#the worst thing you can do when you’re all sweaty is try and not be sweaty. you have to just be ok with it

[bowserphobia]

I had a worst case scenario schedule for a hot humid day - five commercial cleans (three w/3 floors/two entrances, one with 2 floors/one entrance, and the Big Fucking Concrete Building I do every Tuesday (8 floors + basement + stairwells))

and then after that they made me go help someone!!!, and it was an old dusty antique house with no air conditioning and a million rooms. Truly I am suffering more than Christ

[mrsbarnesblog]

cost of betrayal

masterlist

summary: after Rafe finds out the truth about you and Hollis, he comes back from Morocco, expecting you to be gone, but you refuse to leave without trying to work things out first

word count: 1.7k.

warnings: part 2 spoilers, angst and fluff, pogue reader, arguments, trust issues

a/n: i stand Sofia and Rafe, guys. need them together asap 🙏

“I think I told you to get the fuck out of my house, Y/N?” It’s the first thing you hear when Rafe walks through the front door of his house, throwing his bag on the floor and walking right past you, not even looking in your direction. You get up from the couch, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants. 

Your chest feels tight, and your eyes are still swollen and red from the amount of crying as you silently follow him to the kitchen. That one stupid decision can cost you everything, including the man you love, and for the past few days, all you have been able to do is cry and curse yourself for being so stupid. 

You stop when Rafe leans forward with his hands on the counter, his back is unusually tense, you feel anger radiating from him even from a distance and it’s all your fault, you know that. 

“We need to talk.” You whisper, coming closer and hugging yourself with your arms. 

“I have nothing to talk to you about.” 

“Rafe, please. I need to explain.” He turns around suddenly, blue eyes colder than you have ever seen. You almost step back from Rafe’s intense gaze, because never before were you at the receiving end of that look. He was nothing but sweet and kind to you during your entire relationship, so losing that privilege hurts you even more. 

He tries to hold back, tries to calm himself down at the image of your looking at him so sadly, with regret written all over your face. Rafe breathes heavily, trying to hide the pain of feeling played by you—the only person he thought he could trust wholeheartedly. He hates that even now, even with the anger raging inside him, he still feels that instinct to protect you, to calm you.

Hurts at the realisation that he doesn't want to lose you, that a part of him feels like he cannot survive without you, that even after what you’ve done he can’t let you go. He doesn’t want you to actually leave him alone. 

“The fuck you need to explain? The way you betrayed me, huh?” He takes slow steps towards you, intimidating, almost threatening, but his voice shakes with emotions. “The way you went behind my back with that bitch Hollis to screw me up and make me lose my money? I fucking trusted you, I gave you everything and you still did that to me.” Rafe’s face was just inches from yours and you were unable to take your eyes from his, unable to even deny it, because he was not wrong. 

“I know, Rafe, I know!” You sob, unable to hold back your tears. “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant to set you up like that. I was angry at you and she appeared at that exact moment, and... 

“She was fucking angry!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. You flinch but still stay your ground. 

“Because you hurt me, Rafe!”

“Bullshit. I did nothing but take care of you.”

“I heard what you told your friends.” You yell back, not caring about trying to communicate properly anymore. You were wrong for doing that, yes, but the way his words made you feel at that moment was probably the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, so it wasn’t like you were the only one to blame. “That you’re not living with a pogue, that you have standards, that we’re just hooking up... I heard it all, Rafe. How did you expect me to react to that, huh?”

You see a slight shift of recognition or even regret in his eyes, but he quickly goes back to his previous coldness. 

“So you made me lose my money because of this shit?” 

“I know that it was wrong, okay? But... but do you understand what I felt at that moment? Do you understand how much it hurt me to hear it?” You sob again, desperately trying to wise away all of the tears that were streaming down your face. You’re barely able to speak properly with the lump in your throat, but you push it away because you feel there’s only one chance for you to get things straight with Rafe. 

He stays silent, his brows are knitted, whether in still-lingering anger or in a hint of regret and frustration because of the way you were feeling. Rafe always hated seeing you cry, seeing you hurt in any type of way, even if he hasn’t always been able to admit or express it, and now part of him is more angry at himself than at you. Your trembling frame, the way your shoulders shake with each sob, chips away at his anger, leaving only the fear of losing you.

“We’ve been together for more than a year, Rafe. I— I thought that it meant something to you. That I mean something to you. I was hoping that maybe all of your kook and pogue bullshit was long forgotten, but you didn’t even hesitate to say that to Topper.” Your voice is filled with sadness and despair, and you are aware that you are probably looking a mess right now. All  you can do is just wipe your face with the loose sleeves of your shirt, sniffing in between your words and trying to make your voice less shaky. 

"How was I supposed to feel?" How would you feel if you were in my situation, Rafe? If I said you did not mean anything to me and I was just having a good time?" You ask, but don’t get an answer. Instead, he just looks at you silently, with a blank expression, because he knows that he would’ve gone absolutely crazy. “I love you. I did for a long time, but you made me feel as if I was nothing to you. Just another pogue that you despise, that you keep around for fun until you find someone better and just dump!” Placing a hand on your violently beating heart, you take a deep breath before continuing. 

“It was stupid. I regretted it as soon as I did it and I wanted to tell you, but you had already signed the contract. I know I hurt you with what I did. But can you really say you didn’t hurt me first?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. He finally mutters, his voice quieter now. “But you don’t get it, Y/N. All my life, everyone’s expected me to be a certain way, to follow the same fucking rules I don’t even believe in. I thought… I thought if I kept us under the radar, I’d protect you from that. And you know how hard it is for me to open up—that I don’t want to let people in because everyone ends up leaving me.” 

“I never meant to betray you, I never wanted to be another person who hurts you, Rafe.” You feel like you are about to collapse, burying your face in your hands and crying. 

It feels like a joke of your spiraling mind at first, but when your body suddenly gets embraced in a familiar warmth and scent, you break down completely. Rafe hugs you around your shoulders and you wrap your hands around his waist, gripping the back of his shirt and hiding your face in his chest. You’re sniffing and trembling, unable to breathe properly, until you feel his hand at the back of your head and his low voice shushing you. 

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe. ‘S okay.” He rocks both of you from side to side until your breathing straightens. The steady beating of his heart soothes you quickly, until your tears get dry on your face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I was an idiot for not protecting you the way I should’ve.” You feel him slightly leaning down. Slow, delicate kisses being left on your temple, on your cheek, and with a slight movement of your head, Rafe’s able to capture your lips. 

Your face is still sticky with tears, and your lips are swollen, but neither of you care as you start to melt against him. It’s been way to long since he left for Morocco. The stress that you’ve experienced from your fight and from the fact that you were going crazy about his safety was overwhelming. 

While he was kissing you slowly, you both realized how hard it was to stay apart for that long, not sure of what was happening between you two. 

“I’m sorry that you lost so much money because of me.” You mumbled when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. 

“You know it’s not the damn money I actually care about. I thought that I was wrong about you, that I lost you, Y/N.” You shake your head against his, caressing the sides of his face with your hands. 

Rafe lifts his free hand that was not holding your waist, placing it on top of your hand and you see the way his tense shoulders immediately relax at the feeling of his mother’s ring still on your finger. 

“We’re making it official. I don’t care about this pogue bullshit, don’t care about whatever Topper with his crazy bitch or other kooks think about it. I’m not wasting my time anymore.” You smile through happy tears now, looking Rafe in the eyes, seeing that familiar warmth that you were afraid to never experience again. He smirks back at you, holding you tighter against his chest. “No more hiding and lying, yeah, baby? I love you.” 

“Y-yes. No more of that stuff. I love you too, Ray.” You giggle before he drags you even closer to kiss you again. 

