paige as this unbreakable force, the one who always had a plan, who always knew what to do. But now, she was seeing a side of Paige she wasn’t sure she had ever seen before—a side that was uncertain and unsure of what to do next.

“I don’t want you to stop fighting,” Y/n said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But if you need to take a break… I won’t be mad. I just want you to be okay.”

Paige met Y/n’s gaze, her eyes searching for something—something that might tell her she was making the right choice. She had always put Y/n first, always tried to protect her from the chaos of her life, but right now, she wasn’t sure how to do that. How could she protect Y/n when she felt so lost herself?

“I’m sorry,” Paige said, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean for things to get like this. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Y/n reached across the table, taking Paige’s hand in hers. “You didn’t drag me into anything, P. I chose to be here. I chose you. But we have to face the fact that we can’t keep going like this. It’s not healthy for either of us.”

Paige squeezed her hand, her heart aching at the truth in Y/n’s words. She wanted so badly to fix everything—to make everything right—but she didn’t know how. She was stuck in a cycle of stress, self-doubt, and exhaustion, and no matter how hard she fought, it didn’t seem to be getting any better.

“You’re right,” Paige whispered, looking down at their joined hands. “I don’t know how to make this work anymore.”

Y/n didn’t know what the future held, but she knew one thing: she wasn’t going to give up on them. Not now, not ever.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said firmly, pulling Paige closer. “We always do. It’s not going to be easy, but we’ll get through it together. We don’t need everything. We don’t need all the things we’ve been chasing. As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

Paige rested her forehead against Y/n’s, taking a deep breath. She didn’t know if she believed that yet, but in that moment, with Y/n’s arms around her, she could almost imagine it. Maybe they didn’t need all the answers right now. Maybe they just needed to take things one step at a time.

“I love you,” Paige murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Y/n smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Paige’s face. “I love you, too. And that’s enough for me.”

The days that followed weren’t easy. Paige took a step back from boxing, deciding to give herself some time to breathe, to think about what she truly wanted. Y/n continued to work at the diner, but she started looking for other opportunities, determined to find a way out of the rut they were stuck in. There were still arguments, still moments of frustration, but they were learning to navigate it all together. Slowly, they were rebuilding their life, piece by piece.

It wasn’t perfect, far from it. But it was theirs. And for the first time in a long time, that felt enough.

Paige sat on the edge of their threadbare couch, staring blankly at the phone in her hand. The bright screen illuminated her face in the dimly lit apartment, the silence pressing down on her. She had received the offer she’d been waiting for—an invitation to the biggest boxing tournament of her life. It could be the break she needed, the one that could finally lift them out of the cramped, run-down apartment they called home. But there was a catch.

Leave New York. No distractions. No one by your side. Just you, the fight, and the opportunity to prove yourself.

She ran a hand through her hair, glancing around at their tiny space. The apartment was falling apart, the rent barely covered by the tips Y/n made working double shifts at the diner. They’d been scraping by for months now, and Paige knew that if she wanted a future, if they wanted a future, she needed this. The chance to win could change everything.

But then the ultimatum hit her like a gut punch. If she wanted to go, if she wanted this shot, she had to leave Y/n behind.

Paige could already feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. Y/n didn’t deserve to be stuck here, in this dangerous part of the city, while Paige chased a dream. She knew how tough it was for Y/n. She had seen it in her tired eyes every night when she came home from work, exhausted from waiting tables, dealing with creepy bosses, and barely making ends meet. Paige wanted to shield her from all of it. But the truth was, leaving her behind for a week felt like ripping her heart out. She hated the thought of it.

When Y/n came home from work that night, the exhaustion written all over her face, Paige tried to hide her turmoil, but she couldn’t mask the uncertainty in her eyes.

Y/n dropped her bag with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Hey,” she greeted softly, moving toward Paige. “How was your day?”

Paige gave a tired smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Same old, just… thinking.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what?”

Paige hesitated, knowing what she was about to say would change everything. “I got the offer. The tournament. The one I’ve been working for.”

Y/n’s face lit up with surprise. “Wait, really? That’s amazing, P! This is it! This is your shot!”

Paige’s throat tightened as she looked down at her hands. “There’s a catch,” she whispered.

Y/n’s expression faltered. “What do you mean?”

“I have to leave. I have to go out of town for a week, no distractions. It’s part of the deal. My manager—he wants me to focus completely on the fight.”

Y/n’s face softened, and she stepped closer, her hands resting gently on Paige’s shoulders. “Then go. You have to take this. It’s your dream, it’s what you’ve been fighting for.”

Paige looked up at her, her heart breaking. “I don’t want to leave you behind. Not like this.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed. “Paige, I get it. I really do. You have to do this for us, for both of us. We can’t keep living like this, you know that. I don’t want you to stay here because of me. Go. Take the shot. I want you to.”

“But—” Paige’s voice cracked. “But I can’t leave you here. Alone. Not in this place, not with everything going on here. It’s not safe. You know it’s not.”

Y/n’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stepped back, crossing her arms. “You think I can’t handle it?”

Paige immediately regretted her words. “No, Y/n, that’s not what I mean. I just—” She ran a hand over her face, feeling the weight of her choices crashing down on her. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go without you, but I know this could change everything. I need to take this chance. I need to prove myself.”

Y/n’s eyes softened as she met Paige’s gaze. “I know you do. And I want that for you. But I want you to know something, P.”

Paige looked up, confusion swirling in her chest. “What?”

“I want you to go,” Y/n said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to take this. I want you to fight, to chase your dream. I don’t want to be the reason you hold yourself back. But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” Paige asked, her voice shaking.

“Promise me you won’t forget about us. Promise me you won’t come back and tell me it wasn’t worth it, if it means losing me in the process. I don’t care about the money or the recognition. I care about you. You’ve already given so much to this. But you can’t lose me in the process.”

Paige’s heart shattered at the weight of Y/n’s words. She couldn’t bear the thought of coming back and seeing Y/n lost, hurt, or feeling abandoned. She reached out, cupping Y/n’s face gently. “I’m not going to lose you. I swear. But I can’t promise I won’t be torn apart by this, too. I need you, Y/n. But I need this too. For both of us.”

Y/n sighed, pressing her forehead to Paige’s. “I know, P. I know. Go. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

Paige closed her eyes, leaning into the warmth of Y/n’s touch, feeling the weight of the decision she was about to make. She didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want to be without her for a single day. But sometimes, sacrifices had to be made. And this, this was one Paige knew she had to take.

“I love you,” Paige whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” Y/n replied softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite the uncertainty hanging in the air.

Paige kissed her forehead, knowing that no matter what happened, she couldn’t lose sight of what was important. The fight, the opportunity, it was everything. But Y/n? She was forever.

The week came too quickly, and Paige found herself standing at the door of their apartment, bag slung over her shoulder. Y/n was there, her eyes soft but determined, the silence between them more deafening than anything they had said. Paige took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This moment, this goodbye—however temporary it was—felt like everything.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Paige said, her voice wavering despite her best efforts.

Y/n nodded, but there was something about her eyes—something hidden behind that familiar, understanding gaze—that made Paige’s heart ache in ways she didn’t know it could.

“I know,” Y/n said quietly. “And when you get back, we’ll be closer to where we want to be.”

Paige wanted to say something, wanted to promise her the world, but the lump in her throat stopped her. All she could do was nod, her hand reaching for Y/n’s, squeezing it tightly.

“I love you,” Paige whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.”

“I love you too,” Y/n said softly, her thumb tracing circles over Paige’s hand. “But you’ll be back. And when you are… we’ll figure everything out. I know you’ll make it. You’re the strongest person I know.”

And with that, Paige turned and walked out the door, Y/n’s words echoing in her mind as the cold air hit her skin. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave Y/n behind. But this was their future, and this fight—this chance—was their ticket to something bigger. Something better.

The tournament was brutal. The fights were intense, and Paige’s body took a beating that made her question whether she could keep going. But there was something inside of her—something that wouldn’t let her stop. Each round, each punch thrown at her, made her think of Y/n. Her face. Her touch. The way Y/n had believed in her even when Paige couldn’t believe in herself. That was the strength Paige needed.

She fought harder than she ever had, pushing through the pain, the exhaustion, and the self-doubt. It was a long, grueling night, but when the final bell rang and the judges announced her as the winner, Paige felt like she had won more than just a title.

She had won their future.

Back in New York, Y/n was waiting, as she had promised, always waiting. She had worked long shifts, doubled up to make ends meet, but with each paycheck, with each passing day, she believed a little more in the dream they had. A dream of a future, of a home where they could rest, laugh, love.

Y/n had her own moments of doubt, her own moments of struggle. But every night, she would look at the small picture on their fridge—a snapshot from a day spent at the beach, just the two of them, laughing as they splashed in the waves. That was the reminder. They were building something together, even when it felt like everything around them was falling apart.

Months passed (i switched it, oops) Paige finally returned, just as promised. She was different—stronger, not just physically, but emotionally. The tournament had changed her, and with it, her determination. She had a new kind of fire in her eyes, and it was all for them.

The moment she stepped back into their tiny apartment, Y/n rushed to her, wrapping her arms around Paige in a tight embrace. The world outside seemed to stop, everything slowing as they held each other close. Paige kissed her softly, a promise in that kiss—one she had carried with her all this time.

“I did it,” Paige whispered, her forehead resting against Y/n’s. “I won, Y/n. I did it for us.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I knew you would.”

They stayed like that, in the quiet of their little apartment, with nothing more than the sound of their breaths and the beating of their hearts.

But now, the future was uncertain in the best way possible. The door was wide open. Paige’s boxing career had taken off, and with it, new opportunities were beginning to unfold. They could leave New York, go anywhere, do anything. The world was suddenly theirs to conquer.

It was a few months later when Paige took Y/n’s hand and led her to the roof of their building, a small ring tucked in her pocket. The city was alive below them, the lights sparkling against the night sky, but all Paige could see was Y/n. She had everything she needed right there.

Y/n looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What are we doing up here?”

Paige smiled softly. “I wanted to ask you something. Something important.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her smile teasing. “What, are we getting married?”

Paige laughed, but the sound quickly turned into something more serious, more real. “Actually… yeah. I think we should.”

Y/n blinked in surprise, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest. “Wait, are you serious?”

Paige dropped to one knee, the ring gleaming in the city lights. “I’ve always been serious about you, Y/n. You’re my everything. Through all the mess, all the struggles, I want to face it all with you. Forever.”

Y/n’s breath caught, and the tears she had been holding back all night finally spilled over. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

As Paige slid the ring on her finger, a tear escaped her own eye. She had fought for this moment, fought for them, and in that moment, the world felt like it was theirs to take.

They kissed, the noise of the city fading into the background, their hearts beating in unison, knowing that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was theirs.

And that was enough.

The end of one chapter, but the beginning of their forever.

[ankababy]

A Home (part 2)

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Part 1 Part 3

Now, with your new roommates(as long as they were healing up, at least) you had time. Time, and a lot of it, so much that they both had all the time to worry about you. Wait—worry?

(TW: injuries, english not my first language!)

After the conversation the night before, you let them be.

You weren’t stupid. You knew people like them needed space more than anything. They needed time to process that they weren’t alone anymore—that someone was actually willing to take them in, feed them, let them stay.

So, you did exactly that.

You let them exist on their own terms.

They didn’t talk much the rest of the day. Chishiya mostly stayed in the bedroom he had picked out, keeping to himself. Niragi, on the other hand, spent most of his time on the couch, switching between being completely silent and making loud, unnecessary noises just to get on your nerves.

You cooked them another meal later in the evening. Something simple, something warm. You didn’t ask if they wanted it—you just made it and left the food where they could grab it.

If they ate, they ate. If they didn’t, well… that was their problem.

Once that was done, you told them one last time that if they needed something, they knew where to find you. Then you shut your bedroom door, locked it, and went to sleep.

Now, you walked into the living room, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

The place was quiet.

No Chishiya.

Just Niragi, sprawled out on the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, an open water bottle loosely dangling from his fingers.

He didn’t say anything when you entered.

Didn’t acknowledge you.

Didn’t even glance in your direction.

Yeah. Alright.

You weren’t surprised.

Not like you expected a ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ from him, but still.

You let out a small sigh and walked over to the kitchen. “Morning, Niragi.”

Nothing.

He didn’t even pretend to acknowledge you. He just kept lying there.

You didn’t let it bother you. Instead, you grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and walked over to where he was. You sat down on the chair near the couch, resting your arms on the table.

“Finally took a shower, huh?” you said, keeping your voice light. “How was it?”

This time, he made a sound. A lazy, unimpressed scoff. Then he stretched his arms above his head and exhaled. “Tch. I’ve had better.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Not luxurious enough for you?”

He smirked, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “If you wanted to join, you could’ve just said so, babe.”

You snorted. “Dream on.”

“I did. Last night.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, taking a sip of your water. His flirting wasn’t even serious. It was just how he was, words meant to either get a reaction or entertain himself.

You set the glass down and tilted your head slightly. “Your injuries.” you said. “You’re being careful, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Which was an answer in itself.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Niragi.”

Still no response.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“Let me see.” you said softly.

His gaze finally moved from the ceiling to you. Looking at you for a bit. Like he was trying to decide how much he could get away with before you gave up.

“Why?” he asked. “You a nurse now, too?”

You gave him a small, patient smile. “I want to make sure you didn’t make anything worse.”

He scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

You sighed. Deeply.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Gently, you leaned forward a little. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be avoiding the question.” you pointed out. “Or looking at me like I just asked to amputate your leg.”

“You wanna undress me that bad, huh?” he teased. “Damn, at least buy me dinner first.”

You didn’t even blink. “You already ate.”

That actually made him laugh.A real, full laugh.

His head tilted slightly, observing you. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“No.”

He sighed.

Defeated.

“…Fine.” he muttered. “Do whatever you want.”

Though when you reached for the hem of his shirt, he jerked away slightly, shooting you a glare.

“I can do it myself.” he grumbled.

You raised an eyebrow, hands resting in your lap. “Yeah?”

He scoffed. “Yeah.”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against your knee. “Alright. Go ahead.”

Niragi looked at you for half a second before clicking his pierced tongue and gripping the bottom of his shirt. He barely lifted it before his body immediately protested—his injuries pulling tight, pain searing through his ribs. His jaw clenched, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

You watched.

Didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even try to help.

Because you knew people like him. If you jumped in now, he’d just get more stubborn.

And sure enough, despite the obvious pain, Niragi kept going.

Grimacing. Muttering curses under his breath. Moving at the speed of someone who definitely should not be doing this alone.

You sighed. “You done?”

He scowled. “Shut up.”

“Just let me help.”

His fingers twitched against the fabric. For a moment, you thought he might still refuse. Might fight it until he physically couldn’t anymore. But then, with an exaggerated groan, he flopped back against the couch.

“Fine.” he grumbled, lifting his arms slightly. “Hurry the fuck up before I change my mind.”

Finally.

You reached forward, carefully slipping the shirt up over his ribs, making sure not to pull too hard. His body was worse than you thought. The same bandages you had wrapped him in yesterday(so he either wrapped them back up after showering or kept them on) were already loose, stained dark in some places. Bruises covered his torso—deep, painful-looking ones. Some yellowing, some fresh.

You exhaled through your nose.

He noticed.

“What?” he muttered, watching you. “Not as pretty as you thought I’d be?”

You glanced up, unimpressed. “I wasn’t expecting pretty.”

That made him laugh.

You just shook your head and reached for the bandages, starting to carefully unwrap them. He watched you closely.

“You got guns?” he asked suddenly.

Your hands didn’t stop moving. “Hm?”

“Guns.” He shifted slightly. “You got any?”

You met his eyes briefly before focusing back on his wounds. “Why do you want to know?”

He shrugged, not bothering to answer.

You carefully peeled back the last of the bandage, revealing the deep gash on his side. You had stitched it up yesterday, but it still looked bad—angry and healing slowly. His body was pushing itself too hard.

You weren’t surprised.

“I don’t keep guns here.” you said finally, reaching for some fresh cloth to clean the wound.

Niragi frowned slightly. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because I don’t need them.”

He scoffed. “You’re alone in a world like this and you don’t have a single gun? Not even for backup?”

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “Who said I don’t have a backup?”

His gaze flickered—like he wasn’t sure if you were bluffing.

But you weren’t.

You didn’t need guns because you were smart. You knew how to protect yourself in ways that didn’t rely on bullets.

Niragi, of course, was the kind of person who thought violence was the only way to survive.

So you didn’t argue with him. Didn’t explain yourself. You just kept working, gently pressing the cloth against his side.

He winced—barely, but you caught it. His reaction was to immediately act like nothing happened.

You ignored that.

“Keep talking if you want,”you said, voice light. “but I’d be careful with moving too much unless you want to rip these stitches out.”

Niragi clicked his tongue. “You’re bossy.”

“And you don’t listen.”

His grin returned. “So what, you gonna punish me?”

You rolled your eyes, pressing the cloth a little harder against his wound, listening to him hiss. Liking the sound. “That’s your punishment.”

You kept working on his wounds, carefully cleaning the gash on his side while he pretended he wasn’t in pain. Every so often, his body would tense, his breath would catch, but he’d immediately cover it up with something irritating—like you were the one being dramatic.

You ignored it. Mostly.

“I think you like touching me.” he muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You didn’t even glance up. “I think you have the pain tolerance of a child.”

He grinned. “Yeah? What do you know about kids?”

“I was a therapist.” you reminded him. “I worked with plenty of people. Adults. Teens. Kids.” You dabbed a clean cloth against the edges of the wound, your voice soft. “And you? You complain like the six-year-olds who didn’t want to get their vaccines.”

Niragi scoffed, tilting his head back. “Tch. Whatever.”

But before he could throw out another pair of shitty words, a new voice cut through the air.

“How bad is it?”

You glanced up to see Chishiya.

Standing just a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, watching. His expression was unreadable. Calm. Unbothered.

Like he had been there for a while.

Niragi, of course, immediately zeroed in on him like a cat.

“What, you worried about me?” he sneered.

Chishiya didn’t even blink.

“No.”

Niragi clicked his tongue. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

Chishiya ignored him, eyes moving back to you. “You know what you’re doing?”

It wasn’t an insult.

It was a genuine question.

Not doubtful. Not condescending.

Just curious.

You gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I know.”

His gaze lingered for a second. Then he nodded once, like he was satisfied with that answer.

Niragi was not.

“The fuck do you care, huh?” he muttered, glaring at him. “You here to watch? You into that or somethin’?”

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change. He just slowly shifted his weight to one side. “You really do talk a lot.”

Niragi’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I mean,” Chishiya said. “you have a gaping wound in your side and you’re still wasting energy running your mouth.” He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe that’s why you’re still weak.”

Niragi sat up so fast that you had to press a hand against his chest to keep him from ripping his stitches apart.

“Hey.” you scolded gently. “Do you want me to actually kick you out? Because I can.”

Niragi’s attention snapped to you, offended “You’d kick me out?”

You raised an eyebrow. “If you start throwing punches in my living room? Yeah.”

Chishiya exhaled sharply—which, for him, was practically a laugh.

Niragi immediately pointed at him. “Don’t fucking laugh, you piece of shit.”

Chishiya shrugged. “Not laughing.”

You sighed and focused back on Niragi’s injury, pressing a new bandage against his side. He winced before schooling his face back into something bored.

Chishiya, meanwhile, kept watching. Because—and he would never admit this out loud—he was actually impressed.

You were good.

Better than he expected.

He hadn’t told you he was a doctor. On purpose. He wanted to see how well you’d handle an injury like Niragi’s without him stepping in.

And you? You were doing just fine.

Maybe not with the same expertise as him, but your hands were steady. Your movements were careful. You knew what you were doing, and you were patient.

A lesser person would have lost their temper by now.

A lesser person would have shoved Niragi away and let him bleed.

Chishiya would’ve done that himself plenty of times. Not out of cruelty—just because he didn’t care.

And watching you? Seeing you handle this absolute nightmare of a human being with no bother?

He wasn’t impressed, exactly. But he did feel… something, though he barely felt anything these days. But there was something.

Something vaguely similar to satisfaction.

Because Niragi—for once in his life—was actually shutting up long enough to let someone help him.

Even if he was whining the whole time.

He leaned against the counter, watching as you finished bandaging Niragi’s side. His attention flickered to Niragi himself, who still looked pissed.

“Not gonna say thank you?” Chishiya asked, voice calm.

Niragi shot him a look. “The fuck are you, my mom?”

Chishiya hummed thoughtfully. “No. But I do enjoy watching you suffer.”

Niragi twitched. Your hand gently pressed down on the fresh bandage, forcing him to still.

“Alright, that’s enough.” you said softly. “Chishiya, let him breathe.”

Chishiya’s lip twitched. Not quite a smirk. Not quite a smile. But definitely amused. He said nothing else, just continued standing there, watching.

Not helping.

Not offering advice.

Just enjoying the fact that Niragi was being forced to sit still and deal with it.

Because he wasn’t a good person.

And sometimes, watching Niragi suffer was the closest thing he got to entertainment.

Once Niragi was officially bandaged up—and had been thoroughly bullied by Chishiya in the process—you let out a soft sigh, sitting back on your heels and stretching your fingers.

“Alright.” you said. “You’re good to go.”

Niragi muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like thanks but was probably just more grumbling. He flexed his shoulders slightly, like he was testing the new bandages, and then promptly ignored you as he leaned back into the couch like he had just survived a life-threatening event.

You let him be.

Instead, you turned your attention to Chishiya. Who was still standing by the counter, watching.

And perfectly fine.

Which—was actually a little strange. Because when you had found them, both of them had been beaten, bruised, bloody. Niragi had clearly had it worse, but Chishiya hadn’t exactly looked pristine. But now? Standing there, in the soft morning light, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, eyes half-lidded like he was unimpressed—he looked… fine.

Like he had never been injured in the first place.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Chishiya blinked. Then tilted his head, just slightly. “I’m fine.”

You squinted.

Because you remembered.

The bruises, the cuts, the blood.

You had checked both of them, and Niragi obviously had been worse, but Chishiya had still been injured.

And yet, now? No visible wounds. No sign of discomfort. No limp, no wince, nothing.

Like he had never been hurt at all.

Niragi scoffed, tilting his head back against the couch. “Yeah, don’t waste your concern on him. Fucking bastard looked like a corpse when you dragged us in and now he’s walking around like a smug little rat.”

Chishiya ignored him. His eyes stayed on you, watching. Calm. Careful.

You narrowed your own eyes slightly.

“You looked worse before.” you said slowly.

Chishiya hummed. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence.

“Well,” he said, shrugging slightly. “guess I got lucky.”

You didn’t believe that for a second.

But you also weren’t dumb.

You weren’t going to push. If he didn’t want to explain something, he wasn’t going to. He would just dodge and deflect until you forgot you asked in the first place.

And so—you let it go. For now.

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly, and stood up, brushing dust off your clothes.

“Alright, well.” you said, stretching your arms slightly. “If you start dropping dead, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chishiya smirked, in his own little sly way.

“I won’t.”

From the couch, Niragi muttered, mocking, “Ohh, look at me, I’m Chishiya, I’m a little bitch—”

Chishiya’s smirk disappeared. And then he simply said, calmly, “You’re still sitting there because you physically can’t get up without passing out.”

Niragi’s jaw ticked.

Your hand gently pressed against his shoulder before he could do anything stupid.

“Alright, that’s enough from both of you.” you said sweetly. “I have no problem sending you both to time-out.”

Chishiya almost smiled.

Niragi just grumbled.

Oh, these boys.

You grabbed Niragi’s discarded, bloodstained shirt from the armrest of the couch. Holding it up, you grimaced at the state of it.

“You’re really attached to this thing, huh?” you mused.

Niragi, who had just been brooding over what Chishiya said, snapped his attention back to you. “What?”

You held the fabric between your fingers, inspecting the dried blood, the torn edges, the very obvious smell of someone who had been rolling around in dirt and violence for too long.

“This shirt.” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t wanna let it go?”

Niragi rolled his eyes and snatched it out of your hands.

“The fuck else am I supposed to wear?” he muttered.

“I have clothes you can borrow.”

He paused.

And then his face twisted into something between amusement and disgust. “What, your clothes?”

You blinked at him. Then smiled. “If you want.”

Niragi’s eye twitched.

You almost laughed.

Instead, you took a small step back, tilting your head. “Or,” you mused. “are you so in love with this shirt that you’d rather smell like roadkill?”

He glared. “I don’t—”

But before he could finish, you clasped your hands behind your back, giving him an overly sweet look.

“Well, go on.” you teased. “Put it on.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am.”

“Do you need help?”

His entire body stiffened.

The audacity. The disrespect.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You tilted your head. “Do you need help?” you repeated, slower, softer, sweeter. Like you were speaking to a child. Like you were genuinely concerned.

Niragi stared at you, his left eye twitching slightly, his entire aura radiating absolute fury.

“I will strangle you.” he said.

You grinned. “Ohhh, so you do need help.”

Chishiya, who had been watching all of this from the kitchen, let out a quiet exhale through his nose—his version of a laugh.

Niragi immediately whipped his head around. “The fuck are you laughing at?”

Chishiya looked at him.

“You.”

Niragi looked like he was about to lunge, but you gently patted his shoulder before he could even attempt.

“Alright, alright.” you said, laughing softly. “I’ll stop teasing.”

You wouldn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

You took a step back, nodding toward the kitchen.

“I’m making breakfast.” you announced. “Either of you want anything?”

Silence.

Just blank stares.

Chishiya’s was calculating, like he was waiting to see if you’d take the lack of response as a sign to stop. Niragi’s was irritated, like he wanted to say no just out of spite.

You sighed.

“Right.” you muttered. “I forgot you two don’t believe in basic human decency.” And with that, you turned on your heel and walked into the kitchen anyway, opening cabinets, pulling out ingredients, making something whether they wanted it or not. Because despite their egos, their pettiness, their absolute refusal to admit when they needed anything—they were still human.

And whether they liked it or not, you were going to take care of them.

The soft clatter of plates and the quiet bubbling of whatever you had decided to throw together filled the silence. Not that the silence itself was bad—it was just them.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew who you had brought into your home. You knew their kind—two different breeds of fucked-up, but still fucked-up all the same.

Niragi was loud, unpredictable, psycho little shit. Brutal, violent, unhinged. He enjoyed chaos, he thrived on it. He found genuine entertainment in hurting people.

Chishiya was different, yet still so similar. The type of person to watch a building burn, not because he set it on fire, but just to see how long it would take before it collapsed. Not an active threat, but not a safe presence, either.

And then there was you. A sweetheart in a world that didn’t deserve it.

So, really, you were a fucking anomaly. Because someone like you shouldn’t be standing in a kitchen, making breakfast for two absolute menaces.

But here you were. And if you were going to keep them alive, you were going to do it your way.

With love.

You turned your head slightly, looking over your shoulder as you stirred the pot.

“So,” you hummed, soft and sweet. “how’d you guys sleep?”

Silence.

As expected.

You glanced at them.

Niragi had successfully put his shirt back on, though judging by the way his hands were still twitching, he was probably still thinking about stabbing you for your earlier comments. He was leaning back into the couch, one arm resting over the back of it, watching you. Chishiya, on the other hand, hadn’t moved much at all. He was still standing near the counter, hands in his hoodie pockets, gaze half-lidded but undeniably watchful.

It was almost funny.

One of them was waiting for you to slip up just so he could tear into you, and the other was analyzing every word you said like you were some puzzle in a game he had to solve.

And yet—neither of them answered.

You sighed dramatically, turning back to the stove.

“Well, I slept great.” you announced, as if they had asked. “Really comfortable, actually. My bed’s amazing. You guys should try it sometime.”

Niragi’s grin widened immediately. He listened to this, though.

“Oh, yeah?” he mused. “All three of us? Didn’t know you were that kind of girl, sweetheart.”

You snorted.

“Oh, don’t get excited.” you said, flipping a spoon in your hand. “I meant separately, dumbass.”

Niragi pouted dramatically. “Lame.”

Chishiya didn’t react at all.

You let out a mock sigh, shaking your head.

“You guys are so bad at normal conversation.” you teased, stirring the pot again. “Come on, I’m giving you easy ones here. I even did the work for you by answering first.”

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, blinking at you like a lazy cat. “And why do you care?”

You smiled.

Genuinely.

Soft. Sweet.

“I always care.”

Niragi snorted. “What a waste.” he muttered.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Even if they didn’t care, even if they thought it was pointless, even if they thought you were stupid for trying—you weren’t going to stop.

Because if you didn’t care, who else would?

Honestly, it was almost funny how different they were while still being exactly the same kind of problem.

Niragi, the loud, violent, unpredictable problem. The type to smile while stabbing you just because it amused him. Chishiya, the quiet, detached, disturbingly intelligent problem. The type to stand over your body and watch you bleed out just to study your last moments. Yet, still so similar to each other.

And yet, here you were.

Making them breakfast.

Because you were a fucking angel.

Not a dumb one, though.

“Oh, by the way.” you said casually, not looking up from the pot. “I’m going out tonight.”

Niragi snapped his head toward you. “Going out where?” His tone was too sharp. Too quick. Like he hadn’t meant to react, but it had slipped out anyway.

You blinked at him. Then smiled. “I have to play tonight.”

Niragi’s shoulders relaxed instantly. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Ohhh, that. Thought you were gonna say something interesting.”

Chishiya, as always, didn’t react much at all. But you saw the shift. The way he watched you a little closer, like he was analyzing the details of your sentence.

Still, neither of them protested.

Which was a win, technically.

So, with that settled, you turned off the stove, grabbing two plates and plating the food with all the love in the world. Because even though these two were absolute menaces, they were still under your care.

And you were going to take care of them.

Even if they were the worst.

You hummed softly as you placed the first plate on the counter for Chishiya.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” you said gently.

Chishiya gave you a single blink. Then took the plate wordlessly.

Then, with the same warmth and care, you walked over to Niragi, putting his plate down in front of him with a soft smile.

And, because he was him, he looked at the plate, then at you, then grinned like a fucking devil.

“Ohhh, baby.” he crooned, tilting his head. “You shouldn’t have.”

You tilted yours back.

“But I did.”

Then—he pushed the plate away with one finger.

Your eye twitched.

“You’re such a little shit.” you muttered.

Niragi laughed.

You stared at him.

Then, with the sweetest voice imaginable, you said: “If you don’t eat it, I’m shoving it down your throat.”

Chishiya let out the softest exhale from the counter. Which, for him, was basically wheezing laughter.

Niragi snatched the plate off the table, scoffing.

And with that, you finally sat down, watching your two little problems eat the food you made for them.

Because despite their insufferable personalities—you still cared.

~

Everything was red.

Your breath was shallow, shaky, uneven. Each inhale felt like shards of glass scraping through your ribs, slicing through your already shattered body.

The ground beneath you—some broken, cracked pavement leading back home—was nothing more than an endless blur beneath your feet.

Your bare, bleeding feet.

It didn’t feel real.

It should have been over.

You should have been dead.

But something kept you moving.

Something kept your broken, mangled body from collapsing completely.

Not survival.

Not instinct.

Not some bullshit inner strength.

Just—

Them.

Niragi.

Chishiya.

Two people who shouldn’t matter. Two people who, before this, you had never even known existed. Two people who, on any other day, in any other life, you would have never crossed paths with.

But somehow, they were the only thing keeping you going.

Because if you stopped—if you gave in now—if you collapsed and never got up—then ou wouldn’t get to see them again.

And you wanted to.

You needed to.

A wet, gurgling sound escaped your throat—a laugh, a cough, a choked sob—you u didn’t know. You were too far gone to tell. The only thing you knew for sure was that you had never felt pain like this before.

Your body wasn’t just hurt. It was wrecked. Ripped apart, skinned alive, at least it felt like that.

There wasn’t a single inch of you that wasn’t covered in blood.

Your blood.

Or someone else’s.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Because whether it was yours or theirs, it was drenched into you. Soaked into every pore. Seeping, dripping, painting your skin in crimson layers. And under all that blood—where fabric should have been—there was nothing.

No shirt.

No bra.

Nothing but the way your arms wrapped around your chest, trying to preserve what little dignity you had left. At least you still had your pants, hm.

Your fingers trembled.

Not from embarrassment.

Not from shame.

But from the sheer unbearable exhaustion pulling at your bones.

You wanted to fall.

To drop.

To let your body crumble into the ground and just—stop.

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not when you were so close.

So close to them.

You could see it now.

The building.

Your home.

The place where they were waiting.

The last thing holding you to this world.

You took another step.

And another.

And another.

Until, finally, you were there.

The hallway stretched endlessly before you, a cruel illusion that made every step feel like an eternity.

Your fingers trembled against the keypad as you punched in the code, smearing the numbers with slick, dark red. You heard the mechanism click, the faintest sound of security, but it barely registered past the roaring in your skull.

The door creaked open.

And there they were.

Chishiya and Niragi.

Waiting.

Not for you, necessarily—just awake, just there, just existing.

And for some reason, despite the way your body screamed in agony, despite the fact that you could barely stand, despite the fact that you looked like you had just crawled out of hell itself—you still felt relief.

A breath escaped you, shaky and wet, as you staggered inside. The door swung shut behind you, sealing you in, trapping you in the only place that could still be called home.

Neither of them spoke at first.

They just stared.

And for once—for once in his fucking life— Niragi didn’t open his mouth to say something.

Just pure, unfiltered silence.

Which was somehow worse.

Because Niragi not saying anything? That meant something was really fucking wrong. And if even he could tell, that meant you weren’t just hurt.

You were barely standing on the edge of death itself.

Still, despite everything, you spoke. You could still talk. And as long as you could talk, that meant you were fine.

You were fine.

“Leave me alone.”

Your legs shook violently as you staggered toward your bathroom, barely able to hold yourself up, arms still wrapped tightly around your chest, holding on to what little warmth you had left.

“I’m fine.”

The words weren’t convincing.

Not to them.

Not to you.

But somehow—they listened. Somehow, neither of them stopped you.

Not Niragi. Not Chishiya.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. They just watched. As you disappeared behind the bathroom door.

And finally, you were alone.

You walked to the tub, with the shower above it, turning the water on. The moment the water hit your skin, it felt like a million needles stabbing into every open wound.

You sucked in a breath, sharp and ragged, feeling your body jerk on instinct before finally, finally giving in to the pain. Your back pressed against the cold porcelain of the tub as you slumped down, the water soaking into your ruined pants, turning the already damp fabric into something even heavier, something that clung to your shredded skin like a second layer of agony.

Your arms—shaking, trembling, weak—finally fell from your chest, exposing the wreckage of your body to the dim light of the bathroom.

And everything was red.

The water wasn’t washing it away fast enough.

It just spread it out, diluting the blood into something almost beautiful—soft, swirling ribbons of crimson that flowed down the drain in lazy spirals.

It stung.

It fucking stung.

But somehow, it still wasn’t as painful as the question clawing at the back of your skull.

What the fuck happened?

Running. Fighting. Falling. Blood. Teeth. Hands. The sound of something breaking. The feeling of something slipping away.

And now—this.

This surreal moment, sitting in your own bathtub, body half-broken, covered in wounds you couldn’t even remember getting, in a world that barely felt real anymore.

You swallowed hard, throat burning, eyes unfocused as the water cascaded down your face, mixing with the blood, with the dirt, with everything.

The door opened.

Your head snapped up, your body jolting as you moved on instinct, arms flying to cover yourself again—

Fuck. You left it unlocked. The panic lasted for all of two seconds before you saw who it was.

Chishiya.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask.

Didn’t react to what he was seeing.

He just stepped inside, completely unbothered, his movements as slow as ever, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before shifting past you—toward the tiny, plastic cup on the counter.

You blinked, still half-dazed, half out of it, before you saw him reach for something—

A hair tie.

And then—before you could even process it—he was kneeling behind you, fingers gathering the wet strands of your hair, tying it up so effortlessly that it couldn’t belong to someone who should be this detached.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t stop him.

It was like he had done this before. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. And maybe—maybe that was the only reason you managed to speak at all, voice quiet and hoarse beneath the rush of the water.

“You know how to do this.”

It wasn’t a question.

Chishiya, still silent, tied off the last loop, securing the ponytail at the back of your head before finally speaking, his tone as flat as ever.

“I’m a doctor.”

Your grip on yourself tightened.

He didn’t care.

Not about this.

Not about you like that.

And yet, somehow, that made it easier.

You stared at the red pooling around your knees, your hands trembling, still desperately covering yourself up as if there was anything left to protect.

And then, you let them drop.

Chishiya’s gaze didn’t linger.

Didn’t waver.

Didn’t stray to places it shouldn’t.

He just looked at you. And what he saw, was wreckage.

It wasn’t just the injuries. It was the way you sat there, broken and still bleeding, still shaking, still barely holding yourself together—

And yet, somehow, still breathing.

His eyes analyzed every wound, every gash, every bruise with clinical precision.

You let him.

Because for some reason—you trusted him.

Even like this.

Because his hands were soft on you suddenly.

It was a strange contrast. Everything about him was always in place, from the way he spoke to the way he looked at people—like he was constantly cutting through their bullshit before they even had a chance to open their mouths.

But his touch?

It wasn’t what you expected.

His fingers moved clinically, careful as they brushed through the mess of dried blood and damp skin, sweeping it away from your face with a gentleness that didn’t belong to someone so… emotionless.

The pads of his fingers ghosted over your cheekbone, wiping away a dark streak of red, trailing down to your jaw, where the blood had already begun to crust. He didn’t linger there, didn’t let his fingers rest too long, just continued downward—collarbones, shoulders, the places where the wounds hadn’t yet scabbed over, places that still stung when he touched them.

“What happened?”