[dearsnow]

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

- phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

word count: 2,003

a/n - this fic is parallel HEAVY, so don’t be surprised if you see the same phrase passed around. it’s truly a mindlink esque situation lol. and it’s 100% self-indulgent because the reader’s personality is so similar to mine (i am nothing if not a self caterer)

“Nat, I’m really not sure.” Bob tries to protest. “You know I’m no good with dating and stuff. Who’s to say she’ll even like me?” Natasha pats him on the back, firmly enough for him to know she means it.

“You guys are birds of a feather. Trust me, she’ll like you.”

“Jamie, I just don’t know.” You frown. She’s trying to set you up with her girlfriend’s friend, claiming that you’d be the perfect match, but you know you’re not the most amazing when it comes to meeting new people. You’re slightly awkward at best, socially anxious at worst. “He probably won’t like me. And if we’re really so similar, don’t you think it’ll be stiff and weird because neither of us can say the right, flirty thing?”

“You don’t need to be ‘flirty’ to have a good connection. Not every relationship is going to be like Natasha and I, all fire and flame. Sometimes it’s slow, and slow is good. It’s exactly what you need.” Jamie chides, putting a soothing arm around your shoulder. “Trust me. Birds of a feather, right?”

You shift uncomfortably in the booth you’re sitting in, Jamie’s hand rubbing the side of your arm comfortingly. It’s ten minutes before your supposed double date, and Natasha affirms that it’s about five minutes before he shows up. “Bob’s always early,” she stated, “so we can be even earlier to give you some prep time.”

You’re quiet. Shy, even, and you don’t have the best track record with social events. You’ve never really had a date that understood why you don’t want to get roaringly drunk and have sex in a bathroom and whatnot. The two girls, one in front of you and one by your side, have assured you that Bob will be different. He’s quiet too, but he stands up for himself. He’s strong and capable, with a humble attitude and the slight southern charm that you can bring home to your parents. If he’s really so great, though, what the hell is he doing going out with you?

Bob can see your booth through the door of the diner, and he steels his nerves quietly. He’s got this. He’ll make it a nice dinner, a nice experience, and he will not, under any circumstances, fuck it up. He owes you that much. He knows he’s probably not what you want in a guy. Natasha described you as hardworking, kind, and a good listener. He can’t help but think that you deserve much better than him.

He takes a breath and pushes open the door, the flowers in his other hand a little damp from his sweaty palms.

When he finally rounds the server stand, he can see you. And you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever had the pleasure of setting sights on.

He’s royally fucked, he thinks.

Oh my god, he’s so hot. You smile at him and curse a bit under your breath, careful to not let anyone hear. He’s everything you imagined and more, with sandy colored hair, bright blue eyes, and glasses that look like they’re just a little crooked. If you were bold, you’d reach across the table and fix them as he sat down. You’re not, though, so you just fidget with your hands under the hard wood.

He clears his throat and hands you a small bouquet of daises, sliding into the spot across from you. Nat gives a little self-satisfied smile from next to him. “Hi. I didn’t know what you liked, so I hope that’s okay. I’m- I’m Robert by the way, or Bob, whatever you prefer.”

You think your cheeks will split open from how hard you’re smiling. It’s such a small gesture, but the blush on his cheeks tells you that it’s earnest. “They’re perfect. Thank you, Bob.” You introduce yourself with the next breath, and he shakes your hand like it’s a business meeting. His palms are warm and just a little bit damp, but when his fingers curl around your own like they were meant to fit together, you couldn’t care less. “So,” you begin, somewhat shyly, “you’re Natasha’s WSO?”

When Bob hears your quiet voice, he knows he’s in deep. “Yeah. She’s a great pilot.” His praise earns him an elbow from Natasha, a silent ‘talk about yourself, dipshit’ evident in the action. He smiles nervously. “We do a lot of the weapons bits so the pilots can fly safely. How about you, what do you do?”

“It’s not as important and exciting as your job, that’s for sure.” You laugh before explaining exactly what you do.

“Honestly, that is important and exciting. I’m sure you excel at it, too,” Bob offers, somewhat bashfully. What makes your head spin is that he seems like he means it. He’s sincere, wonderfully so.

As that statement quirks the corners of your mouth up, Bob’s heart explodes. You’re charming and beautifully sweet, with a pretty smile and dashing eyes to boot.

Jamie enters your conversation carefully, like she wants to help but isn’t forcing anything. Natasha pipes in a few times, but overwhelmingly, it’s you and Bob. Neither of you have ever spoken so much in this type of setting before, and it’s great. You bounce ideas and jokes and quips off of each other like you were meant to. You feel like you were meant to, because everything just comes so easily with Robert Floyd. You’re finally talking to someone who understands every bit of you, polishing the hidden parts of yourself until they shine. You never thought you could feel this way with another person.

“Wait, have you read this book called For One More Day?” You ask, finding every opportunity to drag out a subject you enjoy so deeply. “It’s really sad, like a fictional memoir, but I think you’d enjoy it. The whole story is basically an ode to loving your parents while they’re still around.”

“I haven’t, but I’ll be sure to check it out the next time I go go the library.” Bob says, giving a slightly lopsided grin that makes your heart scream. “It seems right up my alley though. I like non fiction books, mostly, but I could go for a change every once and a while.”

Your food is almost forgotten in the midst of the conversation, and his is too. “When you do read fiction, what genres do you go for? I have a million recommendations, so help me narrow them down a bit.”

Bob will never admit this to his friends, but he’s an avid reader. He’s a sucker for a true story or anything about dogs, however, he’d read anything you could ever think to tell him about. He has already made a mental note to check out For One More Day and is currently making more notes as you list off more dog-central books. You, as you’ve told him, go for more of the fancy prose-d, heavy drama-d, and emotion-filled stories. It’s nice to see you like this, talking about something you’re honestly passionate about. The light in your eyes makes you look like a ray of sunshine.

Jamie grins at Natasha from across the table, utterly and unashamedly content that her plot has worked. Natasha rolls her eyes. “Alright, you two,” Nat says, “can we move on to something more exciting? Like planning a second date, maybe. One where Jamie and I can be happy at home while you two nerd out.”

Bob’s face reddens and you give a small, sheepish smile. “I’d like that.” You say.

“Me too.” Bob adds. Natasha can firmly say that she’s never seen him so happy, not even after a successful flight. It’s like he’s finally found the thing that made him tick, like you reached into his chest and wound up the gear box in his heart. “I’m free this Friday, if you’re up for it.”

You tap your fingers on the tabletop, thinking. “This Friday… this Friday is when I’m doing a book reading for the kids at our local library at lunchtime. We could have dinner after that, though.” You want to spend the entire day with him, but if a few hours is all you’re given, you’ll take it. You’d take anything.

Bob’s hands move to touch yours, just barely. His warmth radiates out, perfectly soothing your nerves. “If you want, I can make lunch and help you out at the book reading. I like those kinds of things, but I don’t want to impose.”

“You absolutely should.” You breathe. “You wouldn’t be imposing at all. In fact, I think the kids would really like it if Mr. Naval Aviator read a few books to them. You’d be like a superhero in their eyes.”

You’re a bit astounded by how much Bob’s face flushes. If you thought he was a bit pink before, he’s got a drunk man’s glow now. And you were being completely, one hundred percent honest when you said that the kids would like him. They’d love him. Micah’s father was in the Navy when he was younger, so there’s one connection, and April loves airplanes with a passion. It would be amazing.

“Then I’ll be there. Here’s my number, so you can text me when and where.” Bob slides a little piece of paper over to you, one that he must have written a bit ago, because his pen is securely clipped to his pocket. He likes you so much he wrote down his number while you were (probably) explaining your love for reading, or crafts, or small animals? You’re going to swoon if he keeps this up.

Natasha eyes where your hand is touching Bob’s. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Now eat your food.” She gestures to your half-touched plates. You and Bob both stutter a little, completely having forgotten what you’re going to have to pay for.