You exhaled slowly, watching the blood swirl in the water as it peeled away from your skin, diluted by the heat. It was funny how quickly it all washed down the drain, like it had never been there at all. Like you weren’t sitting in your own tub, in your own blood, barely holding yourself together.

“It was a game.”

“What kind of game?”

You swallowed, the answer tasting like iron and exhaustion in the back of your throat.

“A hearts game.”

Even Chishiya, who prided himself on being unshakable, who met death with nothing more than a disinterested tilt of his head—even he knew what that meant.

Hearts games were brutal.

Chishiya had played his fair share. He knew what they did to people. He had orchestrated them, manipulated them, walked away from them without a second thought.

And yet—he found himself asking anyway.

“What were the rules?”

Your eyes drifted closed, the exhaustion seeping into your bones as you let yourself lean back against the cold porcelain.

“There were twenty of us.” you murmured. “In a locked building. We all had timers on our wrists, and the moment they ran out, you died.”

Chishiya didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask how.

Because he already knew.

There were only so many ways the Borderlands could kill you. And none of them were kind.

His fingers brushed a particularly nasty gash near your shoulder, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away. Just watched. Studied.

“How did you win?”

Your lip curled into something bitter.

“There was a single key.” you murmured. “Hidden somewhere in the building. Only one person could leave.”

You had been trapped in a room with nineteen other people, all of them fighting, all of them desperate, all of them willing to do whatever it took to get that key.

And somehow—you had won.

Somehow—you had survived.

His fingers twitched against your skin, and he realized—for the first time in longer than he could remember—he felt something.

He had spent years, maybe his whole life, brushing off things like guilt, like sympathy, like regret.

They were useless emotions. Pointless.

But right now? Sitting here, watching you barely hold yourself together, covered in scars that weren’t even scars yet—Chishiya felt it.

Faintly.

Quietly.

Like a dull ache in a place he didn’t recognize.

And it bothered him.

Because why the fuck did he care?

Why did he feel like he owed you something?

Why did he feel like he needed to repay you for dragging his half-dead body off the streets, for healing his wounds, for giving him a place to rest—

Why did he—

It didn’t change a damn thing.

Chishiya let go of you.

He pulled his hands away, slow and careful, as if he had been touching something fragile. As if he had been touching something he wasn’t supposed to.

And he let you take care of yourself.

Without a word, he shifted, moving away from you. Instead of leaving, though, he sat down next to the tub—his back to you, legs stretched out, arms resting loosely over his knees.

He didn’t say a damn thing. Didn’t tell you to hurry up, didn’t tell you to stop being pathetic, didn’t tell you to cover yourself up like Niragi would’ve.

He just… sat there.

And you weren’t sure if it was for your sake or for his.

The shower was still running, water dripping down from the head above you, hitting your skin in dull, rhythmic taps, making the tub’s surface slick beneath your hands. You moved slowly, peeling away the last remnants of blood, of sweat, of whatever the hell had soaked into your skin during that godforsaken game.

You didn’t ask him why he stayed.

Because you didn’t really want to know.

Because, maybe, he didn’t even know.

And maybe that scared him.

You could hear his breathing, slow and steady, too controlled to be natural.

You had seen men like him before. Men who lived too long in their own heads, men who thought emotions were inconvenient distractions from the game of survival.

But Chishiya?

He was different.

Not because he was cold. Not because he was calculating. But because he had never once wanted to be anything else.

And yet—you had dragged him into your home.

Patched him up. Fed him. Did things for him that no one had ever done, not without expecting something in return.

You were good.

And he hated good people.

Because he wasn’t one.

And he never could be.

He had met people like you before—people who thought they could help, save, fix.

He despised them.

Not because they were stupid.

But because he was jealous of them.

Because he didn’t get to be like them.

Because no one had ever made him want to be.

So why—why wasn’t he jealous of you?

Why did he sit here now, back to you, waiting for you to clean yourself up instead of walking away? Why did he feel the need to stay?

You shifted behind him, the water sloshing softly, your breathing still unsteady but better than before.

Chishiya waited.

He sat there, back to you, listening to the sound of water dripping and your slow movements as you finished cleaning yourself up.

And it was so fucking strange.

Because he had never done this before. Never given anyone time, never sat around while someone else took their fucking time.

Chishiya was the kind of person who moved on before people could even realize he was gone. The kind who never lingered. The kind who thought waiting around for someone else was a waste of his existence.

He was still here.

For you.

And that bothered him.

Not because he hated it.

But because he didn’t.

Because it felt too easy.

Because you had been bleeding out an hour ago, dragging yourself through the streets, looking like a corpse with nothing but sheer fucking willpower keeping you upright. And instead of walking away, instead of ignoring the way something twisted in his chest when he saw you like that—

He sat down.

And waited.

For you. For someone he should’ve seen as just another survivor, just another person who would die in this world eventually, just another waste of his energy.

But you weren’t.

And he wasn’t sure why.

You exhaled slowly, shifting against the tub, the water sloshing softly as you finally—finally—moved to turn off the shower. The silence that followed was thick. Heavy.

Then, your voice, quiet: “…Can you go out?”

Chishiya’s eyes flickered open. And before he could stop himself—before he could remind himself that he wasn’t the kind of person to care, to stay, to give a shit about things that weren’t his fucking problem—

He asked, “You sure?”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but he caught it.

And he knew what that meant.

You were strong. You had dragged yourself back home, practically drenched in your own blood, refusing to let either of them help you, telling them you were fine like you weren’t on the verge of collapse. But even strong people had limits. And right now, yours were showing.

“…Can you just stay by the door?” you murmured, voice softer now. Almost hesitant. “Just in case.”

Chishiya tilted his head slightly. And for the first time, he really saw you.

Not as the girl who had taken him in.

Not as the angelic little therapist who saw right through him.

Not as the idiot who played a Hearts game and actually won.

But as someone who had just been through hell. Someone who needed someone else to be there.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, wouldn’t explain—

He nodded. Didn’t say anything. Just stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a slow, exaggerated motion, before making his way to the door.

And just like that, he was gone.

But he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall right outside, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the ceiling—silent.

And he waited.

Because you asked him to.

Because, somehow, for some reason—he didn’t mind.

You hesitated before stepping out.

The steam curled around you, thick and heavy, sticking to your skin as you adjusted the towel wrapped tightly around your body. Your movements were slow, as if your limbs didn’t quite belong to you anymore. As if the blood loss, the exhaustion, the sheer fucking insanity of the night had drained you of everything you had left.

And yet, somehow, you were still standing.

Barely.

You reached for the doorknob. Turned it. And stepped out.

Chishiya was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like he had been in some kind of light sleep, but you knew better. He had been listening. Waiting.

For you.

For someone else’s footsteps.

For a reason to move.

And as soon as you stepped into the hallway, his gaze flickered to you.

Didn’t drop lower than your face. Didn’t linger on the towel clinging to your skin. Didn’t make any smartass remark about how you shouldn’t walk around half-naked in a house with two men who were very much not good people.

No.

He just looked at you.

Blank.

Unbothered.

Waiting.

“…Go to bed.” you murmured.

Your voice was softer than you wanted it to be. Not quite a whisper, but damn close.

Chishiya raised a brow. But didn’t argue.He pushed himself off the wall, stretching his arms above his head in that lazy, unconcerned way of his, like he hadn’t just spent the past hour waiting outside your fucking bathroom door. Like he hadn’t just seen you at your absolute worst.

Then, he turned. Started walking. Didn’t say a damn thing. And just like that, he was gone.

You exhaled. Slow. Unsteady. Your fingers clenched slightly around the towel, and for a second—just a second—you stood there, unmoving, listening to the faint sound of Chishiya’s footsteps fading down the hall.

Then, finally, you turned on your heel, forcing your feet to carry you back to your own room.

Separate ways.

Like nothing had happened. Like you weren’t both different than you had been twenty-four hours ago. Like it was just another night.

And maybe that was the most fucked up part of it all.

~

Chishiya didn’t make it far before Niragi stepped right into his path.

Barefoot, shirt slightly rumpled from either sleep or the fact that he probably hadn’t bothered to button it all the way up again after you checked his injuries, hair still damp from his shower the night before. He looked awake, though. Not groggy. Not out of it.

Fully alert.

And more importantly—pissed off.

“The fuck happened?” Niragi demanded, throwing his hands up like Chishiya had just walked in from murdering someone and refused to give him the details.

Chishiya didn’t even pause. He simply sidestepped, moving to walk past him without so much as a glance.

And Niragi, predictably, did not let that happen.

“Oh, no, no, no, you don’t get to just fucking walk past me like that, dickhead.” Niragi scoffed, stepping in front of him again, arms flailing dramatically. “The girl walks in looking like she just fucking escaped hell, and I’m supposed to just—what? Let you walk out of the bathroom all silent without a single fucking explanation?”

Chishiya tilted his head, his face blank.

“Yes.”

Niragi’s jaw fucking dropped. His eye twitched. His fingers flexed like he was one second away from grabbing Chishiya and shaking the answers out of him, but even he wasn’t that stupid.

(Or maybe he was. The night was still young.)

“The fuck do you mean, yes?” Niragi scoffed.

Chishiya, already bored of the conversation, took another step forward, intending to walk past him again.

And again, Niragi blocked him.

Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Foot planted firmly in Chishiya’s path like he was guarding the fucking gates of heaven.

And Chishiya—who had just spent an hour in the bathroom watching you bleed all over yourself, who had just actually fucking waited for someone else’s sake for the first time in his miserable life, who had given more attention to someone else tonight than he had in years—

Was not in the mood for this.

“Why do you even care?” he asked flatly.

Niragi made a face. “What—I don’t.”

Chishiya raised a brow.

A long beat of silence.

“…Shut up.” Niragi grumbled, looking away with a loud, annoyed exhale.

Chishiya sighed through his nose, already so fucking done. Then, after a moment, he finally—finally—offered an answer.

Cold. Blunt. Brutal.

“She’s alive. You still get free food tomorrow. Go to bed.”

And then he walked off.

Just like that.

Like Niragi hadn’t just been standing there demanding answers. Like the whole conversation had been a waste of his time. Like he wasn’t even remotely interested in whether Niragi understood or not.

And Niragi? He just stood there. Mouth slightly open. Expression borderline offended.

“The fuck does that even mean?” he shouted after him, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “That doesn’t answer shit, you cryptic little rat!”

Chishiya didn’t even turn around. Didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge him.

Just lifted a single hand in the laziest fucking wave imaginable, like he couldn’t even be bothered to look at him while doing it.

Niragi scoffed loudly. Mumbled something under his breath that was probably a threat. Then, after several long seconds of standing there, arms crossed, foot tapping irritably against the floor, he finally turned around and went back to bed.

Still pissed.

Still very much not satisfied with that non-answer.

But, whatever.

It wasn’t like he cared anyway.

~

Niragi was not a morning person.

He woke up annoyed. Always. Even when the world had been normal, back when he’d had an alarm blaring in his ear and responsibilities waiting for him—he’d hated mornings. Now, in a world where there were no jobs, no alarms, no rules—just survival?

Yeah, still fucking hated them.

Especially this morning.

His body ached, his injuries stung like hell, and worst of all, the last thing he remembered before passing out was Chishiya walking away, knowing something he didn’t.

That fact alone was enough to make him want to throw something.

Still, he dragged himself up, ran a hand through his hair, and dragged his feet into the living room.

And there you were.

Finally.

Standing in the kitchen, moving around, alive.

Good.

Not that he cared.

(Except, maybe, a little.)

He leaned against the counter, watching you, eyes scanning you like he was trying to pick apart your condition with just his gaze. You were moving fine. Not sluggish, not weak, just normal. A little slower, maybe. But he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t already looking for it.

Which, again—he wasn’t.

(Except, maybe, a little.)

His arms crossed over his chest. “So, are you finally gonna tell me what the fuck happened?”

You paused. Just briefly. Barely a second. But he caught it. Then, you sighed. Softly.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

His jaw clenched.

Of course.

Of course.

His fingers drummed against his arm. “But you’ll tell me?”

You looked at him.

And fuck, Niragi hated that. The way you looked at him. Like you weren’t scared, like you weren’t annoyed by his endless fucking presence. Like you actually cared enough to talk to him like a person, like you weren’t just tolerating him.

It pissed him off.

It made his chest feel weird.

And that pissed him off even more.

“I will.” you said. “Just… not now.”

His eye twitched. His arms tightened around his chest.

That should’ve been good enough. It should have made sense. He should’ve just accepted it, let it go, waited.

But he wasn’t like that.

He felt too much.

Always.

And he hated all of it.

Especially now, because Chishiya fucking knew. That smug little shithead knew something that he didn’t, and that alone was unacceptable.

His fingers curled into his sleeve, nails digging into the fabric. “Why’d you tell him?”

“I didn’t.”

Niragi snorted. “Bullshit. He waited for you, didn’t he?”

You tilted your head. “Why does that matter?”

“It fucking matters.”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple, like you were trying to be patient.

“I’ll tell you.” you repeated, softer this time. “I promise. Just not now.”

Niragi hated this. Hated the way you said that like you were comforting him. Like he was some kid throwing a tantrum. Like he wasn’t a fucking monster, a killer, a psychotic, unhinged piece of shit that nobody should be trying to console.

But he wasn’t mad.

Not at you, anyway.

Not at the fact that you hadn’t told him.

He was just… upset.

And fuck, he hated that even more.

He exhaled through his nose, loud and sharp, turning away from you like he was done with the conversation. “Fine.”

You gave a small smile. “Thank you.”

And god, that pissed him off the most.

Because even when you were covered in blood, even when you were hiding something from him, even when you were standing there, holding your own pain like it was nothing, you still had the nerve to be fucking nice to him.

And Niragi had no idea what the fuck to do with that.

You tilted your head at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to eat?”

Niragi scoffed, shifting his weight against the counter, arms still stubbornly crossed. “Whatever you want.”

You blinked. That was new.

Normally, he had an opinion on everything. He was loud, and never shut the fuck up about his complaints—too much salt, not enough spice, too fucking healthy, whatever excuse he could find to be difficult.

But now? Whatever you want?

Oh, okay.

Your lips quirked up as you turned back toward the stove, opening a cabinet with a small hum. “So if I make something you hate, you’ll still eat it?”

Niragi snorted, pushing off the counter, taking a lazy step toward you. “I didn’t say that.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Oh? So you do have a preference?”

“Obviously.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m not a fucking dog. I don’t just eat whatever you put in front of me.”

You hummed again, a quiet, teasing little sound. “Then what do you want?”

Niragi narrowed his eyes. You knew what you were doing. Messing with him. Poking at him just enough to be annoying, but not enough for him to actually want to snap at you. That was dangerous. But he was a psychopath and you were a therapist, so what now?

His fingers tapped against the counter. “You already know, don’t you?”

You set down a pan, smiling. “I have a guess.”

His lip curled. You were way too smart for your own good.

And he liked that.

Not that he’d say it.

(Except, maybe, a little.)

He pulled himself onto the counter, one leg lazily swinging over the edge, watching you as you moved around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients like you already knew his answer.

And the worst part? You were right.

“You’re making curry, aren’t you?”

You shot him a grin. “Lucky guess?”

Niragi let out a quiet tch, pretending not to be annoyed. Pretending that you hadn’t just read him like a book.

He wasn’t used to that.

He didn’t like that.

(Except, maybe, a little.)

His eyes flickered to your hands as you started chopping, effortless and precise, moving like this was second nature to you.

“You should be resting.”

Your knife paused for only a second before you resumed. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, voice thick with sarcasm. “You looked really fucking fine when you walked through that door last night. All covered in blood, dragging your half-dead ass inside like some fucking horror movie.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Then, soft as ever, you said, “You’re worried about me.”

Niragi sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes so hard his whole head moved. “No, I’m not.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, and god, it pissed him off that you found this so funny.

He wasn’t joking.

He wasn’t.

He didn’t care.

(Except, maybe, a little.)

And that was enough to make him want to fucking strangle something.

Footsteps. Slow. You barely had time to turn before Chishiya walked in, the lazy weight of his gaze immediately landing on you, then shifting to Niragi—who, despite being perfectly fine five seconds ago, suddenly sat up straighter, tension rolling off him like a dog baring its teeth.

You, as always, remained as sweet as ever. “Good morning, Chishiya.”

“Mm.” he hummed, his version of a good morning. He stepped further inside, but instead of taking a seat, he lingered, hands in his pockets, observing.

Which meant Niragi had a problem with it.

“You sleep well, princess?” Niragi drawled, voice slick with mockery. “No bad dreams? No tossing and turning, crying for mommy?”

Chishiya’s lips barely twitched. If he was annoyed, he didn’t show it. “How original. I see your brain hasn’t developed past middle school.”

You sighed, stirring the pot on the stove.

“Aw.” Niragi smirked, leaning back against the counter. “Did that hurt your little feelings? Maybe if you weren’t such a boring, lifeless bitch, people would have better insults for you.”

Chishiya gave him a slow once-over, as if debating whether or not Niragi was even worth the energy. Then, after a beat, he simply said, “You’re loud.”

Niragi opened his mouth—probably to say something that would inevitably result in one of them trying to kill the other—but right as he did, you let out a small, barely-there hiss.

Chishiya’s head snapped toward you immediately, while Niragi’s smirk dropped, both of them watching as you held your hand under the light, examining the thin red line slicing across your fingertip.

It wasn’t even that bad. Just a small cut.

Niragi scowled. “The fuck are you doing?”

You blinked at him. “Cutting vegetables.”

“Yeah, and bleeding on them, apparently.” Chishiya muttered.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to rinse your hand under the sink. “It’s nothing.”

“First you come home looking like a dead body,” Niragi huffed, standing up straight. “and now you’re just gonna start slicing yourself open, too? You got a thing for pain, sweetheart?”

Chishiya’s stare was sharp. Too sharp. He was thinking. He was irritated. Probably by you cutting your finger, or Niragi, whatever it was, it sure made his little brain work.

(That was never good.)

You sighed, shaking the water off your hand before grabbing a napkin. “It’s not a big deal. I just—”

Niragi snatched your wrist.

You blinked.

Chishiya’s eyes narrowed.

“You do this shit on purpose?” Niragi asked, staring down at your finger. His voice was still its usual cocky, but there was something off about it.

Something serious.

Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, like it was instinct, but—his grip on you was gentle.

That was the part that made you pause.

Not his anger. Not his sarcasm.

The gentleness.

Chishiya exhaled sharply, already reaching for something—a napkin, a cloth, something—but you beat him to it, pulling your wrist free with an amused huff. “Oh my god, it’s a paper cut.”

“Yeah?” Niragi tilted his head. “Then why the fuck do I wanna strangle something?”

You laughed. Actually laughed. “You two are impossible.” you said, pressing a napkin to your finger, then stepping past them, back to the stove. “Breakfast is almost done.”

Neither of them moved.

They just…watched.

Then, slowly, Niragi sat back down. Chishiya leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

They didn’t say a single word. But you felt their stares even after you turned away, even after the tension slowly bled out of the room.

It was funny. A few days ago, they would’ve let you die in the street without a second thought. Now, you cut your finger, and they were seething.

You smiled to yourself, shaking your head as you stirred the food. “I’m fine.”

Neither of them responded.

But you knew they didn’t believe you. And maybe… maybe you didn’t believe it either. Because the truth was, this world didn’t let you be fine. Not really. It swallowed you whole, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but blood and instinct, until survival was the only thing keeping you standing.

And yet, somehow—somehow—you were here. Standing in a warm kitchen, making breakfast for two people who should’ve been nothing more than strangers. Two people who weren’t kind, who weren’t soft, who weren’t good.

Yet, they watched you like they cared.

Like something about you made them hesitate.

Like something about you made them weak.

You didn’t know what that meant. Not yet.

But you knew one thing for sure, this wasn’t going to end the way any of you expected.

❤︎︎ @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer

[sturnslutz]

the beginning of nothing.

including: the intro of murderhouse!matt and sardonic!reader, cursing, tension, use of y/n. reader's nickname is 'bug' and last name is 'harmon' to correlate last names in the show. 1.5k words.

you didn't want to move. you didn't want to move to this fuckass town in the middle of los angeles. this place didn't even pop up on your gps, it just looked like a forest.

but, what you did like was that it was a mansion. something by the name of "The Rosenheim Mansion" whatever the fuck that meant. your dad, ben, was the most excited for this move and called it a "step into a new world" or so he says to escape his past.

your room looked somewhat nice, actually. the stained windows and gothic furniture was right down your alley, and your own decorations made it even better.

your dad was a therapist. or more so, child behaviorist? he had told you he had a client coming in today and to stay in your room, because apparently this kid was "dangerous."

your dad knew that you honestly didn't care about his clients, but for some reason told you multiple times more than usual not to come down.

you ignored him and said what you knew he liked to hear. "yeah, of course, dad. i won't go downstairs. i'll have a nap though, so try to keep the kid down."

when you woke up 2 hours after their appointment had started, you honestly did think it ended, especially because it was quiet. you stepped downstairs, on your phone and blasting some music in your headphones.

you looked up while you were walking and paused your music as you heard voices. you took your headphone out of your ear, and glanced down to your dad's office, which for some reason was open.

you stepped one step lower to actually see properly, and what you saw was not what you expected. what, or actually who you saw, was the most beautiful man you have ever seen. he had the fluffiest brown hair that fell perfectly right above his eyes.

he must've felt you staring, and his eyes locked onto yours. it felt like almost no time has passed before he smirked to you, then looking away back to your father who was sitting in front of him.

your breath hitched in your throat. this was the reason your dad didn't give any details about him. because he knew you would fall for him.

you could hear their soft conversation while you continued walking to the kitchen, where your mom was. "oh, hey bug. sleep well?" her soft tone was always what you loved about her, and she always felt the need to check up on you. "yeah, thanks mom. hey, do you know what the kid's name is, that dad is talking to?"

she had brought you a drink from a cafe near by, handing it to you as you spoke, to which you're drinking from now, waiting for her answer. "i think, matthew is what his name is, i'm not quite sure. he's cute though. think that's why dad didn't want you seeing him." she teased to you.

you nodded, laughing a bit. "me too. how long has their meeting gone on for? they had just started when i fell asleep, and they're still going."

"honestly, i don't even know. he told me matt is a handful with a bunch of trauma or something. but apparently he's also a good conversator." she says as she quiets down a bit, hearing footsteps come out of the room.

your dad pops around the corner, first looking at your mom, and then you. "oh, hey. didn't know you woke up, bug. i gotta pick up the phone, and matt's staying a bit longer. just watch him so he doesn't leave my office." his voice lowers to only you 3 could hear when he talks about matt.

you smile a bit, nodding before he walks to the living room. you walk away from your mom, and make eye contact with matt again, who's just sitting in the room, phone in hand, but looking straight ahead- right where you were.

you smiled at him a bit, to which he returned it, and you gestured your head up the stairs, and began walking up to your room. you sat on the ground, leaving the door open a bit once you heard, quiet footsteps coming up the steps.

matt peaked his head around your door, smirking. "hey." he walks in, closing the door. "hi, you're matt right?" he sits down across from you as he nods. "yup. you're y/n, or bug as i heard, huh?" you chuckle a bit, nodding just like he did. "yeah. it's a nickname everyone calls me, and you can too." he smirks, nodding as he looks around your room, his eyes landing on a certain record player.

"holy shit, this is nice. can i go see?" he looks back at you, his eyes practically begging. "yeah, of course." he smiles, standing up and walking to the player. he examines it before looking back at you. "you like kurt cobain? he's like my favorite artist ever."

you stand up, walking right next to him as you look at the set of tracks you have next to the player. "of course i do, his music is legendary. i got shit on at my last school for liking him, but i didn't really care."

he looks down at you, his voice lowering a bit as he scoffs. "fuck them. they're assholes who don't know real music. me and my brothers are crazy fans of him. you know any unreleased by him?"

you look up at him, shrugging. "you askin' about nirvana or actual kurt cobain?" "both, but for sake of time, nirvana." "do you love me, and pay to play are my favorites." he nods, his smirk coming over his face again. "you got good ass taste. never seen that from a girl. i like you."

a blush comes over your cheeks as you laugh, closing your record player before walking over and sitting down in your previous spot, to which he follows. "yeah, you're pretty cool too, i guess." he shakes his head, laughing, his spot being much closer than before as his knees hit yours.

"your dad warned you about me, huh? told you not to talk to me, and here you are, bug." his voice lowered, teasing you. "i don't really listen to him much. he's kinda an asshole." "oh yeah? that's why he moved you to this big, scary mansion right?" he shot back, his tone almost being serious, but you know he isn't.

"he moved us because he got fired from his last job for hooking up with one of his clients. she was the same age as me." your tone now serious, as his jaw clenched a bit. "that's fucked up. i'm sorry about that."

"nah, it's all good. my mom still hasn't divorced him and i don't know when or if she ever will. she's still super upset about it. besides that, tell me about you."

his face changes a bit, something you haven't seen from talking to him yet. "there's not much about me. i'm a triplet to 2 dumbasses named chris and nick. i think you'll like them, and i live right next door. hence to why i'm here longer than most clients and another reason to your dad not wanting me to see you. speaking of him, i hear him coming upstairs right now."

your face dropped when he said that, him almost calling it as your dad opens your door roughly. he looks down to you and matt, sighing. "matthew, i'm not comfortable with you seeing my daughter and being in my house like this. you both disobeyed my one ask. i'm sorry matt, but you need to leave."

you open your mouth to say something back to him, but matt quickly cuts you off. "it's all good, bug. i'll leave. sorry mr. harmon. i'll see you later." matt whispers quickly the last sentence to you, before standing up and sliding past your dad out of your room.

once he left, your dad closes the bedroom door before you stand up. "what the hell dad?" you snap. "like i said, you disobeyed my one rule. i knew you two would get along, but i'm telling you, bug. this kid is not someone you want to be around. i know his family, and they're not okay. i only took his offer to be seen because they're rich, and i wanted to see if i could fix at least one of them."

"don't talk about them like that, you don't know them," he quickly cuts you off. "and you do? you've talked to him for what, 10 minutes? and you're acting like you've known him for your whole life. i've known the sturniolos' for god knows how long. you cannot be around those triplets, or their parents. you understand me?"

his tone is something you haven't heard from in a while, and for a second your wall to him diminishes. "yeah. got it." you quietly say before you walk over to your record player once again, making sure everything is still intact, or to distract yourself from the awkward environment you both are in.

he leaves without a word, slamming your door in the process. you sigh as you look to the door, rolling your eyes.

they couldn't be that bad. right?

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @ilovedanielcaesar @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @conspiracy-ash @p1mpactivities @sweeetbabysblog @brooklyncameron @chrisgetsmewetter @h3arts4harry @jetaimevous @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @raesturns @sturnsrecord @matteatmeout @luvvs4chriss comment to be added or removed.

[kooffeecup]

POCKETS OF STARLIGHT - valentine special!

Your soft boyfriend bakes amazing fortune cookies with love notes inside.

genre : fluff fluffff

Pairing : soft baby boy jk! x reader.

Very short and cute

banner by me @kooffeecup

The scent of rosemary and burnt crust greeted You as you stepped into the apartment, your keys jingling softly in the quiet. The lights were dimmed, replaced by the flicker of tea candles scattered across the kitchen counter—and there, in the center of it all, stood Jungkook.

He was wearing the apron you’d bought him as a joke last Christmas—bright pink with “Kiss the Chef” embroidered in looping cursive his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint flour smudges along his forearms. A lasagna sat half-sliced on the stove, its edges charred but the center oozing cheese.

“You… cooked?” You breathed, unable to hide your grin.

Jungkook’s ears reddened. “Tried to,” he mumbled, twisting a dishcloth between his hands. “The recipe said it was ‘foolproof,’ but I think I—oh.”

You crossed the room before he could finish, cupping his face and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. He stilled, then leaned into your touch, his shoulders relaxing.

“It’s perfect,” you said, thumbing away a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek.

“Liar,” he whispered, but his eyes crinkled, pleased.

Dinner was eaten cross-legged on the living room floor, where Jungkook had built a makeshift fortress of blankets and fairy lights. The lasagna was, objectively, a disaster—undercooked in some layers, volcanic in others—but You devoured every bite, laughing as Jungkook sheepishly picked blackened noodles off his plate.

“I have dessert,” he announced suddenly, scrambling to his feet. He returned with a lumpy mason jar clutched in his hands, filled with what looked like…

“Fortunes?” You tilted her head.

“Fortunate cookies,” he corrected, cheeks puffing. “I wrote notes inside. For you.” His voice softened. “Just… things I’ve wanted to say but… couldn’t figure out how.”

Your chest tightened. Carefully, you cracked open a cookie. The slip inside read: “Your laugh on rainy days > all my playlists.”

Another, “I stole your shampoo last week. Smells like home.”

Another, “Wish I could paint the way you look when you sleep. But I’d need more colors.”

By the fifth note, your vision blurred. Jungkook watched you, knees drawn to his chest, gnawing his thumbnail until you reached for his hand.

“Baby,” youbwhispered, “this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever—”

“There’s more,” he interjected, suddenly urgent. From beneath the couch, he pulled a small wooden box, its surface sanded smooth and stained the deep blue of twilight. Inside lay a cluster of folded paper stars.

“Open one,” he urged, voice shaky.

You unfolded a star to find a date scribbled inside: 10/22. First time we danced in the kitchen. You were barefoot. I stepped on your toes twice. You said it didn’t hurt. It did. I saw you limp.

Another, 3/14. You cried during that dog documentary. I wanted to hug you but didn’t. Regret it every day.

The last star, Today. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s eyes were glistening, his lips pressed into a wobbly line. Without a word, you tugged him into your lap, his back against your chest, and wrapped your arms around him. He shuddered, melting into your embrace, his fingers interlacing with yours.

“Why the stars?” you asked, nose buried in his hair.

“So you’d always have constellations,” he murmured. “Even on nights the sky’s too dark to see them.”

You stayed like that for hours, trading stories mapped by paper and ink, until the candles burned low. When You finally fetched your gift—a hand-bound book of poems she’d written, each one a vignette of their quietest moments—Jungkook traced the words with reverent fingers, pausing at the entry titled “Him, in the Half-Light.”

“You see me,” he said quietly.

“Always,” you replied.

Later, as they lay tangled in blankets, Jungkook’s head resting over your heartbeat, You realized he’d slipped something into your palm—a final fortune, unfurled to reveal a single request:

“Let me be yours forever?”

Your answer was a kiss, slow and syrup-sweet, and the way his shy hands finally, finally learned the shape of your without trembling.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Falling right into you

@bucktommyfluffebruary - Day 16 prompt: AU: Didn’t know they were dating

Notes: pre-relationship, getting to know each other, accidentally dating they’re just too oblivious to see it, minor injury | rated: G | words: 3.5k

All of my love to @leashybebes for listening to me yap about it and giving me the motivation to get on with it! Also shout out to @livelaughlou and @bybobbysbeard for saving me with their Die Hard knowledge when I made the frankly insane choice to include in this fic a film I’ve never seen 🫶🏻

[Read on Ao3]

———

It had been a long day. None of their calls had been anything too serious but it had been relentless. Every time Tommy had laid his head down on a bunk pillow he had been interrupted by the alarm. He felt heavy, right down to his bones. He had made it home, but between the sleep deprived grittiness of his vision and the way his hands felt like they were made of lead, manoeuvring his key into the lock was proving difficult. He stepped back and cursed, squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear some of the fog building up in his brain.

As he opened them again the door clicked open, it took him a moment to register that someone was stood in the doorway. Someone was inside his house.

“Hey, long shift?”

Evan, Evan Buckley, his brain supplied. 118, Howie’s friend, he’s staying here because frat houses are not conducive to sleeping well enough to be an effective first responder. Tommy lets out a sigh, he could have used being alone tonight.

“Something like that.”

Evan steps back from the doorway and Tommy comes into the house, it smells great, Evan is always cooking something and, as Tommy has discovered, he’s pretty good at it. His stomach rumbles. He looks over at the pot on the stove, bubbling with a rich red sauce, thinks about the reheated leftovers he had set aside for dinner, if he even gets that far. A shower was the first priority. The ones at Harbour were fine for a quick rinse, but he longed for the quiet solitude of his own bathroom to truly wash away the day’s grime.

When Tommy re-emerges he feels a bit more human and a bit less grumpy about his decision to share his home with a practical stranger. He goes to the kitchen, it appears empty until Evan pops up from behind the kitchen island, making Tommy jump.

“Oh, sorry!” He is holding two plates, uses one to gesture towards the pot on the side. “Do you want some? I’ve made way too much for just me.” Tommy can’t deny that it looks and smells incredible, he thinks about declining but cooking is not his forte and he could do with some good food right now.

“Yeah, if you’re sure that’s okay?”

Buck grins, it lights up his whole face, makes his bright blue eyes sparkle.

“Of course, I’ll bring it over.”

They sit down at the table together, while they’re eating Evan tells him about the last shift he had, getting used to the routine and workings of the firehouse. Tommy nods along, it’s all familiar to him. He offers little pieces of advice as they go.

Once they’ve finished eating Tommy clears away the plates, he’s loading the dishwasher as Evan comes alongside him and starts running the tap into the sink to wash up. They clean up in companionable quiet. With all the jobs done Tommy heads towards the stairs, he turns to Evan and gives him a quick half wave.

“Goodnight, thanks for dinner.”

“No problem, glad you liked it.”

He gives Evan a parting smile and goes up to his room, settling quickly under the covers. He can hear the light sounds of Evan padding around the living room. He doesn’t mind it, the house feels more comfortable somehow, less empty. Maybe having a housemate isn’t such a bad thing after all.

——

Spring has started to show itself and Tommy has decided that today was the day to throw himself into a full house clean. With Evan’s help it had taken half the time it usually did. Finishing up in the kitchen, Tommy is on his knees bent around inside the corner cupboard wiping out the last of the dust.

“You doing okay in there?”

“Yeah.” His voice comes out muffled. He shuffles out, his hair is sticking up everywhere. Buck offers his hand and helps Tommy up. He leans over and drops the cloth he had been using in the sink. He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “Now I know how a TV dinner feels.”

The reference goes straight over Buck’s head, confusion spreading over his face.

“Oh come on, it’s Die Hard.”

“I’ve never seen it. It’s a Christmas film right?”

“A- a Christmas film?” The incredulous tone of Tommy’s voice makes Buck feel immediately like he’s got something fairly wrong.

“Does it not happen on Christmas Day?”

“Well yeah.” Tommy is gathering up the cleaning supplies from the counters, putting them back in their respective cupboards.

“But it’s not a Christmas film. It’s just a film that happens to occur at Christmas.”

Buck scrunches his brow.

“Riiight.”

“Okay, okay, come here.” Tommy takes Buck by the elbow and leads him into the living room. He goes to the DVD lined bookshelf and starts skimming through the titles.

“Sit down” he calls over his shoulder. “We’re watching it right now.”

Buck smiles to himself, it’s been a few weeks, but he finally feels like he’s starting to crack into Tommy’s shell.

“Yes sir.” He makes a mock salute and flops down onto the small couch.

Tommy rolls his eyes good naturedly, sits down next to him and starts the movie.

He can tell it’s coming, but the shot that kills the first hostage still makes Buck flinch. His leg bumps against Tommy’s but he is too involved in the movie to really notice. Tommy notices though, the soft press of Evan’s sweatpants and the warmth radiating from him is hard to ignore. He takes a deep breath and tries to concentrate on the TV.

It isn’t until the scene moves on that Buck realises his thigh is still touching Tommy’s. His gaze flickers down to where they’re pressed together, is it weird to stay like this? Should he move? The couch is small, not really designed to hold to grown men with any additional room and Tommy hasn’t made any indication that he wants Buck to move. He decides that it’s probably been too long anyway, doing it now would be more awkward than not, right?

——-

By the time Hans Gruber is falling backwards out of a shattered glass window Buck feels like he’s been on a rollercoaster.

The credits start up and he looks over at Tommy,

“Definitely not a Christmas film.”

Tommy stares at him for a second before bursting out laughing.

——-

The next day Tommy gets home from his shift and dumps his bag down by the island, comes into the kitchen to see what Evan was making for dinner. It had become a routine of theirs, not that Tommy minded. Evan was far better in the kitchen department than he was. He was starting to find that he enjoyed having someone to come home to.

He goes to the fridge, it had been hot that day and he was in desperate need of a cold drink.

“I’m sure that cooking without a shirt on is probably a hazard of some kind.”

Evan is fiddling with the scale settings, carefully measuring out ingredients before mixing them together in a saucepan.

“Oh yeah,” he looks down at himself quickly, as if he had forgotten about his bare torso. “I-I can go and get one if it bothers you?”

Tommy waves a hand around the open fridge door.

“No it’s fine, as long as you don’t burn yourself.”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

Tommy chuckles,

“You of all people should know that nobody intends to burn anything.”

Buck laughs,

“That’s true.” He wavers for a moment, stirring the contents of the saucepan, like he can’t decide if he wants to say something.

Tommy watches him carefully.

“Hey did you know that Bruce Willis wasn’t the first choice to play John McClane?”

“No, I didn’t.” Buck face lights up with the knowledge that he’s giving Tommy something new.

“Yeah, he was like sixth in line, they offered it to bunch of people like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, Burt Reynolds, Harrison Ford before they gave it to him. Apparently because he was in a show called Moonlighting at the time which was more like a drama comedy thing? They weren’t super sure he’d be a good fit for all the action.”

“Hard to imagine anyone else doing it now.”

Tommy watches Evan, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, radiating energy. “Wait, how did you know? I thought you said you’d never watched it before?”

“I hadn’t.” Evan grins and slips past him to get to the fridge. He tries not to think about the bare heat of Evan’s bicep as it brushes past his own. “I was listening to this podcast at work today.” He comes back past, waving the stick of celery he had retrieved as he talks. “While we were restocking the engine, it was really interesting - apparently McClane wasn’t meant to fall so far in the elevator scene, he was supposed to stop at the first vent but when they short the stunt man slipped and fell further than he was meant to.”