The rest of the evening goes amazingly. You talk about so many subjects that by the end of the day, when the sun is slipping below the horizon, you feel like you’re floating on air— light and unburdened by the way you’ve been able to express yourself. Bob insisted on paying for your meal, and though you protested, a little part of you feels giddy that you’re worth spending money on. Bob walks you to your car, tucking your flowers into the cup holder between your seat and the passenger side.

“I really enjoyed that.” He muses. “I really enjoyed you. I thought Nat and Jamie were kinda full of it when they told me about this whole double date, but I’m glad they weren’t.”

“Me too, oh my gosh. I was totally expecting some stuck-up Navy nerd, but I’m glad it was you. I enjoy you too, Bob, probably way too much.” You’re standing by your door, but you feel like you can’t leave just yet.

He looks at you with something you hope to think is affection in his eyes before glancing down towards your lips. “I’ll let you get going. Text me anytime.”

You hesitate, staring up into his ocean blue eyes. Before you can stop yourself or tell yourself it’s a bad idea, you take the collar of his shirt in your hand and kiss him.

It feels right. His hand coming up to rest on your waist, his body pressed against yours as he stabilizes himself on your car, it’s everything you’ve always dreamed of. His lips work in tandem with your own, like they’re collaborating on some sort of secret mission, and he kisses you like he loves you.

His pupils are blown up and he’s panting just slightly when you pull away. He misses the feeling of your lips on his as soon as it ends, the tingling sensation working its way down his face. “T-Thank you…?” He whispers. You laugh, the sound music to his ears. He can hardly believe that that just happened.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Definitely.“

You give him a small peck on the cheek and step into your car, so happy you think you could explode. As you pull out, and as he waves at you from the parking lot, you make an effort to remember to thank Jamie and Natasha.

Who would’ve thought that you really would be birds of a feather?

Taglist: @seitmai

[mywritersmind]

SIX TIMES TOO MANY (OR JUST ENOUGH?) - LN4

summary : in which the universe can’t seem to stop bugging you. six times when people thought of you and lando as more than childhood friends.

listen up : no warnings!! childhood friends! sometimes genuis just strikes🤷🏻‍♀️ requests for kimi franco and lando are open!!

word count : 820

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The first time it happened, you had laughed it off in a drunken haze of excitement.

“You and Lando!” Your best friend squealed, “You two hooked up, didn’t you!?” she hit your arm playfully, the biggest grin on her face as yours mirrored the opposite.

“Lando and I? No way!” You shook your head rapidly just as he danced up to the two of you, a drink in hand.

He spun you around and laughed in your ear and slurring his words as your friend gave a curious look.

The second time was an older woman complimenting you and Lando on the street, saying how lovely of a couple you were. Lando had laughed it off with ease.

The third time was far more embarrassing, a young fan had asked Lando to sign his cap and as he did, the kid grinned at you and whispered, “Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone you’re in love!” He had skipped away after making your jaw drop.

Why did everyone think you were a couple? It was ridiculous and out of reach. You and Lando had been best friends since childhood, besides your first kiss, nothing had ever happened.

You weren’t blind, he was attractive. You just chose to ignore the way he mindlessly changed in front of you and how his curls fell in his face. You chose to not think about him winning a race, sweaty and exhausted, falling right into your arms as he whispered his thanks to you for just being there.

The fourth time someone mentioned it, it was your own bloody mother. She had liked a photo you sent of your group on vacation, replying with “Oh! You and Lando are just the sweetest. Open your eyes, love.”

It was mortifying, especially in public. It made things odd with Lando, after someone would mention it, he started to act squirmy.

He almost always had some sort of girlfriend, though he claimed he didn’t date.

The fifth time was by far the worst.

“I get it!” Your boyfriend had scoffed in your face, “I’ll always come second to him!” You had such a headache from trying to break things off with him that his last statement might as well have split your skull open.

“Him?”

“Norris! Just admit you’re ending things with me to be with him!” He stood up, paced the room, “I’m such an idiot.”

“What- That’s not the reason!”

“Sure! God Y/n you’ve always been drooling for him!” What the hell?

It was your turn to scoff, “Fuck you! I’m sorry you can’t imagine why anyone would break up with your dumbass but we’re done because I don’t fancy you like you do me! Don’t blame my friend.”

“Sure. ‘Friend’. Go cry to him.”

The sixth was the one to change everything.

“I never realized!” Max Fewtrell laughed with you, drinks in hand and leaning against the bar.

“Realized what?” You raised a brow, sipping your drink.

“Lando’s in love with you!” you almost spit out your drink, “I mean- I always figured he had a hard on for you but shit… he’s totally whipped!”

He’s drunk, you reminded yourself.

“Shut up Max.” It wasn’t funny anymore.

“I’m serious, Y/n!” He shook his head, turning towards Lando who was looking bored with a girl next to him, “He hasn’t gotten with anyone for months! That’s saying something! He talks about you all the time and fuck have you not noticed the way he looks at you?”

The way he looks at you? How could you not notice?

He does it just then, turning his head to face you two but keeping those magnetic eyes on you. His previous bored expression was gone instantly, a smirk gracing his face as his eyes stayed on yours. It practically made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh.” Is all you can manage before Lando looks back to the girl.

“I’m just saying… maybe all those times you complain about- when people think you’re a couple or would be perfect together, maybe they’re a sign.” Max gives you one last knowing look before his spot is replaced with Lando.

He leans against the bar in a lazy fashion, looking tired yet all his energy is focused on you, “Having a good night?” His voice- fuck that voice.

His voice which haunted your nightmares and fuled your fantasies.

“A weird one, definitely.” you laugh but it’s not really funny, Lando gives you a concerned look.

“You wanna leave?” and when he says it, you know he’d come with. You know he’d go anywhere for you.

“No.” You shake your head, looking up at the brunette and feeling your breath ragged and unfocused. You swallow, then smile, “Let’s dance.”

A grin breaks out on his face as you slip your hand in his, “Anything you want, Y/n.”

[gyusrose]

➵ you’re so vain -> l.hs

⚠︎ smut (mdni)

✎ jock!heeseung x reader, enemies to ?????, heeseung is rlly annoying, hate sex ;), hair pulling, dirty talk, unprotected sex, degradation, backshots lmao. i think that’s it?

summary: attending a new school was supposed to be a fresh start for you, trying to be nice to everyone and have new friends, yet coming across lee heeseung threw all of that out the window.

(heeseung x fem.reader)

wc: 3.2k

your sweaty hands could not be gripping the steering wheel any harder. you wouldn’t call yourself “super shy” but when it comes to a whole new community of people, teenagers, hell yeah you are.

you had to move exactly at the middle of the year due to your mom’s work. they offered her double the salary at the other side of the city, who was she to say no to that? although you were going to miss your friends and the overall environment of your old home, you couldn’t just tell your mom ‘no’, either way her decisions are final.

you just got here two days ago, and to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. the worst thing so far is the fact that the nearest shopping center was 30 minutes away but you’ll live.

you didn’t except your first day of school to be so nerve-wracking. surely you’ll make some friends but who knows what people are like here. eventually, you saw the big navy blue sign with your school’s name on it. it was an averagely big school, bigger than your old one, which also meant more people.

the parking space alone was scary. it was huge yet already full even though it was still fairly early. you went around in circles around the parking lot, trying to find a vacant spot. fortunately you did at the second-to-last line.

as you tried to park, the limited space you had made it difficult to, having to back up and drive in constantly. as you reversed your car, you must have completely forgotten that you aren’t the only one there, feeling a small crash at the bumper of your car.

your eyes widened in panic. you looked back to see what you hit, and with your luck, it revealed at very nice black car, to which you’ve just hit. you tried to quickly get into your parking spot, hoping it was nothing serious, but then someone came walking up to you.