Tommy isn’t paying as much attention to Evan’s words as he should be. He is watching the muscles in Evan’s back move as he chops the vegetables on the counter in front of him. The up and down of his shoulder, the flex across his shoulder blade when he has to press down through something harder. Selfishly imagining what it would feel like to feel those muscles shift under his hands, to press a kiss to the juncture of Evan’s neck while he’s cooking, rambling about a film he had no interest in before yesterday. A film that he went and researched because he thought Tommy would like the extra information. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrubs a hand over his cheek. He needs to get a hold of himself. Evan is straight. He’s has never talked about anything other than women as far as Tommy can remember and even if he wasn’t, it’s not like he would be interested in Tommy anyway.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Evan turn to face him, the stream of consciousness coming to an abrupt halt. He realises that he hasn’t listened to a word Evan had said in the last few minutes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to zone out I just-“ he not sure how to finish the sentence. ‘Sorry I wasn’t listening, I was too busy thinking about biting your traps’ didn’t feel at all appropriate.

“It’s okay.” Evan’s voice is smaller now, his shoulders have dropped, something unreadable on his face. “I talk to much, I don’t blame you for not-”

Tommy takes a step forward, he see the hurt in Evan’s eyes, cast down to the floor.

“It’s not that.” Before he knows what he’s doing he’s reached forward and wrapped his hand around Evan’s wrist. “I was just somewhere else, which is on me, not you. I want to hear about it.”

Evan chews on his lip, fingers curling up in his palm, up towards Tommy’s hand.

“Really?”

“I promise.”

Evan looks up and meets Tommy’s reassuring gaze. He swallows, can feel something in the air like crackling static. He can feel Tommy’s hand curled around his arm, drawing him in. He feels himself being pulled into to Tommy’s space, he just wants to be closer and closer -

He’s so lost in the moment that the alarm going off on his phone makes him jump clean out of his skin. He fumbles with it on the side, the noise finally stopping. He looks back but the moment is gone, Tommy quickly lets go of his arm and mumbles something about going to set the table. Buck watches him leave the room. He looks down at his arm, the residual heat still clinging there. Tommy is a good looking guy, sure. Buck can appreciate an objectively attractive man, but he’s never considered it any further than that. He furrows his brow and runs his fingers along the inside of his arm. That hadn’t felt very objective.

——-

Buck is stood in the grocery store staring at the vegetables section. He glances down at the list. ‘potatoes’ is scrawled there in Tommy’s slanted handwriting. Buck sighs, Tommy had done the meal planning this week because Buck’s shifts had been long and exhausting, which was sweet of him. Normally it’s Buck’s job, one of the things they had agreed on when he moved in. Recently things had become a little looser, Tommy had started picking up the jobs than Buck was too exhausted to get to and in return Buck had done the cleaning allotted to Tommy this week. They were beginning to cross over more, it is starting to feel like living with a friend rather than emergency bunking with Chimney’s old colleague.

He fidgets, can still feel the ghost of Tommy’s fingers curling around his wrist, can still feel the desire to hold his in return. He remembers the charge in the air, the sudden, overwhelming desire to close the space between them to lean in and-

He is jarred out of his thoughts by someone clearing their throat next to him. He looks across and realises that he has been holding up everyone else who needs to get theirs.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and shuffles out of the way. He’s probably overthinking it, considers that he might be the only person who thinks this much about type and variety of potatoes. He pulls out his phone anyway, flicks open Tommy’s contact. He’s hitting the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings and rings.

He closes his eyes and considers what kind of insane voice mail he is about to leave for the poor unsuspecting guy who kindly lets Buck live in his house when Tommy picks up.

“Hey Evan, everything okay?” He sounds out of breath.

“Oh uhm, yeah everything’s fine I was just-” Buck pauses, Tommy is still breathing heavily on the other side of the phone.

“Are you okay? I’m not interrupting anything?” He hears Tommy shift around.

“No, I was just working out, trying to squeeze something in before we get called out again.”

“Oh, okay.” Buck’s mind is suddenly so far away, images of Tommy working out, muscles pumping, sweat running down the thick column of his neck, damping his collarbones, rivulets making their way between his pecs and-

Not for the first time that day, Buck is pulled out of his thoughts by someone clearing their throat.

“Evan? You still there?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. I was just calling because-” He swallows nervously, suddenly afraid that Tommy can somehow read his thoughts. He glances back at the potatoes, wonders how he ended up here.

“I am just at the grocery store,”

“You’re doing the shopping?”

“Yeah, I had some time and nobody really wants to go shopping on their way home from work so I just thought it would be easier if I did it.”

“Oh, uhm, thanks.” There is something unreadable in his voice, panic flutters through Buck’s chest, but before he can spiral out too far Tommy’s voice comes back into his ear.

“I appreciate it, you’re right, nobody does want to go shopping on their way home.”

Buck can’t help but smile.

“And as for the potatoes, I can’t say that I know specifically, usually I just grab whatever is closest.”

“What do you need them for?”

“I was just going to make wedges.”

“Okay, so probably like a Russet then?”

“If that’s what you think is best.”

“Yeah it’s got a good skin and it’s more starchy so the inside will be fluffier and-” He stops himself, hears Tommy chuckle.

“I’ve never known anyone to know so much about everything.”

“Well it’s important Thomas.” He hears the pout in his own voice. Tommy laughs again.

“It sounds like it is, I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when I get home.”

“You sure will.” The sound of the station alarm cuts through the call.

“Oh shoot, gotta go.”

“Yeah of course, be safe.” It slips out of Buck’s mouth so easily.

“I will, see you later.”

——-

A few day later Buck is lounging on the couch in a pair of boxers and slightly too long jumper, the only things he could be bothered to put on after his post shift shower, when he hears the handle of the front door.

He tenses. Tommy is on shift until 7pm so it shouldn’t be him and he isn’t expecting anyone else. The door rattles slightly, like the person on the other side is having trouble getting in. He can hear two different voices outside. His heart starts to pound in his chest. He glances around for his phone, curses when he realises that it’s upstairs on charge. Instead grabs the nearest thing to hand and raises it in front of him. He takes a deep breath and plants his feet ready for whatever is coming through the door.

Finally the handle swoops down and the door opens.

There’s a moment of silence.

“You planning to hit me with that?”

Buck lets out a huge breath and drops his arms.

“Tommy! What the hell, you are definitely not meant to be home yet!”

There’s a laugh from beside the front door,

“Wow Kinard, Hell of a home security system you have here.”

Buck looks at his chosen defensive object, a stainless steel water bottle as it turns out, maybe not his best choice.

“Hey now Luce, be nice to him, he was ready to defend my home.” He looks at Buck with a sparkle in his eye, he tilts his head as he takes in Buck’s chosen outfit. Lips quirked up in a smile. Buck suddenly feels self conscious, he tugs on the hem of the jumper.

“I wasn’t expecting you home yet.”

“It’s fine, I should have called. I wasn’t really expecting to be home yet either but-” He gestures up towards his head and Buck registers the thick white bandage covering a large portion of Tommy’s forehead, curving down around his temple. Buck all but drops the water bottle and rushes over. How could he not have seen that immediately?

“God, are you okay?” Without thinking he takes Tommy’s face in his hands, looks more closely at the bandages, counts the tiny cuts that are scattered across his cheek.

Tommy protests the attention a little, but makes no move to get out of Buck’s grip.

“I’m fine, Evan.” Buck furrows his brow and keeps cataloging Tommy’s injuries. A cut above his eyebrow catches Buck attention and he gently swipes back a loose curl to get a closer look at it.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is soft now, gentle. Buck realises that they’re only inches apart, he can feel Tommy’s warm breath ghosting across his cheek.

“Okay so I only have one question.” They both startle as if they’ve forgotten they aren’t alone.

“Why did I have to bring you back when you apparently have a perfectly good boyfriend at home? Does he not drive?”

Buck takes half a step back, his hand slips a little, but doesn’t break contact with Tommy.

“I- I can drive.” Tommy holds his breath, waits for the denial. It shouldn’t hurt so much he thinks, to hear it out loud. He squeezes his eyes shut.

He had let himself hope, ever since Evan had spent a whole 2 hour movie squashed into his side. Since they had started having dinner together, spending the time they weren’t on shifts closer and closer. He shouldn’t have let himself believe there might be a chance, waits for Evan to deny Lucy’s assumption of their relationship.

But he doesn’t.

“Right well, whatever is going on here-” he can hear the teasing in her tone, “I have to get back to work.” There’s a clatter of keys and the door clicks shut behind her. Tommy feels frozen in place, Evan’s hand is still cupped around his jaw. Tommy opens his eyes and Evan is just as close as he was when he closed them. There’s something in his eyes, bright and hopeful.

“You didn’t tell her you aren’t my boyfriend.”

“Well,” Evan’s tongue darts out nervously, “what if I wanted to be?”

“You want to be my boyfriend?”

Evan’s eyes soften impossibly at the hint of disbelief in Tommy’s voice.

“I do.”

“I want to be yours too.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Buck inches closer, tilts his head up. It seems so obvious now, as their lips meet. Tommy’s hand is brushing up his arm, coming to rest at the juncture of his neck. The kiss is soft and gentle, makes Buck feel like he’s unraveling in the best way. So clear what the feeling was when he was obsessing over the places where their bodies touched on the couch. When he was working to make Tommy laugh, going after new information just to be able to give him something. Calling in the middle of Tommy’s shift just to make sure he was getting the right potatoes. Buck smiles against Tommy’s lips, they part minutely.

“Something funny?” Tommy’s voice is barely a whisper.

“We really have just been accidentally dating haven’t we?”

Tommy huffs out a laugh, Buck feels it where his hands have found themselves against Tommy’s back.

“Mmm, I do think that’s what has happened.”

Buck drops his head, slides into the crook of Tommy’s shoulder.

“I’ve never accidentally dated anyone before.”

“Well I’m more than happy to be your first.”

Tagging some beloveds (as always let me know if you want to be added or removed);

@loulou-land @loucifersbitch @dark-alice-lilith @mmso-notlikethat @laundryandtaxesworld @hippolotamus @bucksaiga @sad-girl-hours23 @evansbuck-ley @typicalopposite

@moonydanny @teenmaximoff @bucksboobs @ohithankyou @bi-bi-buckleys @rubydaiquiri @hellion-child @aringofsalt @sweaters-and-silly @theotherbuckley @comfortingevanbuckley @epiphainie @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard

@sunnywithachanceofbi @blitzynatural @big-urchin-energy @fyrehose @buckleyskinards @owlgirl495 @honeyloulou @setmeatopthepyre @salty-autistic-writer @thecarrott

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Rose Tinted — Boo Seungkwan

✧ Take off those rose colored glasses ✧

Plot: Picture this… you find out that your so-called best friend has been playing you all along.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x best friend!Boo Seungkwan 🎥 Genre: big time angst 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, asshole vernon, asshole kwannie (sorry y’all), brief mention of blood but not graphic 🎥 Notes: I am baaaack (hopefully for a while). I know I haven’t been posting for forever but I hope to see you all more often again ^^  🎥 Shout out: thanks to my lovely bestie @nothoughtsjustfic for motivating me to write again 💜 love you Chee! Never change pls hehehe

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“How much longer are you going to keep this up, dude? She’s been glued to your side since that dumb bet. Weren’t you gonna ditch her like forever ago?”

Time froze as you heard Vernon utter those words to your best friend… or so you thought. 

“Shit, Vernon! Be quiet before she hears you!” Seungkwan hissed in return, which was followed by a dull sound and then a shriek from Vernon.

“Whatever. I just don’t get it. You don’t even like her. She could offer to buy me unlimited pizza and beers and I still wouldn’t be able to handle all that clinginess.”

“Fucking hell! Just get out and don’t come back until we leave. You’re going to fuck up everything,” Seungkwan snapped, his voice unlike anything you’d ever heard coming from his lips. 

“Fine.” Vernon sighed dramatically. “But don’t come crying to me when it all comes to bite you in the ass.” 

A second later, you heard the front door slam shut, the sound of which snapped you right back to the horrible reality you were now forced to face. 

You’d just been shown a completely different side of your supposed best friend and you didn’t quite know whether to cry or scream. What you did know was that you couldn’t stay hidden behind the wall for forever, even though that did seem awfully tempting. You’d never been very confrontational but this matter couldn’t be left unspoken, not if you wanted to keep your sanity. 

You needed to hear the truth from Seungkwan himself. 

With your heart nearly pounding out your chest and a million thoughts running through your mind, you forced your legs to move in the direction of the living room where Seungkwan was awaiting your return. 

His head immediately shot up when he noticed you approaching him, a smile that felt just a little too forced making its way on his face. It was almost as if you could see a sliver of disgust flash behind his eyes.

Had that always been there or were you just overanalyzing everything because of what Vernon said?

“There you are! Any longer and I would have gotten worried.” Seungkwan chuckled as he turned his head back towards the TV.

Right. The movie the two of you had been watching before that awful conversation. If only you could turn back time. 

“Y/N?” Seungkwan asked with a raised brow when you hadn’t moved at all. “Aren’t you going to sit down? We can finish the last thirty minutes before we have to leave.”

“No.” 

Your voice was barely audible but you knew that it had been loud enough judging by the way Seungkwan responded.

“No? You don’t want to watch any more? Well, we can put on something else if that’s what you wan-”

You were quick to interrupt him. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Okay?” He got up from the couch, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re acting kinda strange, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Without realizing it, you’d been clenching your fists so hard this entire time that your nails had pierced through parts of your skin, drawing a little bit of blood which you could feel dripping down your fingers. But you honestly couldn’t give a fuck right now. 

“Do you hate me?” you blurted out, completely catching the man in front of you off guard.

“W-what? Hate you? Why would you ask me that?” Seungkwan chuckled nervously, his hand awkwardly coming up to scratch behind his neck. 

“Be honest with me, Seungkwan.” You looked him dead in the eyes, noticing the way his eyes grew wide at the fierceness behind your words.

As if suddenly coming back to himself, he shook his head furiously. “You’re being crazy, Y/N.”

You let out a loud snort. “Me? Crazy? Then are you saying Vernon was lying just now?”

At that revelation, Seungkwan’s mouth opened and closed a few times as if he was about to say something but backed out at the last second. There was no talking himself out of this. And you were not backing down until you’d heard everything, even if it was going to crush you. 

“Yeah… I heard everything. About a supposed bet, about you pretending this entire time and wanting to ditch me. Does that ring a bell?” 

“Y/N, l-listen,” the man pleaded as he took a step forward to reach for your arm. 

“Tell me the fucking truth, Seungkwan!” you nearly screamed, surprising both yourself and him at the anger laced in your voice.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes at first, but it wasn’t long before that disgust you swore you’d seen before flashed behind his eyes once again. 

“You really wanna know what I think of you? Fine!” He threw up his hands. “I don’t like you, I never have, not then and not now. I’m not your fucking best friend and I’m sick of pretending. You’re right. It started out as a stupid bet to see if I could befriend you, but with how fucking desperate you were, that wasn’t hard. And then you just wouldn’t fucking go away so I thought, I might as well use your clingy ass to my advantage. Because who in their right mind doesn’t like free meals and free rides? All I had to do was pretend.” He chuckled bitterly. “Happy now?”

You didn’t stick around to respond, already halfway through the door with tears streaming down your face by the time he finished his cruel rant. This wasn’t the sweet and caring Seungkwan you’d been sharing all your secrets and insecurities with. This was the real Seungkwan, a mean, heartless excuse of a human being who you didn’t recognize at all. 

He’d broken your heart in a million little pieces and you didn’t know if you were ever going to recover from this. 

So much for letting someone in.

So much for not wanting to be alone. 

Boo Seungkwan, I hope it was worth it. 

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[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART THREE)

I stirred in bed and heard Braden shuffle on the other side of the mattress. My son wasn't a morning person, and now that Bill Jr. was 4, Brade really preferred to sleep in. I loved to let him, and on weekdays I'd fix breakfast for Junior and get him ready and off to preschool on my way to work.

I would let my son-husband sleep in on Saturday, too, but we now had this ritual.

"Hmmm..." I heard his deep morning voice growl as his thickly muscled body scooted over to mine, resting his strong arm on my chest. Braden always had a great body, but he'd spent the last few years dedicating an hour at the gym on most days and I found myself married to a 28-year old who could be a freakin' porn star.

I always woke up with morning wood, like clockwork, but the warmth and body contact had me raging hard.

"Morning, babe," I said, kissing his forehead and running my hand along the knotted tricep.

"What time's tee time?" I heard his groggy voice ask.

"8:30," I said.

"Goddamnit," Braden said. He made a point never to curse around Junior, which meant when it was just us, his sailor mouth was in full force. "Fucking Fiedler."

I chuckled. My son and I had become good friends with both of the Dr. Fiedlers, Adam, father, and son Todd, and we often did double dates. There was the bond of being incest couples and the shared experience of navigating parenthood in that context. While both were "Dr. Fielder" to me, Braden used Fiedler to refer to his doctor, Todd, while he called the dad Adam.

"My golf date is with both of them," I said. "With a new fourth. Todd says he found another man in a relationship like ours."

That woke Braden up. "Yeah?" he asked, looking at me to see if I was on the level. Brade no longer had a buzz cut but his hair was short and thinning already. In the morning it was matted down in a sexy bed head way.

I nodded, patting his side. "He was cagey about the details, but I don't think he was bullshitting me."

"Wow," my son said. "That would be incredible." We both craved to connect to other father-son couples, Braden especially. Incest was amazing, but a lonely experience.

Braden's hand traveled down slowly from my chest over my furry stomach. I didn't have my son's six pack, nor his thick muscle, but I kept trim and in shape for 45. Brade seemed to love what I had going on.

Particular a few inches lower. I grunted when I felt his strong fingers circle around my prick.

"That feels nice, buddy," I hissed.

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah. Always does."

"I love this cock, Dad," my son said. "It fucking made me."

That dick surged in his fist. Even if we had a ritual, it never got old. To the contrary.

I looked Brade square in the eye as I lay back and let him stroke me. "It made Junior, too."

"Aw fuck!" Braden grunted. That was the button to push all right. He pounced forward for a kiss. He tried to take charge of it, but I battled back with my tongue. I won that battle, but otherwise my son was in charge, climbing on top of me. Braden was four inches shorter than me but with his brawn I definitely had that pleasant feel of his weight on top.

We made out as Brade kind of humped and writhed.

"Let me drive, today, Dad?" he hissed.

"You got it, Sport."

This was going to have to be a quickie. Bill Jr. would probably wake soon and while our son probably could content himself watching cartoons on his ipad, as a married couple you have to find the private moments when you could take them.

We had a discreet container for our lube next to the bed, and I watched Braden's thick muscle flex as he reached over to pump a good bit out. For longer sessions, we didn't use so much, but for a quick entry, my son loved a super slick cock.