‘shit, that must be the owner’ you saw his red, rather handsome, fuming face.

you got out of your car to confront the first person interaction.

“hey look im so-“

“CANT YOU FUCKING DRIVE RIGHT? YOU HIT MY VERY EXPENSIVE CAR WITH YOUR THING, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

oh he was an asshole. you almost scoffed in his face. who does he think he is.

“it was accident that’s all, it was barely a scratch calm down man.”

“IT WAS DEFINITELY A SCRATCH LOOK AT IT! JUST BECAUSE YOU KEEP YOUR CAR LOOKING ALL MISERABLE DOESNT MEAN I WILL, DO YOU EVEN HAVE A LICENSE?”

lord take me back. you were so close to just leaving him there arguing with himself. but you didn’t want to make him even angrier.

“look im sorry! i can pay for the fix up if that’s what you want, i dont know what else to do?”

the boy scoffed and rolled his eyes at your statement.

“you think i don’t have the money for it? please, it shows you’re a newbie around here.”

“i didn’t mean it like that-“

“yo heeseung!! come on bro!” another blonde boy called from afar, hopefully ending the argument y’all were having.

“ watch your back new girl.” with one last glare, he left to join his group of friends.

you rolled your eyes. shiver my fucking timbers, you thought.

you took a deep breath before grabbing your backpack and making your way into school , hoping to never see his face ever again.

>>

you thought that was going to be the end of it all. but oh boy were you wrong. soon you found out that heeseung is the captain of the football team, and pretty much the most popular boy in school. as cliche as it sounds, every girl would drop their panties if he asked them to.

people know he’s not the nicest person ( an asshole) yet they still look up to him. that’s angered you. how are all these people so dumb? just because he’s kinda good-looking? seriously?

over the course of a few weeks, you’ve managed to make some friends, your closest taehyun and Isa. although you tried to block the negativity, heeseung made it really hard. always giving you snarky comments when he saw you around, ridiculing you in front of other people. somehow always finding a way to run into you despite not having any classes together. except gym.

“ bro open your eyes, catch the damn ball!” he yelled from across from you.

you hated sports. even less could you play one, but you gotta do it for the grade.

“the ball was too high up dummy!” you retorted, rolling your eyes for maybe the 100th time in the class period.

if you hated gym before, you definitely hated it more now.

as the period ended, you decided to take a quick shower in the locker rooms since you couldn’t handle being all sweaty and gross throughout the day.

heeseung finished changing and was outside the locker room with his friends, chatting, waiting for the bell to ring. that’s when he may have accidentally eavesdropped the conversation between your two friends, he could barely the names of.

“where’s _____?” taehyun asked isa, noticing how you weren’t with her.

“she’s taking a shower right now, she told us to not wait for her.” Isa shrugged before taehyun nodded.

a beautiful idea popped in heeseung’s brain. it was too good.

he excused himself and sneakily waited by the girl’s locker room, waiting for everyone to come out. once he only heard the shower you were using running, he quietly entered the room. the bell had rang about a minute ago, so the gym was empty, only you and him. the gym teacher god knows where.

he saw his target and rapidly grabbed the pile of clothes sitting on the bench, a smirk evident in his face.

suddenly the shower stopped running, making heeseung hurry and exit the locker room.

the shower felt too good, you think you spent more time that you anticipated to. as you exited the shower tiles, you looked around for your clothes, which you remember clearly leaving them in the bench closest to the shower. you looked around the whole locker room, hoping you were wrong and placed them elsewhere. unfortunately, you couldn’t even find your damn socks.

your biggest fear has come true. you’re now naked, nothing but a towel covering you, this was more than just humiliating. you felt sad, mad, angry, embarrassed all at once. they’ve been stolen for sure, and you were more than sure on who did it.

grabbing your phone you called Isa, to see if she could help you somehow. and she indeed did. bringing you some spare clothes she had. thankfully, you always bring extra underwear since situations like these could happen. you just had to wait for isa for the clothes, yet the five minutes she took felt like five hours. unfortunately, passing period is over, meaning some students are coming in the locker room to change.

many of them just straight up stared at you. giving you weird looks as to why you were pretty much naked in the middle of the locker room, but none had the guts to ask you.

you wished the ground would just swallow you whole. lee heeseung won’t hear the end of it.

“LEE HEESEUNG!” you yelled across the field. he and his friends were siting down eating lunch outside when you spotted him after trying to find him after the stunt he just pulled.

heeseung knew it was coming, giggling with his friends as they heard you yell his name once again. “ oh she’s about to scold me now .” heeseung scoffed but still got up and went over to you.

“yes ma’am?” he said with a smile, you wish you could slap off but you’re better than that.

“YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASSING THAT WAS?”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about..” heeseung tried acting innocent but failed as he just burst out laughing. you groaned, how on earth is that funny?

“cute panties by the way” he continued to laugh, not sparing a glance at your mad expression on your face.

“you’re such an ass, i hate your guts.” you said leaving him alone, laughing to himself.

“yo bro i think she actually got mad this time.” his friend, jake came over.

heeseung shrugged. “she’s so sensitive, it wasn’t even that bad.”

“i can’t believe he did that…” taehyun said as you told them both what had happened. Isa knew a little bit but not who did it.

“that’s fucked up, what’s he got against you so much?”

you shrugged. “i guess because i gave his car a little scratch, but i guess he took it to heart since he hasn’t stopped bothering me since. he’s a jerk.”

“finally someone who thinks the same as me!” taehyun said making you chuckle.

“then get back at him! you know the one thing that makes him who he is is that damn football.” Isa said.

you tried to be the bigger person this whole time, not paying much mind to his little remarks or pranks he pulls, biting back a little wouldn’t hurt right?

“you know what, you’re right.”

“lee heeseung, mrs. park wants to speak to you.” mr.jung said calling heeseung.

heeseung who was barely paying attention heard his name. his frowned at this. what on earth could she want to talk about with him? either way, he went to her classroom.

he entered the empty classroom to find his coach and mrs.park, waiting for him. what the fuck? heeseung was more confused now. maybe they were going to congratulate him for the good work this semester? his coach’s face said otherwise though.

“there you are, you may be wondering why you’re here..” mrs.park started. heeseung nodded, feeling uneasy.

“a student came forward, showing how you copied word for word her whole assignment, the one i assigned a week ago. i didn’t notice it at first but it’s very clear now, you may know how cheating is unacceptable in my class, i’ve decided to fail you in this assignment, plus you’ll be serving detention this whole week..” she turned to the coach.

heeseung’s heart started beating at a rapid pace, he’s never been caught cheating, and being failed on the assignment that was a big part of his grade, it means he’s most likely failing the class now. the rules for football stated that all players should be passing all of their classes if not, they’ll be dropped….

no no no, the lee heeseung can’t be dropped. he’s the captain! the star player!

“since you’re failing this class heeseung, i think you know what’s about to happe-“

“please coach! don’t kick me out, i’m the captain! what would the team do without me? i’ll get my grade up as soon as possible im-“

“calm down calm down, i’m not going to kick you out, it’s the middle of the season, but unfortunately you won’t be playing the next three games. if your grade is not up by then, then i will drop you. understood?” his coach stated earning a sharp nod by heeseung.

he’s glad he’s still on the team but what’s the point if he can’t play? he’s going to become a joke. the captain that’s a bench warmer. how stupid.

he left the classroom enraged. he knows exactly who did this.

“bro what? what do you mean you ain’t gonna play ?” riki said in disbelief at what his captain just said.

“some snitch told mrs.park that i cheated on the last assignment and coach suspended me for the next three games, and i got detention all week!” sunghoon unknowingly chuckled. heeseung looked at him with a glare.