I was gonna be really frickin' wet, I realized, as that palm wrapped around my phallus once more.

Braden was horny but more in his quiet, relaxed early morning way. And maybe lost in thought. "The new guys..." he asked. "You think the dad is the top or bottom?"

"Dunno, Brade," I said. "Some guys are both. Or neither, I suppose," I answered.

Braden didn't comprehend that. He'd told me that for him sex was about being penetrated, or getting me to cum. Maybe if he'd been more vers, he could have talked me into switching things up, but I loved being his father that way. Dad on top. Being the breeding stud for my Brade.

Still, I knew some men were wired differently, like the Fiedlers.

Braden settled over my lap, looking down and bracing one hand on the headboard of the bed as his other reached behind to guide my cock into place.

"You're horny, Dad," he said.

I nodded. "It's been a couple of days, buddy."

"I know," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," I said, running my hands along his thighs. Brade had really been hitting leg day. "We get sex when we can."

Brade got a shyly playful look on his handsome face, as he wiggled his hips back on to my dick, nudging his hole into place. "It's gonna be even trickier when the next one is born."

This was frequent with me and my son. Talking about impregnation and procreation, talking about the family we were raising and the sons we were going to sire.

But this was more than sex talk, I knew. Brade was feeling me out. "You itching to get knocked up again, Brade?" I grunted. This was sex talk, and real talk, and the fact they were one in the same was getting to me.

He pushed himself down. Even with out experience, Braden's experience, his kind of quick entry was tough for him, but he relished the way my slickness meant he was being bored with a few inches of dad cock. He winced but his cock twitched and bounced from his crotch.

We were incest fucking once more, like we could never get enough of.

"So ready, Dad," Braden hissed. "Whenever you're ready, Dad, just tell me and I'll stop taking those fucking pills."

I loved the tight hot feel of Braden's guts clenching my prick and descending down. "We'll talk about it, OK?" Real talk and sex talk could collide, but Braden and I were going to make the next pregnancy a planned one, decided in a sober conversation, not while fucking.

"Of course, Dad," he said, maybe a little too loud. Jesus, he was gonna wake Junior.

He rode me slowly, sensually. His goal was to relax his hole and his insides, but it also felt amazing on my lubed dick, like I was being slowly jacked.

"But say the word and I'm ready.... I wanna be so fucking fertile for you, Dad."

I gripped his hips now and pumped in. Ready or not, I need to actively fuck my son.

"Yes!" Braden hissed. It was intense for him, but I could tell he was imagining me planting my seed in him, my sperm fertilizing his egg.

"You're such a handsome fuck," I growled. "Love you, Sport."

"Love you, Dad. Oh shit!" he let go of his prick to keep from cumming. Instead he angled his upper body up to focus on taking my cock.

"I thought you were driving today, Brade," I teased, pumping up more excitedly into his ass.

"You're in charge, Dad. Fucking take me."

"I am..." I grunted. I was so close, and this was one of those fucks where I was riding the edge of orgasm without topping over. "Can't wait to knock you up, kiddo."

"Please dad. Impregnate me."

"Make another incest baby?" OK, I was getting real close now. My hips were thrusting gaster.

"Hell yeah, Dad. How many grandkids do you want?"

Something about those words but also the tone in which Brade said them had me coming, hard. I held onto his hips in a vice grip and fired several jets of my cum into his guts.

Excitedly, Brade gripped his bone and tugged and like that I was getting showered with my son's seed. It had been a while since he'd ridden me and I enjoyed the novelty of a Braden cum shower.

We kissed, softly, catching our breath and letting our heart rate come back to normal.

Our shower together was efficient and quick. I had to get to the golf course, and the sex had taken longer than I expected.

***

This was our way of maintaining a healthy balance as parents and as a married couple. Saturday was my own personal day for me-time, which in good weather meant playing golf. On Sundays, Braden got to do his own thing, which usually meant hanging out with his buddy Jackson, either going off to do some outdoor or athletic thing, or just watching football.

The Fiedlers sometimes played golf separately, but on Saturdays, both Adam and Todd were there in their knit shirts and shorts. Adam was an incredible golfer, whereas Todd had the power swings that could either make for a great game or a lousy one. I was a decent player but mostly enjoyed the game and the break from the routine of work and parenting. And I'd enjoyed bonding with the Fiedlers.

I related to Adam and Todd in different ways, but with either man... well, we'd opened up a lot. Guy talk, discussing the emotional side of married life, particularly in an incest couple, and even frank talk about our sex lives. With anyone else it would feel like a betrayal of trust with Braden, but I knew these guys would keep anything private, and I knew a lot about them. I had no one else to talk to, and maybe it's something a man needs.

Sure, there was some sexual tension, too, but we channeled that into crude jokes and double entendre, without danger of slipping into anything more.

When I got to the club house, I saw the fourth in our party. He looked to he a high school kid, until I got closer and figured he was closer to 19 or 20. About 5'8" with a compact body.

"Hey," came the voice. Adult but very young sounding, like a frat dude rushing at university.

"Bill Drake," I said, offering my hand to shake it.

"Jeff Connors." He smiled but seemed nervous.

Adam Fiedler patted my shoulder. "Bill's part of our special fraternity, Jeff... you can be free around him."

"Yeah?" the young man asked excitedly. But maybe feeling out of his element.

I nodded. "I don't know what these men have shared, but yes." I was nervous too, but something about Jeff's shyness brought out my protective side. I looked over at Todd. Dr. Fiedler. "I guess we got all morning to get acquainted."

My doctor grinned. "Especially cause you get to ride in the cart with him, Bill. Dad's upset he doesn't get to flirt with the dude."

Adam gave a hearty laugh. "Todd told me to be on my best behavior."

The younger doctor gave a mock-annoyed look. "Come on, Dad. You're teeing off first."

***

The first hour was a lot of small talk. Jeff was a college freshman, rising sophomore, home for the summer. My guess that he was a fraternity man was a good one, and in most ways young man Connors seemed like a typical college kid. Into partying but also finding himself and his goals in life. Kind of goofy in his humor but naive and serious about the world, too.

It was after the tenth hole, when he opened up. We'd gotten into the cart after a long drive. I pulled off and I heard him say softly. "Dad doesn't want me talking about things with anyone else, but I feel like was gonna explode if I kept it all inside you know?"

I looked over at him. I almost patted his knee but felt that would be appropriate. "Your dad has a point, but I know how you feel, buddy."

He smiled, a nervous but genuine smile. "Thanks, Bill. You, um..."

I could tell he thought it was too wild to ask. I leaned into the trust of the situation and wanted to show Jeff he could trust me. "I've been with my son Braden for ten years... been married for seven of them."

The frat dude's face lit up. "Wow! That's amazing."

"I think so," I said. "I'm a very happy, very lucky man."

Jeff hesitated. "Like Dr. Fiedler."

"In more ways than one," I said. And seeing that Jeff wasn't following I added, "Brade and I have a son. Together." I felt proud to make that announcement, and I remembered Todd Fiedler's tone of pride when he first mentioned how many kids they had.

"How's that?" Jeff asked. Earnest as hell.

"Amazing. Even if it cuts into the sex life some," I said with a wink.

Jeff laughed. I could tell he was arranging his crotch. "It's so crazy to talk about a father and son having sex."

I looked over. "Well you and your dad are, right?" Maybe I'd misread the whole situation.

He nodded and blushed. "Yeah. Like, um, a lot."

I laughed and Jeff laughed too. It broke the ice a lot.

I figured I could share more. "Braden and I love the idea of incest. Always gets us going."

I could tell Jeff was getting worked up. I was getting hard, too. I was wired for incest talk, and just discussing this openly was way hot.

But we kept the conversation more serious. "I'm pretty sure Dad and I don't want to have kids," Jeff said. "But we've been talking more about what a relationship would mean."

"Parenting's not easy, you both gotta be on the same page."

Jeff and I talked more, off and on, between shots, and it was amazing to see him open up and his happiness at being able to talk about incest.

I listened, but I had to speak up. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice, Jeff?"

"Sure," he said. Over two hours we'd built up a high level of trust.

"If it's going to be more than sex with your dad, if the emotional part is important... well, you need him on board, buddy. About talking to others."

"Yeah," Jeff conceded, chastised.

I now patted his knee, paternally. "It goes both ways, too. He needs to know how you feel and your need to bond with other man. He may be your dad, but he needs to listen to you, not just lay down the law."

Jeff seemed quiet as he took that in, then finally replied. "Thanks, Bill."

***

I got home to find Braden playing catch in the backyard. I don't know how much of it was Junior into baseball and football, and how much of it was Brade's natural enthusiasm in sharing that masculine rite of passage. My son was such a natural father, it was touching to watch. And to hear Junior alternate between giggling and trying to imitate his daddy's game-focus mannerisms, was endearing.

I decided then and there that it was time for another kid. To give Junior a younger brother.

***

I brought it up on Monday night. Junior was in bed by 9. Brade and I took turns make sure our son did his nightly routine and brushed his teeth. I was grateful that night, because work had been a real long, tough day for me. I sat on the couch and watched some mindless TV with the sound turned down.

Finally Braden came and sat down next to me. "Exhausting, huh?" he said with a laugh. We never bitched about parenthood, but we did bond on the work it took and enjoyed approaching the challenges with humor.

"I'll say," I replied. Then, "You up for feeling more exhausted, Braden?"

He paused as it sunk and looked at me. Then, "You saying what I think you're saying?"

I nodded. "If you're up for it. It's your body, son."

"Oh god, Dad. I'm gonna go off the pills tomorrow."

I smiled. Proud. Excited. Maybe more than a little horny. My dick was firming up. "I figure it's time for Junior to have a little brother."

"Yes, sir," Brade hissed as he scooted closer and leaned forward into my lap.

I'd never turn down a blowjob from my son, but now that he was pawing at my crotch, a started tone entered my voice. "You sure Junior's asleep?" I asked in a whisper.

"He's out, Dad," Braden said with an impish smile as he pulled down down my zipper. "But you can keep watch if you like while I suck that cock that's gonna make our next son."

I lay back and enjoyed the slowest most sensual head I could imagine. Brade was making love to my dick and my balls, and I knew what he was thinking. How he was sucking his father, tasting the dick that made him. Getting closed to the breeding power that going to knock him up once more.

I made myself be quiet, almost silent as I orgasmed, feeding Brade a huge load. This was going to be a fun, emotionally powerful month or two. Or three. However long we had to mate to get the job done. I wasn't even going soft now, not even after Brade suckled at the dribbles and kept licking.

"Bedroom, Dad?" he asked, leaning up with a wild-eyed look on his face. I could tell he was thrilled by my amped up sexual response.

"You bet, Sport," I hissed, leaning into kiss him.

[starkeysprincess]

Petals & Promises

rafe cameron x Kook fem!reader

SUMMARY: Rafe Cameron doesn’t do romance—until after that wild night at the party, when he starts showing up at your door with flowers. No words, just a smirk and a bouquet. It’s probably just a joke... or is it?

wc: 3,4k (I got carried away 😛)

WARNINGS: some angst, mainly fluff, (idk what else to add lmk)

Y/N was curled up on her couch, overwhelmed with the strenuous college work that she had to turn in till next week. It was quiet on Figure 8, The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. The stress inside of her was slowly building up while cautiously reading through her essay, making sure not to make one single mistake. She was a straight A student after all, and the only thing that mattered to her was having perfect grades. Meanwhile her friends were going out, partying, drinking, living their best lives, she was bed rotting and freaking out about her future, it was stupid really.

suddenly, she heard her phone ring and when she saw that it was her best friend Lila, she couldn't of have been happier. Immediately she picks up the phone:

L: "hey girlll, how are you?"

Y/N: "hey Lil, I'm finishing up my assignment, as always, ugh im literally about to pass out."

L: "okayyy perfect then, I have the perfect solution for you, you're coming to Rafe Camerons party today at 8. You seriously need to loosen up."

Y/N: "wait- what? Lil, you know I can-"

L: cya there!

*the phone Hangs up*

"Fuck...." you mumble to yourself and let out a sigh. But on the other hand, maybe listening to Lila and forgetting about school wouldn't be so bad at all? I mean, as long as you don't get wasted what could go wrong? Time passes and you get up to fancy yourself up. It feels so stupid to you, but on the other side you've never been to a party before and a feeling of excitement rushes through you. Therefore you do a full face of soft glam makeup, touching it up with a rosey pink color of gloss and curl your hair. The last touch was the outfit, for which you had decided to go with a pretty dark blue evening gown and a pair of louboutin heels. If you were being honest, this was the prettiest you've felt in a long time. It felt relieving to feel comfortable and beautiful in your own body again. You leave your house and start walking to Tannyhill. Once you get to your destination, you see a large crowd of people in front of the Cameron household. You step into the house, and boom—music shaking the walls, bodies everywhere, air thick with booze and something fruity. Before you can even process, Lila spots you.

“GIRL, FINALLY!” she stumbles over, nearly spilling her drink. “I was ’boutta send a damn search party. By the way you look JAW DROPPING”

“Thank you but you texted me two minutes ago.”

“And that was two minutes of suffering,” she says dramatically, shoving a cup into your hand. “Now drink.”

You sniff it. “What the hell is this?”

“Who cares? It’s alcohol.”

You take a sip—mistake. “Bro, are you tryna poison me?”

she cackles. “Lightweight. C’mon, we need shots.”

Fast forward—you're both gone.

You’re clinging to each other, half-dancing, half-tripping, screaming the wrong lyrics to some song. Your head spins, but in a fun way.The room spins. The lights blur into streaks of neon, and the bass vibrates through your chest like it's syncing with your heartbeat. You don’t know how long it’s been—minutes? Hours? Your head is heavy, your legs unsteady, and suddenly, Lila is gone. Panic flickers through the haze of alcohol. You push through the crowd, bumping into sweaty bodies, murmuring half-apologies. Your vision tunnels, and the edges of the world start to fade. Shit. You need air. You need to sit. Stumbling toward the wall, you brace yourself, blinking hard to clear your vision. The party keeps moving around you—people laughing, dancing, making out in dark corners—but it all feels distant, like you're underwater. But even through your fucked up vision and fuzzy head, you see and feel someone eyeing you down.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, watching you. Not just looking—watching. His sharp blue eyes flicker under the dim lights, unreadable, intense. Your pulse stutters. Whether it's from the alcohol or the way he tilts his head slightly, like he’s debating something, you’re not sure. All you know is that everything else—the noise, the people, the chaos—fades into the background.

It’s just you and him.

Your legs give out before you can take another step. The world tilts violently, and the last thing you feel is the cold floor meeting your body. Distantly, voices blur together, someone laughs, music pulses through your skull. Then—warm hands. Strong arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground completely. The scent of cologne, sharp and clean, cuts through the alcohol haze clouding your brain. “Shit.” A deep voice, close. Your head lolls against something firm—a chest? A shoulder? You can barely process it, everything slipping in and out of consciousness like a bad dream. “Yo, is she good?” someone asks. “She’s fine,” the voice responds, low and controlled. “I got her.”

Then you’re moving. Lifted effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs and back. The warmth is grounding, but your mind is too fogged to fight it, to even think about what’s happening. Cool air kisses your burning skin as you’re carried outside. The music muffles behind closed doors, replaced by the sound of steady footsteps, the distant hum of crickets.

You try to mumble something, but it comes out as a slurred mess.

“Relax,” the voice says. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word wraps around you, pulling you further into the darkness.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not just from the hoodie wrapped around you, but from the air itself—quieter, softer than the freezing night outside. The second thing is the scent—clean linen, expensive cologne, a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

You’re not at the party anymore.

Your head is still spinning, but the pounding bass, the suffocating crowd, the overwhelming chaos—it’s all gone. Replaced by something calmer. Safer. Blinking hard, you push yourself up slightly, your body weak and heavy, and that’s when you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly like he’s been watching you this entire time. But not in the way people usually say he does. There’s no arrogance, no sharp amusement. Just something unreadable. Something almost… gentle. His blue eyes flicker over your face, scanning, assessing. “You good?” Your throat is dry, but you manage to croak, “Where—?”

“My place,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were out of it. I wasn’t about to leave you there.” The weight of those words settles in your chest. You were vulnerable—completely out of it—and instead of taking advantage, instead of leaving you behind, he brought you here. Safe. Taken care of.

You were confused, and on the other hand you were partially panicking, why would Rafe Cameron take you to his house?

“I—” You don’t even know what to say. Your hands clutch at the hoodie around you, only now realizing it’s his. The sleeves practically swallow your arms, the fabric drowning you in warmth. “You were shaking,” Rafe says like he’s reading your mind. “Figured you could use it.” Your stomach flips. Why is he like this?

You’ve heard the stories—Rafe Cameron is reckless. Selfish. Dangerous. But the guy sitting in front of you? He’s none of those things. Maybe it's just an illusion, maybe he just wants to get between your legs and leave you. He shifts, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, then holds it out to you. But when you try to grab it, your fingers tremble too much. You're unsure of wether you should trust him or not.

Rafe notices.

Without a word, he lifts the glass to your lips himself, his free hand cupping the back of your neck, steadying you. His touch is warm, careful, almost hesitant—like he’s afraid of hurting you. The moment stretches, something thick and heavy settling between you. When you finish, he pulls back just slightly, his thumb barely grazing your skin before he lets go. The loss of contact makes something tighten in your chest.

“You feeling okay now?” His voice is quieter now, softer.

You nod weakly. “Yeah… thanks.”

His lips press together, like he’s debating something. Then, finally, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don't want you to go there anymore.”

Your breath catches. “I—what?” Rafe lets out a small, breathy chuckle, almost like he can’t believe himself either. “You just… you don't belong at parties.” He glances away for a second, then back at you.

Your heart drops, unsure what he means and you swear you could feel your face heat up in embarrassment.

Your fingers tighten around the hoodie still wrapped around you, and you finally whisper, “Why?”

Rafe holds your gaze for a long moment, the air between you thick, heavy with something neither of you know how to name. Finally, he reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek, his touch featherlight. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Because it’s you,” he murmurs. He stares you down with a neutral face expression. The embarrassment lingers, twisting in your chest.

Parties aren’t for you.

Rafe’s words replay in your mind, making you feel small. You tug his hoodie tighter around you, avoiding his gaze. He sighs, grabbing his keys. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.” The drive is quiet until he finally speaks. “You think I meant that in a bad way.” You hesitate. “Didn’t you?” His grip on the wheel tightens. “No. I meant… you don’t need that shit. The fake smiles, drunk assholes, guys looking at you like—” He stops, jaw clenching. “Like you’re something to mess with.”

Your heart stumbles.

“I just—” He sighs. “It’s not you.” The weight in your chest shifts. Not gone, but lighter. When he pulls up to your house, he reaches out, tugging the hood over your head gently. His fingers graze your jaw, slow, careful. “Get inside safe,” he murmurs. You nod. “Thanks… for everything.” As you step out, you don’t look back.

But if you did, you’d see him still watching. Still waiting.