“what? she got you good, what did you expect hee?” sunghoon kept laughing, making some of the others also laugh silently.

heeseung had nothing to say back, he just rolled his eyes. “tch, whatever.”

nevertheless, you were overjoyed seeing heeseung slouching on the bench. you couldn’t miss this once in a lifetime scenario. obviously you were the cause for it. heeseung asks Isa almost all the time for her notes or to straight up copy her. she willingly let you rat him out after what he did to you.

he can sense how all eyes were on him, but he just tried to block everyone out a focus on the game. he had a poker face on, but deep inside he was irritated . he saw how you were smirking and laughing with your two little friends. you knew what you were doing.

>>

“ahh look who it is, the benchwarmer! “ you said chuckling as you made your way to heeseung.

after the team (barely) won, jake threw an ‘after party’ at his house. even though you don’t normally go to these parties, especially from those boys, you felt like a party would do good with your marvellous mood. something about seeing heeseung’s frowny face made feel over the moon.

“seems like cat got your tongue now huh? dont have anything to say-“

in a blink of an eye you were pulled into a room, heeseung’s fingers wrapped around your neck, pulling your face closer to his.

“what the fuck? heeseung-“

“shut the fuck up.” his hoarse voice caught you off guard. he was actually really mad.

“you think what you did it’s fucking funny? huh? almost getting me kicked out ? “ you’ve never seen him this enraged before. making you almost scared, yet….kinda turned on? no, you hate him, snap out of it! you told yourself yet the wetness in between your legs became hard to ignore.

you didn’t respond. “fuck, you’re so annoying, i can’t fucking stand you. i hate you.” he saw lowly. fuck that was hot.

you spoke before thinking. “then show me.”

not needing to tell him twice, heeseung pulled you completely in. your lips met in a kiss that was anything but gentle, a fierce and consuming clash that spoke longing and raw need.

The kiss deepened, fueled by an unspoken urgency, their mouths exploring each other with a fervor that left y’all breathless. his grip on your neck becoming tighter.

“shit im gonna show you to fucking behave.” he said before pushing you into the bed forcefully. you may have discovered a new kink of yours. watching as he undressed himself and yourself rapidly. feeling his anger through every touch he gave you.

he rubbed through your folds before inserting two fingers aggressively. your body jolted at the sudden move.

“holy shit go softer dumbass.”

“aw you think i give a fuck? suck it up and take it since you think you’re all that.” his fingers pumped faster and faster making it hard for you to answer back to his stupid remarks.

“oh my god..” you tried to pull his hand away before you cum. not wanting to see you orgasm so easily yet.

“just fuck me already heeseung, or is your dick as tiny as your brain?”

heeseung looked darkly at you. that stupid mouth of yours can’t shut up will it?

he retracted his fingers put of you and took his boxers off. wanting nothing more than to prove you wrong.

shit. your eyes went wide at what stood in front of you. saying he was big was an understatement. it was like a zipper for your mouth. how was that thing going to fit inside of you?

“can’t say anything now, can you slut?” he pulled your legs down the mattress to have you at the perfect angle to ram into you.

heeseung ran his til over your folds, teasing his way in. making you aggrevated.

“just put it in for fucks sake!”

“tell me how bad you want it.” you shook your head, no way were you going to beg. no way.

“alright then, i guess im gonna go.” he said letting go of your waist, acting as if he was going to leave.

“okay okay! please fuck me, i want it so bad, i want your big cock so bad heeseung.” heeseung moaned at your words. he didn’t wait any longer and thrusted all of him in you.

you both moaned yet it was more painful for you. you’ve never had something so big inside you before.

“fuck yeah..” he said then grabbing your neck, slightly choking you. your hands went to his biceps, trying to find something to hold on to as the speed he was thrusting in became more hostile.

“fuck me harder, like the asshole you are.” you said in between breaths. heeseung took the challenge and thrusted violently. the skin slapping and wetness of your core could probably be heard in the party outside.

“of course a whore like you would like to be fucked like this.”

before you could respond he pulled out of you earning a desperate groan from you, but then your were flipped, now on all fours and before you knew it he was back in you again. gripping your hip with one hand while he pulled your hair on the other.

“such a tight pussy, you probably fantasized about this am i right?” he said in your ear. you shook your head through your moan.

“in your dreams lee, in your fucking dreams. fuck you.”

“i’m quite literally doing that.” chuckling, he let go of your hair and instead gripped your other hip, going in deeper, nudging your cervix literally driving you to an edge.

“fuck i’m cumming.” you cried out. never has an orgasm felt like this. heeseung was on edge as well, feeling you clench around his dick did it for him.

your climax rose over you, making you fall into the pillow while heeseung kept thrusting until his own organs came over him, pulling out and releasing his white ropes all over your back.

tiredly, he laid besides you in the strangers bed, not knowing what to say now.

you turned to him, smirking. “i think i may hate you even more now.”

[lovebugism]

Imagine rough sex with eds and you guys just break the bed and you have to tell wayne

✶ ┄ BROKEN BEDS !

summary: you and eddie break his bed. the worst part is having to tell wayne. pairing: eddie munson / f!reader warning: smut! eddie being the cutest human alive! a wild appearance from uncle wayne! 18+ mdni! a/n: i need everyone to know that when i wrote this draft, i titled it "breaking bed" and it made me chuckle a lil. anyway, thanks for your request anon! enjoy xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

when eddie muson fucks, he fucks like a wild animal

he grunts with each of his rough thrusts, brown eyes somehow darker with lust while his untamed curls cling to his sweaty forehead

and you just let him drill into you because, truth be told, you love him this way

you hold the backs of your thighs and keep yourself wide open for him while he fucks so deeply into you

he leans over you, one hand white-knuckled where it grips his headboard, and the other wrapped around your throat

not tight enough to choke you exactly, but to make sure your eyes stay locked on his as he fucks you for all your worth

the headboard slams into the wall in time with each of his thrusts, rhythmic bang bang bangs that you’d be scared are leaving a dent in the wall if eddie wasn’t making you feel so good

he tilts your jaw to the side to expose your neck to him

and he hides his face in the sweaty crook of it, seeking refuge there while he nips and suckles at the warmed skin

you just keep begging for him to go harder and deeper and faster as he fucks you more and more stupid

and eddie complies without question

he revels in the way you keen each time he pounds into you and how your face scrunches up and your back arches for him

your toes curl and your legs tense up so hard they start to quiver

and right when you’re about to come, the bed suddenly jolts and dips beneath you, accompanied by loud crashing sound

it scares the shit out of you and you squeal while eddie lets out a grunt of surprise

because his bed just fucking broke

and it isn’t the most surprising thing in the world, the thing is about as old as he is

but it does take the two of you off guard 

all you can do in the moment is laugh about it

and eddie barely wastes another second before he starts fucking you again

because his bed is already broken, who cares if it gets more fucked up?

plus he knew how close you were to your orgasm and you just look so pretty when you come <3

the worst part about it though is telling wayne

because there’s no way he’s not going to notice

and eddie can’t exactly sleep on a crooked bed

so he just comes up with the shittiest excuse known to man “so the thing is... i was… jumping on the bed…”

wayne furrows his brows “the hell were you doing jumping on your bed?”

“well, you see, i was just, you know… trying to… heal my inner child…”

“…what the fuck does that mean?”

but, like, obviously wayne knows

typically you’re good at keeping eddie in check and sometimes he can hear you saying you don’t want to fuck while wayne’s in the house

and that’s a part of the reason he likes you so much bc you don’t want to put him through that trauma

but you guys are young and in love and sometimes keeping your hands off of each other feels like the hardest thing in the world

so he knows exactly how the bed broke

but hearing eddie trying to lie about it is the funniest thing on the planet

shopping for a new bed frame is easily the most adult thing you and eddie have ever done

and the only one he can afford is a star wars themed one in the children’s section

eddie groans and acts annoyed about having to get one that’s so childish but you know he secretly loves it

because the headboard is shaped like the cock pit of the millennium falcon with lightsabers painted on the foot of the bed

you try to put it together without wayne’s help while he’s at work

and you’re like “how long do you give it before we break this one?”