Two days pass, but you can’t shake the way Rafe looked at you that night. The softness in his voice, the weight in his eyes. Like he saw you differently. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You tell yourself it was nothing. That it was just a moment. That Rafe Cameron doesn’t do things like that.

But then— The doorbell rings.

When you open it, he’s there.

Standing on your porch, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, looking almost nervous. And in his hands—a bouquet. Not just any bouquet, but the kind that looks like it came straight from some overpriced florist. Deep red roses, white lilies, wrapped in a silk ribbon. Your breath catches.

“Uh…” You blink at him, words failing you. “Are you lost?” Rafe huffs a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “No.” He glances down at the flowers, then back up at you. “These are for you.”

You just stare. Because—what? After a beat, you slowly take them, fingers brushing his as you do. The petals are soft, the scent rich and overwhelming. “Rafe…”

“I know,” he cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “This is… not what you expected.” You nod, still too stunned to process. He exhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. Then, finally—

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Your heart stutters. Rafe looks away for a second, like this is harder for him than it should be. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, rougher.

“That night? Seeing you like that? It fucked me up.” His blue eyes meet yours, and there’s nothing cocky in them. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered. “I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I started caring. And it scared the shit out of me.”

You swallow hard, your grip tightening around the flowers.

He takes a small step closer, voice dropping even lower. “But you looked at me like I was good that night. Like I was worth something.” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. “And I wanted to be that. For you.”

Your chest tightens, your pulse pounding. Rafe runs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Look, I don’t do this shit. I don’t—” He gestures vaguely, like this is beyond him. “But I can’t not do this with you.”

Another step. Closer.

“So let me take you out. A real date.” His gaze softens, voice barely above a whisper now. “Let me prove I can be good for you.”

The world narrows to just him. His eyes, his voice, the plea hidden beneath it all.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

Because this? This feels real.

[unintentionalseductress]

Vanilla Twilight

Warnings: None! Fluffy with a little angst. Summary: You ask Caleb to your prom. A/n: I was sad today and I chose Caleb as my comfort character. Enjoy this bit of fluffiness. Not proofread.

A pleasant, late, spring breeze floats dreamily through your open window, the hallmark of a typical May in Linkon City. The late afternoon sun bathed the quiet streets of Bloomshore District in gold, casting long shadows over the sidewalks where kids rode their bikes and neighbors tended their gardens. It was peaceful—normal. A stark contrast to the vast, high-tech world of Skyhaven. 

You fidget with your hair as you ring Caleb’s number. Despite his reassurances that you were never a bother to him, you always hesitated to call him when he was away at college. He could be in training or hanging out with his friends and you didn’t want to appear like the typical, clingy, needy, girlfriend. 

The call connects and Caleb’s face comes into view.

“Pip-squeak!” He grins and waves at the camera. A resounding chorus of ‘pip-squeak’ can be heard off-screen and Caleb glances over his shoulder before shaking his head. 

“You’re all just jealous because you’re single!” He calls and he’s met with loud, obnoxious kissing noises. Shaking his head exasperatedly, Caleb gets up, angling the camera so that you can still see him as he finds a quieter spot to talk.  

“Sorry about that. You know how the guys can be.” 

You laugh, nodding, despite the blush that comes into your cheeks. “Were you going back  to the dorm?”

“Yeah. We just finished dinner.” Caleb sits down on a bench and rests his chin on his palm. “So what’s up?”

You take a deep breath, then share your news. “Prom’s coming up.”

“Oh, already?”

You huffed a laugh. “Yes, already. I swear, time moves differently for you up there.”

“It kinda does,” Caleb admitted. “One day it’s basic drills, the next it’s high-speed aerial maneuvers. Feels like I blink and a week’s gone.”

He smiles warmly. “Remember all your friends being jealous of you because you got to attend senior prom with me?”

You smile and nod. “As green as the Wicked Witch of the East! It was so magical. It was one of the last times we spent together before you left for Skyhaven.”

Caleb’s eyes were glazed over with nostalgia as he remembered. “Yeah. You still have the hairpin I bought you to match your dress?”

”Of course I do! I still wear it when I’m feeling fancy.” You pause then hedge on. “Caleb…would you be able to attend my prom?”

He laughs, full and easy at the question. “Why pip-squeak? Are you thinking about who to invite as a backup if I say no?” 

“No!” You pout and look at him reproachfully. 

Caleb only chortles at your sullen face. “C’mon, pip-squeak. I’m only joking. So? When is it?”

You tell him the date and wait with bated breath. Your heart skips a beat when you see his expression falter slightly.

”Aw shoot. Pip-squeak…” Caleb hesitates and sighs deeply. “That’s the same day as my flight combat assessment. It’s an important part of my grade, they won’t clear me for solo missions if I don’t take it.”

He sees your face fall and it feels like someone is standing on his throat. Guilt falls heavily on him as he sees you trying to hide your disappointment. “You know I would. I’d never miss this if I could help it. Not for anything.”

You swallow, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to spill over from your eyes. “Right,” you say, forcing a small chuckle. “I figured. Just thought I’d ask, you know? No harm in trying.”

Silence fills the room, and it’s eventually broken by Caleb’s conflicted voice. “I hate this.” His head falls backward and he squeezes his eyes closed. When he looks at the camera again you can see the regret flooding his pretty purple eyes and try to arrange your features into a state of convincing conviction. 

“It’s ok,” you murmur. “Your assessment is more important than prom. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” 

“I’ll make it up to you. A thousand times over. I promise”

You sniff, and nod, trying to smile. “I’ll hold you to it.” Feeling dangerously close to tears, you quickly add, “Gran’s calling me for dinner. I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

”Ok, pip-squeak.” Caleb nods, though unwillingly. “Call me if you need me though.” 

You hang up, and not a moment later, curl up into your pillow and sob, the hot tears finally letting loose. It was so unfair that Caleb was older than you, that he was in college when you weren’t. And deep down, you felt like you were being unreasonable. 

Caleb was by no means a negligent boyfriend. He visited as often as he could, sent texts and memes, and spent all his vacations with you. You felt awful for being upset at him for not being able to attend prom, for feeling like this one incident somehow upstaged all the other wonderful things about him. It wasn’t like he had declined for an insignificant reason. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you did. You were feeling let down, unimportant, and worst of all, like an immature little girl, waiting for her Prince Charming to drop everything and come see you like he had no real life adult priorities. 

It sucked. The situation sucked. And there was nothing you could do about it.

Prom would still happen. But without Caleb it felt like you were stuck in a vision of gray when everything should have been so vividly colored. 

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

The halls of your high school buzzed with excited energy as people discussed prom plans. Colorful posters hung from the walls, scrawled with messages like “One Night to Remember!” and “Save the Last Dance!”. Everywhere you turned, someone was talking about dresses, dates, and limo rentals. 

The hallways were witness to some pretty spectacular promposals and each time you saw someone accepting, it felt like a punch in the gut. You felt irrationally angry all the time. 

”Pathetic immature fools,” you grumbled as you walked past yet another happy couple. “Like a party is the most important thing in their lives. I for one, happen to know that there are real life problems that require more maturity to handle. Can’t believe I used to be so silly, thinking a party was going to make or break my year.”

Your friend scoffs and shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “C’mon! You’re just annoyed Caleb said he’s not coming. But you shouldn’t let that stop you!” She links her arm with yours and gives you a shake. “You’re still going, right?”

”Really? You want my single self hanging around all of you happy couples? Nah I’m good. Ouch!”

You glare as you rub your arm where your friend had pinched you. “What was that for?”

”You only get one senior prom your whole life. I don’t want to go without you. So please, stop moping. Caleb would be so mad if you didn’t go. He’d blame himself and you know it. Do you want to disappoint Caleb?” 

She crosses her arms and gives you a stern look and it’s enough to make you flinch. She was right. Caleb would blame himself if you missed senior prom. But you hated how everyone seemed to know that using Caleb on you was the ultimate leverage to get you to do anything.

”Fiine. I’ll go. But only because you begged.”

Your friend smiles triumphantly. “Good. Now let’s go find the rest of the group. We have to talk about dress shopping.”

You nod primly and follow her, but your stomach churns at the image of being surrounded by couples, slow-dancing under twinkling lights, while you stand off to the side, pretending it didn’t bother you. 

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

“Dude, you look like you’re about to fight a black hole.”

Caleb blinks, looking up to see Gideon leaning against the doorframe. “Not now, man,” he mutters, rubbing his temples.

”Unless my eyes deceive me, it looks like our resident lover boy has quite the problem on his hands.” Gideon grins and sits down on Caleb’s bed.

”Piss off.”

”Look man, I’m trying to help you.” Gideon raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “You’ve been down since that call with her a few weeks ago. Wanna tell me what happened?”

Caleb sighed. If this hadn’t been Gideon, he might not have said anything. “She asked me to prom. I told her I couldn’t go.”

Gideon winces. “Oof. Harsh.”

Caleb shot him a glare. “Not like I had a choice.”

Gideon crosses his arms. “Did you, though?”

Caleb opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Did he? Training was brutal. Wouldn’t skipping this one assessment destroy his career?

“She was there for your prom,” Gideon pointed out. “She danced with you all night. You really wanna be the guy who let her down when it was her turn?”

Caleb clenched his fists. “Gideon, I am this close to punching you. If you see a loophole I don’t, now would be the time to say it.”

Gideon grins at him. “You have an elderly grandmother. Hard to predict when the elderly fall ill, isn’t it?” 

”What?” Caleb stares at him, at a loss for words. 

“Think, my dear Caleb.” Gideon stands and makes his way to the door. “You rank top of our class. I’m sure you’ll figure things out regarding your poor, frail, delicate grandma.” He leaves and Caleb stares at the doorway, thinking. 

After a second, the lightbulb goes off in his head. 

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

Prom night arrived all too soon. You stand in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, adjusting the delicate straps of your gown. The soft fabric shimmered under the glow of the vanity lights, a soft shade of periwinkle. Your makeup complimented your features, with a subtle smokey eye and lighter, more natural lips. You’d spent a lot of time fussing with your hair, getting to look elegant and setting it into place using hairspray. You’d carefully inserted the hairpin Caleb had gotten you last year as a finishing touch, and it sparkled every time your head moved. You looked beautiful. 

You didn’t feel it. Your stomach felt hollow, and your mind weighed heavily on Caleb. There was no one waiting for you at the foot of the stairs, and you wouldn’t have any photos to remember this evening by, save for the group photo that you knew your friends would force you to take. You supposed you’d drink punch and make small talk with the chaperones. Last year, you were the girlfriend of the basketball star, who had been lucky enough to attend senior prom. Now you were alone, going without a date, and had no idea what you were going to do for the whole night.

Your friends had insisted you find another date to the prom but the idea felt distasteful to you, knowing that Caleb must be feeling the same way you were at the moment. It almost felt cheap, trying to find a date even if it meant nothing, to such an event. Because you knew that if you ever wanted to remember tonight, you’d rather it was without Caleb than with someone insignificant. 

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

Josephine peeks inside, a warm smile on her face. “Wow, sweetheart. You look stunning.”

You forced a small smile. “Thanks, grandma.”

The old woman is holding a small box as she hobbles towards you, adjusting a loose curl near your shoulder. “Are you excited?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. I mean… it’s prom, right?”

Josephine studied you for a moment, then gives a knowing look. “He would’ve been here if he could, you know that.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and nodded. “I know.”

Josephine gestures the box towards you. “It only came just now. It’s obvious he misses you.”

Curiously, you open the wrapping paper and your breath catches as you remove a small plastic box containing the most beautiful corsage you’ve ever seen. A small card is taped at the top of the box. You open it with trembling fingers and recognize Caleb’s handwriting. 

I’m sorry I can’t be there. Please wear this and know I’m thinking of you. Love, Caleb.  

You sniff, and fan yourself, controlling the onslaught of tears that seemed ready to emerge at the smallest of things lately. Josephine smiles gently and pulls you into a hug, and you embrace her back, holding onto her tightly. When she lets go, you find that your heart feels much lighter. You slip the corsage on your wrist and get ready to leave. 

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

The limo ride to the school felt long, and all your friends seemed immersed in their dates, but you found that you didn’t mind too much. It felt surreal somehow, but you had taken comfort in the knowledge that summer would be here soon, and that meant Caleb would be home for a few months. Prom felt like a tiny sliver of your life that wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, especially given the plans Caleb seemed to have for you this summer. A road trip, calm walks around Linkon, movies, and building model planes together. Those mattered more than one night of your life, and you felt grown up at the realization. Just because Caleb wasn’t here for prom did not make him any less yours. You fondly caress the flowers on your wrist and smile. 

The school gymnasium had been transformed into something magical. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the dance floor. A soft, romantic melody played through the speakers as couples swayed together, lost in their own little worlds. 

You wait patiently in line for the photo booth. A photographer was snapping photos for everyone and you decided you would take one for Caleb, knowing he’d probably carry it around in his wallet of you gave it to him. You glance up and smile at the photographer, and for a brief moment, you see your friends suddenly look over your shoulder before their eyes snapped back to you. The flash blocks out their faces and when it’s over, they were all grinning at you. Puzzled, you take the polaroid the photographer offers you and flap it through the air a few times before looking.

Your eyes grow wide when you see the second person in the photo and you whip around, feeling like you might sink onto the floor. 

“Hey, pip-squeak.” Caleb smiles at you from where the backdrop is hanging. He was still in his tan and black flight uniform, the letters DAA embroidered on the front chest pocket. 

Feeling like you were sleepwalking, you stumble towards him, a million questions in your head. Caleb gently takes your hand in his, peering earnestly at your face.

“I know I’m a little late. But do you think you’d like to go to prom with me?”

You bite your lip because you can feel the onslaught of turbulent emotions spinning around inside of you and despite your best efforts, you can feel the painful prick of tears beginning to become present. 

“You idiot,” you whisper before he pulls you into his arms, embracing you tightly against his chest. 

“Don’t cry. You’ll stain my uniform.” Caleb teases but his heart is hammering in his chest. “Can I take this hug as a yes?”

You sniffle and quickly dab at your eyes, nodding. You gripped the front of his uniform. “How—how did you even—”

“Well, let’s just say the next time you’re in Skyhaven and someone asks about Gran, you’re gonna have to say she’s not doing that well.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Caleb, what did you say?”

“It’s not important,” Caleb says hastily as his fingers trace the hairpin you’d fastened earlier. “Trust me, it was worth it.” 

“Fine.” You push away the thought. He was here. Despite it all. 

Right on cue, a soft, love song begins to drift through the speakers. 

“May I have this dance?” Caleb asks and you smile at him, nodding. He leads you onto the dance floor, and your arms lock around his neck as you gaze into his eyes, so familiar and comforting as he leads. 

“The stars lean down to kiss you And I lie awake and miss you Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere…”

The song seems to speak your minds to each other. Caleb leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. 

“...Cause the spaces between my fingers Are right where yours fit perfectly”

“I…I had made up my mind to be an adult about this you know?” You ask him as you press against him. His hands wrap around your waist. 

“Oh really? Were you putting on a brave face, pretending it didn’t bother you?” 

“Yeah…Till you came along and ruined it.”

Caleb snorts amusedly, and you join in, your breaths mingling together under the hazy lights. 

“Sorry pip-squeak. My bad. Should I leave so you can go back to pretending?” He laughs loudly as you punch his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare,” you threaten and Caleb’s expression softens.

“Never. I’ll always be by your side. You don’t ever have to doubt that.” You settle back into his embrace, and let the song wash over you. 

“...When violet eyes get brighter And heavy wings grow lighter I'll taste the sky and feel alive again And I'll forget the world that I knew But I swear I won't forget you Oh if my voice could reach back through the past I'd whisper in your ear "Oh darling, I wish you were here…"

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @lethargiccryptid @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6 @xiaoderrrr @evansdmitri @ravenclaw-jojo @cordidy @hesperisms @redactedbimbo @erebus-et-eigengrau @prisjean @cheesemachine44 @decileste @thesoftuglywrites @belt0-0 @snatched-bubblegum-bitch

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (18/28)

today's @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt is trying something new and my fill is here

tumblr version below for those that prefer to read here

"What did you think?" Tommy asks.

Buck shrugs. "I don't know. None of them jumped out at me."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees with a sigh. "Me neither."

"Ugh," Buck groans. "Why is this so hard?"

"It's a whole house," Tommy says.

"Yeah," Buck admits. "Maybe we can just live in a string of Air B'n'Bs?"

"Sure," Tommy agrees easily.

"Failing that, can we just not think about it anymore today?"

"That sounds great, honestly. What do you want to do instead?"

"Get takeout and rot on your couch?"

"Perfect," Tommy says, reaching over to squeeze Buck's thigh.

***

There's an inevitable post-takeout slump before Tommy pats Buck's shoulder, kisses his cheek and says, "Back in a sec."

Buck hums in quiet acknowledgement, tilting his face into the kiss but not looking away from his book. He hears Tommy go upstairs, move around for a moment and then he's back.

"So I was doing some pre-emptive clearing out, and I found some stuff," Tommy says, and he sounds…weirdly nervous, so Buck sets his book down and looks at him.

"Is it drugs?" Buck suggests. "Leather?"

"None of the above, unfortunately," Tommy says, and holds out a sketchbook, some charcoals, a box of graphite pencils. "I was wondering if - if I could draw you."

"Oh! I didn't know you drew."

"It's been a while," Tommy says, shrugging. "I'm not very good."

Buck shrugs. "Sure. What do you need me to do?"

"Just not move too much," Tommy says. "And take your shirt off, maybe."

"Oh, I see how it is," Buck says with a grin, but he does as he's told. "Can I keep reading?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, already setting himself up across the room.

It's surprisingly soothing, the sound of pencils moving over paper, the feel of Tommy's eyes on him, occasionally repositioning himself per Tommy's requests - can you stretch your legs out, can you turn your head away a little, can you put the book down for ten minutes when you're ready. He likes it, he realizes, which shouldn't be as surprising as it is. He likes Tommy's attention - he's liked Tommy's attention since the day they met. He sets his book aside, stretches his arms above his head. The sound of Tommy's pencil stutters to a stop.

"Oh," he says. "Yeah. That's - stay like that."

Buck tips his head back and smiles at the ceiling.

Later, Tommy lets him look through the book.

"It's - it's not much," Tommy says, rubbing his charcoal-smudged fingers together. "I'm - you know, out of practice."

And he is, that's clear. But it's still miles better than anything Buck could do. It's amazing, really. Not just the quality, but the quantity. In the last - hour, maybe two, Tommy has produced sketch after sketch of Buck's eyes, his jawline, his tattoos, his lips.

Buck looks at Tommy over the sketchbook, sees the nerves melt away from his face when their eyes meet.

"This is amazing," Buck says earnestly. "You can draw me any time."

Tommy smiles bashfully.

[sarahisslytherin]

whatever you need.

matt murdock x reader

summary: matt murdock has enough problems. but when his upstairs neighbor is upset over her breakup, he can't help getting involved.

contains: talk of an emotionally abusive relationship. mentions of fem!reader. other than that it's all fluff.

a/n: am i trying to process my feelings through fanfiction? absolutely. am i ashamed? no. also so happy to be writing for my boy matt again! gif by @djo

word count: 0.8k

It’s been a long day for Matt Murdock. Work was shit, in spite of Foggy’s attempts to crack jokes and cheer him up. His body aches in too many places to count from the endless hits he took last night. So when he finally stumbles in through his apartment door, the last thing Matt needs is another problem. But as he cracks open a beer and takes a seat on his sofa, he can’t help but notice how the silence surrounding him is pierced by a ragged cry.

His head cocks to the side, listening intently to figure out where the sound is coming from. It’s the apartment directly above him, the one with the young woman he often would hear singing or laughing. That was until the boyfriend moved in. There was still laughter, but exponentially less of it. He recalls a lot more crying and fighting and slamming doors. It was like that for a while. He can’t deny that some nights the arguments had him itching to waltz upstairs and break that fucker’s nose for putting you through hell. But then he figured, it wasn’t his problem, and he had enough of those.

But it’s been quiet lately, and after putting two and two together, he’s realized it’s just you up there now. Just you, crying your heart out into the pillow before bed every night, scribbling in your journal in the morning, inviting friends over to distract yourself from the pain. The pain he wishes he could take away. He admits it, he’s grown fond of you. When you sing, he stops what he’s doing and drinks in the sound of it as if it were an angel’s song. He can’t help but overhear your conversations at times, can’t help but chuckle when you make a particularly funny quip. He doesn’t know what you look like, but he’s sure you’re as beautiful as you sound to him. How that ass couldn’t treat you right, he’ll never know.

He ignores your cry this time, the way he has for the last couple of weeks. But when he lays his head down on his pillow after another restless night on the streets and hears your whimpers, he simply can’t take it anymore. He throws on the first shirt he gets his hands on and a pair of grey sweats before racing up the flight of stairs keeping him from you. It’s only when he knocks on your door that it dawns on him he doesn’t have a plan.

His heart stops when he hears you shuffle inside, sucking in your breath and no doubt trying to conceal any visible evidence that you’d been crying. He hears the doorknob turn and the creak of the wood as he comes face to face with you.

“Hello.” you manage to say, your voice still a bit hoarse. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Matt. I live right below you.” he starts. He’s praying to every god that you can’t hear his heart panging in his chest. “I know this may seem odd to you, but I get the sense that you’re not okay. I mean, I used to hear some pretty crazy fights from up here with who I can only assume is your boyfriend-”

“Ex.” you interrupt him, arms crossed and eyes trained on the welcome mat beneath your bare feet. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Matt nods, taking a breath before continuing. “Right. The thing is, I’ve got a really good sense about these things. I don’t know, call it intuition. But let’s just say I’m not hearing any screaming matches anymore and, though that is a good thing, I can’t help but wonder if you need someone to talk to or just a hug or whatever you need.”

There’s a silence hanging in the air after he speaks. You watch him wring his hands together as he waits for your response. You also notice the way his sweet, brown eyes seem to look straight through you before you realize he can’t see you. 

“You want to give me a hug?” you ask, and Matt in your voice the way your mouth quirks into a tiny smile. “Because I’m crying over my asshole ex-boyfriend?”

“A hug, some takeout, a walk around town. Whatever you need.” he’s grinning too now. He picks up on the way you casually lean on your doorframe, arms still crossed.

“What are you, some kind of hero or something?” you joke, adding a faux air of suspicion to your tone. “Who sent you?”

Matt laughs openly at that, throwing his head back as he does. “No one sent me, I just don’t like to know there’s a pretty girl crying over some jackass in my immediate vicinity.”

“Not to be rude, but what makes you think I’m pretty?”

Matt just shrugs. “Call it intuition.” 

He definitely doesn’t need sight to feel the way your hand clutches his shirt and playfully tugs him through the door. It’s right then and there that Matt resolves on making your problems his problems as well.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @deadfables @misshale21 @dragonsfictavern @sweetercalypso @sheraayasher

[magix-winx-club]

God, I just want to sleep Part 2

Part 1,

Will make it a three-part series

Daryl Dixon x disabled!reader

Summary: Daryl goes on a supply run for your meds

Warnings: Slight Angst, Daryl being a dick (bc he cannot handle feelings)

Daryl had only gotten a handful of hours of sleep but that was nothing new. He only needed a couple anyways. So when the first light of a new day broke through the iron bars on the window and into the Cell Block he was up, rubbing the sleep from his face. His cell was down to its bare minimum, still not used to having a place to call ‘home’. A bunk bed, like everyone else had, a desk and iron chair, like everyone else had, and a curtain, to give the illusion of privacy. His leather vest was hung neatly over the back of the chair, one of his sleeveless flannels dumped unceremoniously on the desk in front. It took him a while to get used to sleeping without his full gear on. Now he was just dressed in his wife beater and least itchy jeans for bed. No shoes, but his crossbow was still perched next to him. 

Daryl bent over putting his worn down boots on, he should make a separate run, bring some new clothes and boots back, especially now that winter was not too far off. Hastily he put his flannel over his wife beater. He still felt weird being so undressed. Next up was his pierced possession, second to his crossbow, the vest and the only item of clothing he really took care of. 

Tossing his hair, which had gotten significantly longer now, of sleep and he was off. It was not that he tried to be quiet, he just naturally was, when he made his way almost silently down the stairs to the bottom cells. He almost passed yours when he halted himself. The cellblock was quiet, safe for some snores from the men, the air fresh from the night, not yet stifled by the day's heat, the first morning lights bathing the cellblock in a warm glow. Daryl’s cell might not be home to him but this was the bars, and thick cement walls and roof that kept his family safe. 

Sowly, this time trying to be quiet, he made his way to your cell. The privacy curtain is not fully drawn. Daryl did not enter your cell, just watch from the gap between the curtain and the wall, the slow rise of your chest, some tear tracks still visible on your face. Something in him ached, to see you so upset and helpless last night. Helpless or hopeless, or both? Either way it hurt him. You were too kind, too gentle to be burdened like this and if there was something he could do he sure as hell will try. 

With a renewed sense of purpose he made his way down to the rest of the cells towards the common room. Maggie sat there, running through her mental checklist like every time before a run. Gun, check. Knife, check. Pack, check. Water bottle, check. Daryl could still see some residue sleep in her green eyes. when she met his blue “Morning Daryl, good to go?” He gave her a curt nod and made his way outside, trusting that she would follow him. “Carol packed us some protein bars.” She handed him one, which he put in the top pocket of his flannel. “Thanks.” 

“You are making a run to the big spot in a few days right?” She trailed next to him towards his bike. Daryl wanted to make sure they would be able to get to wherever they needed so instead of a car they’d take his bike. “Yeah, why you need sumthin’?” Maggie shook her head. “No, not me but if you find cinnamon can you bring that back?” Daryl shot her a look. “Takin’ up bakin’ now?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, which made Maggie snort, very much unladylike. “It’s for Y/N.” That got Daryl's attention, already adding the wish to the list in his head. “Thought we could make some compressions. Cinnamon is supposed to be an anti-inflammatory. If you could find one my Daddy could make some for her.” Daryl, humm. Well, if it was not on the list already it would definitely be now. 

The soft light streaming into your cell made you feel groggy. Your head felt heavy with sleep but the deep exhaustion that had plagued you yesterday was somewhat gone. Letting out a groan you buried your head in your pillow, hoping to chase away the light for a little longer. In the end the little sleep you got was never enough, and you craved more than anything to turn around and let the warm blanket of nothingness take you again. But you knew, all that would happen would be a state between half asleep, and half awake, no rest, just a war waged between sleepy you and awake you. Yet, you could not bring yourself to open your eyes and face the day. Laying in your bed you pondered yesterday. How exhausted you felt, Daryl’s rough voice and observant eyes and his oh so gentle touch. Once more you were left wondering how a man so rough and strong could be so gentle. Images of him holding Judith, patting Carl on the back, and his occasional smile came to mind. Smiling into your pillow you could not help the skip of your heart. He truly was something else. 

Even though you felt embarrassed about yesterday. There was mostly relief, to know that the secret you had locked away for so long, was finally out. The first time in what felt like years you were yourself. That though got you to move, sitting up slowly you tested out your legs. Moving the toes on your left foot, trying to chase away the stiffness, then your foot. You repeated the same process on the other leg before finally taking a deep breath and swinging them over the edge of the bunk. You sat in this position for a bit, testing out how bad your legs were today, and even though they were stiff and it was uncomfortable the cramping had died down a bit. So finally, you got up and got ready for another day. 

On the way back to the prison Maggie mused on the fact that Daryl was even more focused than usual. Pushing to raid more places than they normally would. It was not until Maggie had found the jackpod of muscle relaxers that Daryl relented and the both made their way back to the prison. It was in a nursing home, that no one had thought to properly check before they stumbled onto, what Daryl described as ‘shit tone’ of medical supply. Not just supplements, and muscle relaxers but all kinds of stuff. Both of them filled their packs with as much as they could. Maggie noted how Daryl forwent antibiotics for supplements, muscle relaxers and lastly every form of painkiller he could. She had to bite her tongue every time when he hastily put the medication into his bag once she said it was a muscle relaxer. But could not help and let a small smile slip. It was nice to smile even though the place stank worse than anything else, bodies of dead elders everywhere. No wonder no one thought to look here. If it was not absolutely necessary, well and if she did not have a determined redneck leading the charge she would have skipped the place too. 

The longer she thought about it the more she wondered. At the end of the world all of them looked like a group of misfits, not looking like they belong together but somehow do. Her thoughts turned to Glenn and she wondered if she had fallen for him before all this? She wanted to think so. But Daryl was arguably the most changed from all of this. He was hard before all this, ready to fight but now he learned gentleness, kindness, and community too. And if there was a person who embodied these traits it would be you. So yeah, from the outset it might look like an odd pairing but if someone would sneak their way into Daryl Dixon's heart it would be you. The thought made her smile even more. 

You felt on edge, you had not seen Daryl all day. At first you thought he was avoiding you after last night but you overheard Carol that he and Maggie went on an impromptu run. It eased that anxiety in your chest a bit. And it would have been a nice day if it were not for Hershel’s watchful eye, always following you around. It made your skin itch. You knew he wanted to talk to you, but now was not the time, you told yourself. You had a job to do. And if you were to talk to him, what would you say? This was not something talking can fix. That was the one bad thing about monotone labour such as doing laundry. Your mind had time to think. 

The sound of an engine cut through the groans of the walkers and chatter of nearby people. You could not help but whirl your head around so quickly it gave a slight crack. Not a minute later there he was, atop his bike, hair slightly flowing in the wind, his shoulders wide and imposing. He looked so right on top of his bike, weaving through some stumbling walkers.

You put up the last of the washed clothing on the washing line to dry, and made your way towards Daryl and Maggie, ready to help with whatever they had scavenged. 

Before you could reach them Hershel was next to them, giving Maggie a quick kiss on the forehead and a hug. He turned to Daryl, saying something you could not make out. Daryl gave him a nod. Seemingly satisfied Hershel clapped him on his shoulder like a proud mentor and went off after Maggie. 

Now it was just you and Daryl and it made you nervous. You stopped a bit away from him not knowing what to do. Daryl was busy unclasping his bag from his bike when he made eye contact. Instead of his normal curt nod of his head, he looked away, a slight blush on his face. Taking a deep breath you chose to ignore whatever happened yesterday and act like any other day. “Anything I can help you with?” You reached your hand out, taking the bag he had from him. So his hands were free to unclasp his crossbow from the back of his bike. “Where to?” You chipped. Yes, maybe you were compensating a bit but Daryl still had not looked at you. What if he thought you a burden now? Hated you for being the way you are? The anxiety in you coming back in full force. Gods please let me rewind and do yesterday again. You would just stay in your cell and avoid Daryl at all costs. “Should I bring it to Carol?” Your voice takes on a forceful happiness. “Nah, ‘s for yu,” he glanced at you. Giving you an encouraging nod to hold onto it. Your brows furrowed, staring at the bag. 

Daryl watched you closely. You seemed better today, like usual. Almost like last night did not happen but his heart still aches thinking back to the tears in your eyes. How had he not noticed it before? He prided himself on being observant but for some reason he still missed it. Maybe it was because everytime you smiled at him, that was all he could focus on. How he tried to keep the skipping of his heart at bay. Either way he finally was taking care of you know. Thinking about all the days you had suffered in silence made him angry. He wondered how many nights you were sat up like yesterday crying by yourself. An imagine of you on the floor, screaming in pain as Walkers were feasting on your body came to his mind. It made blood rush into his ears and his skin tight, itching, angry. 

“Common.” He gripped you on your upper arm. It startled you, it was not like yesterday. His grip is firmer. You could do nothing but trail after him confused by his sudden tenseness in his body. You could practically feel anger rolling off him. 

He dragged you into C Block, bypassing some of the family members in the common area and heading straight to your cell. “Daryl?” you asked hesitantly once he dragged you into your cell, pacing in the small room. All at once, he exploded. “What the Hell were ya thinkin’?” Before you could respond he went on. “Nah ya wasn’t thinkin’, was ya?” He angrily ripped the bag from your grasp. You stood there, your mouth slightly open, your eyes wide. For the first time today he was facing you. His body leaning slightly forward and his furious gaze fixed on you. You wanted to say something, to reach out and sooth him but you had no idea how. It was best to just let Daryl be angry and let it all out. At least that is what you all had learned. “Fuck, if I’d not known ya, I woulda left yo ass ri’ht were I found ya.” His finger pointing accusatory at you. A knot formed in your stomach, spreading throughout your body, pumping like blood. This was all you had been scared off, being left, a burden once everyone found out. “Enjoy your shit.” He dumped the contents of his bag on your bed before storming out. 

Once his footsteps stopped echoing off the wall you turned towards the bed. What you saw made you choke out a sob. Slowly you sank to the floor, in front of your bunk, curling in on yourself trying to stifle your crying. 

Masterlist

Part 3

[twiishaa]

ᯓ★ the subtle art of outrunning your demons: a guide ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

sketch 007. outrunning your demons: the completed guide

💌currently playing bubblegum, njz

ᯓ★ here's the masterlist!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 THE apartment is unusually quiet, riki thinks to himself as he enters. his door was left ajar, and as he jogs a little to it, he glances into the living room down the corridor; his dad was not there. it was strange, but riki didn’t think anything of it as he closed the door behind him. his laptop was left open too, on a document. 

the lyrics he’d been working on– it was your birthday soon, so he wanted to do something meaningful. so, very much on brand, he wrote a song for you– as if he had never written anything for you before. after dating you, riki had come to the painful realisation he was a hopeless romantic. 

but next to his laptop was a sticky note, with something written. the handwriting was scruffy, riki recognised it– it was his dad’s. 

 “i won’t be home until late today. invite yn over, she can stay the night.” it read. 

riki blinked; then he read it again. he repeated that a few times, until the words were burnt into his head. shaking, he went to his phone and dialled your number. 

–

“hello? riks, what’s up?” your voice came from the speaker of riki’s phone. he was quiet for a few moments, then he spoke. 

“i… do you want to come over? my dad’s not home,” he started, you were still unaware of the note. 

“but what if he comes back-” before you finished your question, riki interrupted. 

“he left a sticky note in my room, it says you can spend the night if you want.” 

now you were quiet.

“... what?” you could hear him nod through the phone. 

“i’m on my way.”

pause.

“wait, where do you live even?” riki let out his usual laugh. 

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 YOU were on your way to the konbini when you ran into your art teacher. his face looked… different, his expression had definitely mellowed from the cold one to a much more.. pensive one. he had changed a lot in the past 24 hours; it seemed like he didn’t dislike you as much anymore, since he let you stay the night at riki’s. was that his way of accepting you? either way, you had to thank him. 

“uhhh.. sir?” you started, your voice trembling a little. 

he didn’t reply for a few seconds, then he turned to face you. 

“oh… yn? good morning,” he said to you; his voice had changed a little too. 

“thanks for letting me stay last night, i really appreciate it,” trying to stay as professional as you could, you bowed a little. 

“oh, it’s nothing. you opened my eyes for me, yn,” straightening his posture a little, your teacher said. “i didn’t realise the damage i was doing to riki until i saw the..” he trailed off.

“until you saw the?” 

he smiled weakly. “he probably wants to keep it a secret. anyways, i should thank you,” after a few moments, he exhaled, like there was something else he wanted to say.

you wondered what made him change so much, but nevertheless the weight on your heart lifted. 

a small gust of wind hit you both, making the trees around you rustle slightly– the morning air was refreshing, cool to the touch. your art teacher hadn’t made eye contact with you yet, but now he looked you in the eyes. 

“i was being rash to both of you. i didn’t want riki to grow up, i wanted to keep him from being an adult as long as i could. i can see that that was pretty… problematic and i want to fix our relationship now. yn, i don’t think you’re all that of a bad person and i’m… sorry i made you feel that way earlier. that was just me abusing my power and extremely unprofessional of me.” 

you didn’t want to accept it, but hearing it brought a tear to your eye. smiling, you shook your head. “i think you’re brave, sir, for taking responsibility and trying to change. i know riki’ll understand too. i accept your apology!” there was another silence; you gave a little bow and walked off. “see you tomorrow, sir!” 

he just smiled again and waved. “see you tomorrow, huh…”

–

“alright, i’ve got an announcement!” the head of the university’s art department walked into your class. your teacher– riki’s dad, wasn’t there yet; you were waiting for class to start so you could get your last piece’s grade back. it was different to your style– a silhouette of a person, stuck between two halves: a dark one, filled with deep shades of reds and blacks, and a lighter one, a swirl of pastel colours; the theme was supernatural. you hoped it would resonate with him or something like that…

you turned your attention to the head of art as he cleared his throat rather exessively. 

“your professor, mr. nishimura, ended up leaving his role as art teacher here quite suddenly last night. he said he ‘couldn’t bring himself to teach knowing he had tried to ruin a student’s art career here with his role.’ frankly, i have no idea what he's on about– he stayed rather vague, so if anyone knows anything about the situation i would really appreciate it if they could speak up. anyways…” 

the rest of his words didn’t register, they were a blur of gibberish you couldn’t decipher. he… quit? because.. of you? you felt terribly guilty. sure, he did purposefully fail you, but you wouldn't classify that as trying to ruin an art student's career. you didn't like him before, but you respected him-- he apologised to you and said he'd change. so what was this?

“...he graded your pieces before he left, so i’ll give those back now,” the head of art began handing out various different artworks. when you got yours, there was a sticky note on the back of the canvas, the same colour as the one riki got on his desk yesterday. this one read: 

“don’t feel guilty, yn, i know you probably do. i think i knew deep inside that this would happen one day. besides, it’s for the better. i don’t think i was working to my full potential.” your chest felt heavy, and there was a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

below it, in bright red, was your grade.

100%.

note i hope you enjoyed it!! sorry if it felt rushed, this was my first smau <3 thank you to everyone who took their time to read this, i'm so grateful. love you all !!

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