“an hour if you wine and dine me first <3”

have any blurb requests? send em here if you want!

[zara-renata]

Hello and good morning~ I was listening to RED by taylor swift while working and suddenly ALL I could think of was the Sylus series (and how MC thinks she was rejected). 💙❤️ Think this song fits them so well

I have been meaning to answer this ask since you sent it, but it gave me a little Scenario that I had to carry around in my head until I could figure out how to work it into a story. Your ask, in combination with a post by @leaderincrows about wanting to see Sylus collared and gasping pathetically, led to this story. I hope the result is enjoyable. Thanks so much for sending this ask, and I'm sorry it took 8 million years to answer!

Goodcat code, or how you learned to care for your catboy | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Your crimelord boyfriend disappears for a week, you make yourself sad listening to breakup songs, you learn that he got turned into a catboy, you get assigned a mission on the worst cruise ship ever, undercover shenanigans ensue. Loosely based on the Sylus memory Goodcat Code.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV MC is referred to by they/them pronouns, intended as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. Established relationship, can be read as a standalone. This story contains: profanity, activities of a sexual nature, violence, probably too much internal monologue and not enough action, too many feelings and not enough sexual activity, inappropriate use of a tail, an argument with your boyfriend, a happy ending.

You wonder if it’s because you trounced him in kitty cards the last time you played.

The silence. 

For the past week, your phone has been pinging with constant notifications but none with My Sy listed as the sender. Just work, spam, Xavier asking if you want to go to the bookstore the next time you’re both free, Tara spamming you with pleas to go to some shitty club where her latest favorite indie EDM DJ is playing—why she thinks that her insistence that “He looks just like Skye, I promise!” is enough incentive for you to wade through loud, sweaty, touch-feely dancers as you can’t help constantly checking the exits, while simultaneously making sure a molly-rolling Tara doesn’t abscond to the bathroom with a mistake waiting to happen, while being subjected to mediocre beats from her artist-of-the week, is beyond you. “Skye” is gorgeous, yes, but you’d rather admire the real thing up close than squint through a fog-machine haze to look at a cheap knock-off.

Maybe Sylus’s snobbery is rubbing off on you.

Then again, Tara doesn’t know how up close you get to examine Skye on a regular basis, so perhaps you’re being unfair, because you’re in a terrible mood, because you haven’t heard from him for a week now.

Because maybe you won’t have the chance to see “Skye” up close ever again. Because all you have is a deafening silence from him, and it started the day after you wiped the floor with him at the kitty cafe playing kitty cards.

Could something so petty cause him to finally lose interest in you, the way you've feared ever since you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that Sylus may be romantically interested in you?

It’s not your fault that the longer you spend time with him, the more you have unraveled his mysteries. If he doesn’t want to be so easy to beat, he needs to try harder to be less predictable. You never would have thought, when you first met him, that you’d ever think the words “predictable” and “Sylus” in the same sentence, but the mercurial man is like clockwork when it comes to kitty cards.

He always, always offers you the chance to go first. Why on earth would you say no, and then lose the chance to play your inevitably shitty, low-value cards in the matching colored cups, just to prevent him from playing one of his inevitably high valued cards in the matching cup?

He grumbles, tries to give “helpful” advice about being patient and gambling on drawing a higher value card instead, all the while doing the exact same thing when it’s his turn and he has a shit hand. The condescending hypocrite. You stew a bit thinking about it.

And then, you’ve long since learned that the arrogant bastard is cheating while you play. He somehow marks the cards—you don’t know how. Something to do with his evol? He refuses to admit it outright, so you doubt you’ll ever know. But what you first thought was a generous habit of offering to give you two  of his cards for one of yours, actually turns out to be an opportunity for him to offload his low value cards and give himself a chance to poach your higher value cards. You refuse his offers now.

And lastly, you’ve figured out that for all of Sylus’s skill, brilliant brain, and talent at strategy, the man has a few weaknesses that you are ruthlessly willing to exploit to gain the upper hand to beat him despite all of his dirty tricks.

Namely, he’s easily distracted by a few very specific things.

Your mouth being one of them.

So last week, you went first, played your shit cards in the colored cups, refused his offers to trade, and ordered a strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream to enjoy while you played.

He leaned back in his seat at the kitty cafe where he was sitting across from you, manspreading as usual, arms casually draped over the back of the booth, the picture of casual, smug confidence. The dictionary definition of winner. 

“Do you really have the luxury of splitting your focus between the game and your dessert, kitten? It looks like you need all of your concentration just to keep up, let alone win this round,” he drawled, secure in his five point lead over you. It was his turn, and yet he had time to taunt you.

You just shrugged, holding your cards fanned in one hand, dipping your finger in the whipped cream with your other. You brought it to your lips, pretending to think very hard about which card you’d play next when all of them were crap, and rubbed the cream over your bottom lip.

You heard a sharp inhale from the other side of the table, but ignored it. You “absentmindedly” flicked your tongue out, gathering the cream there before swallowing and biting your lip pensively.

“It’s good,” you murmured, not taking your eyes off your cards. “Not too sweet.”

Silence. It took all of your willpower not to look up to see what his face was doing.  But you heard him place a kitty in a cup, its cute little meow signaling the start of your turn.

You let your gaze flick back and forth between the board and your cards. Good. It was working. He played a low value card in a white cup instead of drawing a new card like he should have.

You put your crap sage card in the last sage-colored cup. Sylus tsked and drew a new card.

This time, you picked up one of the glazed strawberries adorning the shortcake and placed it between your lips, sucking on it gently as you “thought.”

The groan coming from across the table was so low that you almost didn’t hear it over the sounds of the cafe—other players chatting, the meows of the kitties, the clink of cutlery and tableware. But you heard it, even through your tinnitus.

You played another low value card in a matching cup—the last one. Unless he had a six, this round is yours.

You finally dared to look up and find Sylus glaring at you, all while petting a beautiful, tawny colored cafe cat that had apparently settled in his lap while you were busy trying to distract him and beat his ass at this ridiculous game.

“Sy, you know the rules of the cafe—no petting the cats unless we pay extra!” You looked around furtively, forgetting the game, worried that the staff were going to get mad and kick you both out for this breach of etiquette. You pay first, then pet!

“I can’t help it if, unlike some, this particular kitty is straightforward enough to ask for pets from me,” he said pointedly. “Who am I to deny its desires?” 

In response, you popped the strawberry fully into your mouth, closed your eyes, and bit down, letting out a genuine little sound of appreciation for the sweet fruit.

Suddenly there was a disgruntled mewl from across the table. You opened your eyes and saw Sylus with a death grip on the cat where he was previously petting it gently. The cat squirmed, trying to get off of his lap. He blinked and let go of the cat, which then bolted off of his lap like he had just yanked its tail—which he hadn’t, but Sylus’s grip was no joke. You would know.

He watched the cat, a rare apologetic look on his face, before turning to glare at you again. “If we get kicked out, it will be your fault,” he accused.

You just looked back at him innocently. “What on earth did I do?”

“Maybe I’ve been too soft with you, and you’ve gotten too comfortable with me—you grow more cunning by the day,” he said softly, almost like a threat, but he looked… pleased.

“Still have no idea what you’re talking about,” you hummed, taking a big forkful of the shortcake and shoving it in your mouth. 

Sylus just groaned again. He lost every game the two of you played the rest of the evening.

When you parted ways with him, heading back home to sleep while he was heading to a meeting, he pulled you into his arms as you stood by your motorcycle. He breathed in your hair and sighed, and then pulled away, turning on his heel, and walking away without a backwards glance.

And that’s the last you heard from him since that night.

You sit at your kitchen table, staring glumly out into the chill fall night. Your phone lights up, but it’s just Rafayel sending a photo of a little crab brandishing a plastic spork captioned Lol littering humans suck but at least this trash is useful for this lil guy he’s got a sword now

You often wonder why both Rafayel and Sylus sometimes refer to humans as if they themselves are not also human. You text back.

You: he just needs a shield. give him a bottle cap and he can fight wanderers with me 

Fried Shrimp: nope he’s my new bodyguard because you suck too and have been too busy lately to guard my body like you promised

You: you’re perfectly capable of guarding yourself you pyromaniac

Rafayel just responds with a poop emoji.

You consider his text. Rafayel may have a point for once—you have been spending every free moment that you're not working with Sylus lately.

Which is bad. You don’t want him to take over your life. You want to maintain a balanced, a healthy relationship with him, if possible. It would be so easy to let yourself be consumed by his charismatic, overwhelming presence in your life. But what happens when he disappears as quickly as he appeared?

You don’t want to think about it. But that point may have already arrived. You stare at your dark phone again.

You could… call him first. Or send a text. But you’re not to the point where you can bring yourself to contact him first. If he wants to talk to you, he isn’t shy about reaching out for your attention. He calls almost every day. To tell you that you need to expect a package. To complain about his bad luck at a poker game with business rivals. To pester you about when you’ll come visit him again. Mephisto hasn’t seen your face for two days, he’s starting to pout. The twins brought home ten different flavors of syrup for the espresso machine, look at what you’re doing to them, they’re going to get diabetes at this rate.

You don’t think you’re to the point of being able to handle being left on read by this man if you send a text first and he doesn’t answer.

It’s time to wallow. You reach for your phone, pull up your music app, and put Taylor Swift’s RED on repeat.

You’ll give it a few more days, and then you’ll put on Olivia Rodrigo. After another week, it will be Sabrina Carpenter, because you’ll probably have entered the anger stage of grief by then. After that, it will be Hozier, when you finally accept that Sylus will never be calling again and try to find the beauty in everything you’ve lost.

***

“Status report?” Sylus growls into the phone. 

“Boss, I really think that you should reconsider this course of action,” Kieran’s voice is just loud enough for Sylus to be able to hear over the absolute cacophony of the closed cat cafe, which is considerable, even with his double, hypersensitive hearing due to his current… condition.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked for a status update,” Sylus hisses, and then clears his throat. He totally meant to hiss just then. His hissing has nothing to do with his current affliction.

“But I really must insist—” Kieran tries to argue, but he’s drowned out by the cat cafe’s OTTO.

“Caracal Butler! May I remind you that not only is your customer satisfaction rating in the negatives, but you are also not allowed to make personal phone calls on the kitties’ time!” The OTTO hovers menacingly in front of him.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. Even the robot should be able to discern his disdain.

“You should be,” it says, threateningly.

“Oh? And what are the kitties going to do that’s worse than what they’ve already done.” He flicks some cat hair off of his bespoke tuxedo. The fact that he’s going to have to get it de-haired and dry cleaned if he ever wants to wear it again just adds insult to injury, as he had been hoping to wear it with you to a Linkon City Symphony Orchestra’s performance soon. He had a matching outfit tailored for you at the same time he ordered this tux, so he has resigned himself to getting the damn thing cleaned when this... ordeal is over.

The OTTO jerks him out of his irritation with its nagging voice module. “It is protocol for this kitty cafe to act as a responsible caretaker for the kitties under our care. We require spaying and neutering of all kitties under this roof. You have not yet received such care.”

The threat in response to his sarcasm could not be clearer.

He narrows his eyes at the OTTO and feels his tail swish menacingly as his ears press flat to his hair.

“Come anywhere near my balls and I’ll fill this cat cafe with so many cat toys of the loud, exploding variety that there will be nothing left of either it, the cats, or you except a smoking crater.”

The OTTO flits backwards out of Sylus’s reach.

“Perhaps Caracal Butler may be allowed a limited number of private phone calls on the kitties’ time without repercussions,” it says, tone placating as it drifts quickly to the other side of the room.

“That’s what I thought,” Sylus growls again, and not because he’s been stripped of his evol and cursed with two fucking cat ears and a tail that betrays his emotions no matter how much self control he tries to exert, but because he meant to growl.

He returns his attention back to the phone as his patience wears ever thinner. “Status. Report.”

“Boss, I really must insist—” Kieran tries again, tone incredibly concerned, before being interrupted by Luke.

“Your hunter is listening to breakup songs and mopily staring at their phone every spare moment they get.”

Sylus’s ears swivel around to full attention and his tail thwacks a kitty climbing tower so hard it’s almost knocked off its base.

“Breakup songs? Why—”

“They obviously think you’ve ghosted them,” Luke continues. “Keep this up and you’re gonna lose them.”

Sylus tilts his head. Could you really believe that he’s capable of ever leaving your side before you tell him to leave and mean it? What an absolutely ridiculous notion. His tail swishes thoughtfully. He did not want you to see him like this—stripped of his power, kneeling to these demanding cats like a… well. Like a fucking catboy butler. He has his pride, after all. He was hoping that the curse would fade quickly and you’d be too busy with work and your social life to notice that he has been absent for a little while. And you hadn’t reached out to him either, during this time. He runs his gloved hand along his bottom lip before realizing that he’s been touching cats all day, makes a disgusted face, and taps his temple instead. Why hadn’t you reached out to him? His mind drifts over memories of all of your interactions with him when you are apart and he's been forced to make do with communicating to you via phone and text.

This is not the first time that it occurs to him that you have never, not once, reached out to him first. He is always the one calling you, texting you, sending you packages.

He stops, tail and ears still. He has noticed it, but he hasn't thought about it deeply. He's willing to chase you to the end of time, after all. But now, he wonders what he's missing. He is almost entirely sure that you miss him as much as he misses you when you’re apart. You always pick up the phone. You always respond to texts. As for sending packages, you've grumbled about not knowing what to gift a man who has everything, but he always reassures you that he already has everything he wants, as long as you’re there.

So why is it that you have never reached out to him first? He flicks his ears. It would be nice, if you reached out first, every once in a while. He doesn't require it. But it would be nice. He tucks that thought away for further analysis after the current problem is fixed.

Time to assess the damage, and then engage in damage control.

“What kind of breakup songs?” he asks.

“Currently listening to RED by Taylor Swift.”

Sylus considers. Taylor Swift isn’t as bad as Sabrina Carpenter, or Hozier. Once you start with Hozier, Sylus will really be worried.

“Are you gonna stop being a big scaredy-cat and contact your hunter now?” Luke demands, sounding absolutely done with his ridiculous boss and his equally ridiculous partner.

Sylus values the intel they just provided, so he lets the insubordination slide. This time.

“I will remedy the situation. You’re dismissed from hunter observation detail.”

All he hears are twinned sighs of relief and then the phone disconnecting. He stares at it. What impudent henchmen.

He turns and wades through the meandering cats to the OTTO.

“I’m leaving, but I will be back to fulfill my contract once a personal emergency has been resolved.”

The OTTO, with his previous threats clearly still fresh in its memory, meekly allows him to pass without any fuss.

He steps out into the cold winter evening, the street lights and bright advertisements of Linkon City temporarily blinding him. Normally he would just teleport along rooftops to get to you as quickly as possible in such an emergency, but with this fucking curse, he has to make his way to your home like a regular human. His lip curls in disgust, but then he schools his face into its customary blank, intimidating expression as he notices people passing by gawking at his swishing tail and his cat ears. He’s drawing enough attention to himself without looking threatening while doing it. He quickly strides to where he parked his motorcycle, jams his helmet on his head, and breaks six different traffic laws trying to get to your place as quickly as possible.

***

You’re trying to wallow, snuggled into your bedding with a tray of some sad soup heated up from a can and a chunk of stale bread, when your hunter watch pings. You flick through the new assignment. Some asshole smuggler in biologically modified wanderers code-named “Snowy Owl” apparently needs to be brought down. You slurp some soup while you try to formulate a plan of action for snaring this new target, who has in turn snared many innocent wanderers to then sell them to shady collectors with who knows what kind of intentions for them. 

This is just the sort of thing that you’ve all too easily grown accustomed to discussing with Sylus, due to his spiderweb of connections through the underworld. But isn’t that part of the problem? Where before you would rely on yourself and Association resources to arrange a mission of this kind, now you’re all too comfortable relying on Sylus for help. That sort of sloppiness is unacceptable, and the gaping absence he’s left behind in the last week only serves to drive that point home. You cannot let the blade of your skills dull because of reliance on your all-too-willing-to-help boyfriend. Maybe ex-boyfriend, you think miserably.

You sigh, leaning back, turning up the music that you had previously turned down to focus on the mission details. You’re trying to drown out all thoughts of the man who you need to get out of your head, only to find yourself yelping in surprise and flinging the tray with the soup at the tall intruder who has just silently appeared at the side of your bed—who you hadn’t heard at all, as if they had entered on padded cat paws.

Only to realize halfway through the soup’s trajectory that the intruder is Sylus and he’s wearing a very fancy suit.

All the previous times you have flung tableware containing hot liquid at him, Sylus has been able to dodge the container, if not its contents, because of his evol. But this time he’s struck square in the chest by both the soup and the soup bowl. It hits one big pec with a dull thud and then crashes to your floor. He stands there, dripping soup, looking down at his dress shoes.

“The fuck, Sylus,” you breathe, not because he appeared out of nowhere in your home, again, but because you can clearly see two twitching, incredibly real-looking cat ears—tawny, fuzzy on the insides, coming to a beautiful, regal black point at the top—swiveling through his gorgeous silver hair. As your eyes travel down his long, lovely body, they catch on a flicking cat-tail with the same coloring as his ears. Something about the fur strikes you as familiar, but you can’t quite figure out why.

“Darling. Dearest to my heart. My heart, in fact, beating within the safety of my ribcage. Could you, perhaps, in the future, try to refrain from assaulting me with molten liquid when I surprise you in your home.” His tail swishes, swishes, swishes behind him, and you’re utterly mesmerized. It takes a moment for it to sink in that Sylus is actually here. You want to scramble off the bed, climb him like a tree, the dripping soup be damned, and just hug him. Now that you’re seeing him in person for the first time in a whole week, you are able to actually feel how much you’ve missed him, instead of suppressing, repressing, pretending that the unending ache didn’t hurt so terribly much.

You’re about to launch yourself at him when you remember why you had been feeling this way all week. Where the hell has he been? And why does he have cat attributes now? Well, more than he already had to begin with, you snicker internally, until you remember that you’re still feeling heartbroken and wary of why he has shown up now after ghosting you all week. Are you being melodramatic? Are you being immature? Are you being unfair? Could you have called him to check in, when he didn’t? You eye his ears. His tail. Yes to all of the above, but it doesn’t change how you simply can’t bring yourself to go to him, and instead draw further back, away from him, on the bed.

He apparently doesn’t miss your movement, as his ears swivel forward as you move, and then flatten onto the top of his head as he assumes an aggressively bored expression on his face.

“Not going to answer me?” he growls. Actually growls, like a cat warning a naughty kitten.

You can’t help yourself. “Who’s actually the kitten now, Sylus?”

His tail flicks violently behind him.

“Careful, kitten. Perhaps you’ve forgotten in the past week that this cat has claws,” he says, low and menacing.

You just laugh at him.

“Mmmm, yes, your oh-so-so sharp claws, which are now covered in soup. What are you doing here?”

He narrows his eyes at your unimpressed reaction to his empty threat. “Do I need a reason to visit my heart?”

The more he acts like nothing has changed, as if he didn’t just disappear on you without a word for a week, the more wound up and jittery you feel. “What heart?” you ask, a little petulantly.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You know the answer to that question.”

“Do I? Not a very important organ, if you can survive a week without it,” you grumble.

His ears swivel forward, and his tail starts to… wag, but his facial expression doesn’t change.

You immediately regret revealing so much.

“Ah,” is all he says, but he sounds pleased. 

You look away, out the window. But all you see is Sylus in the reflection, and the dark night beyond. You’ve said too much already. 

“I’m going to change. And then we’re going to talk,” he announces, and it sounds like a purr.

You feel silly as you realize that Taylor Swift is still warbling loudly in your bedroom about loving him but losing him so suddenly, trying to stop when you’re already in free fall, loving him being like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all. You flick off the music.

He’s here again. He’s here again, but for how long?

You hear water running in the bathroom as you go to the kitchen to grab some towels and return to your bedroom to mop up the soup, tidying your embarrassingly messy flat along the way. You return to bed and wait for him.

After a few minutes, Sylus emerges from your bathroom clad in one of the soft sweaters and silk sleep pants he keeps in your closet. You can’t help yourself again—you stare at where his tail emerges from under the sweater. The flexible waistband of the pants must have been pushed down a little over his ass to accommodate where his tail emerges. 

He strides to the bed and pauses next to it. “May I?” he asks, tail flicking, ears twitching.

You nod, and he prowls onto your duvet on his hands and knees. Before settling next to you, however, he turns in a circle, once, twice, three times, before sinking down and pulling you into his arms, your back to his chest, curling around you. You let him, feeling the flood of safety and sense of wholeness that you always get when Sylus is touching you. You sigh. All of your worries seem so trite now. Why didn’t you just text him first? Why did you wait for him to reach out first? Why are you like this?

As if reading your mind, Sylus says, “Were you worried this week?”

His arms are wrapped tightly around you, he has one leg shoved between yours, and you feel his tail curl around your bare ankle. Its fur is so, so soft.

You nod.

“Why didn’t you call me, then?”

You don’t want to tell him how afraid you are of him finally not answering. Of him finally losing interest. It sounds so pathetic to even think it, let alone say it out loud.

“I’m sorry about your fancy suit,” is all you can say.

He hums, and his tail wraps tighter around your ankle. “It’s a tuxedo. And it can be cleaned.”

“Fancy suit, tuxedo—pretentious, overpriced pieces of fabric,” you tease him.

“My heart is a heathen,” he sighs into your hair. “It’s a tux that matches pretentious, overpriced pieces of fabric that happen to fit your body perfectly.”

“What use do I have for such fabric?” you ask, turning in his arms, lulled by his familiar humor, his still-unexplained tail wrapped around your ankle. You lie on your side, facing him. His ears twitch in your direction.

“There's a ticket to the Linkon City Symphony Orchestra with your name on it. You should note the date in your agenda.”

“What if my agenda is already full? I haven’t heard from you for a week.”

His ears flatten in his hair. “You’d replace me in just a week?”

You hum a little, reaching up to run a finger along one cat ear. He makes a purring sound, deep in his throat, closing his lovely eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace you, even if I wanted to,” you murmur, lost in his presence again, feeling safe now that he’s here again. But the week was long, and you really were afraid he’d left for good, no matter how silly it seems now. “But maybe I thought you had replaced me,”  you admit, marveling at how soft the ear is, how good it feels to caress it between your forefinger and thumb. You want to kiss it, rub your face all over it. You lift your other hand and fondle his other ear.

His tail loosens on your ankle and begins drifting up your bare leg, the fur caressing your skin so gently, until it curls around one thigh and squeezes between your legs, right below where your thighs meet. You shiver at the sensation and forget to pet him for a moment.

“You should have more faith in your pet. Sometimes cats have business in the neighborhood that keeps them away for a few days, but they always come back home.”

“Did your ‘business’ have anything to do with your new accessories?”

He leans, shoving his head against your hands to remind you to keep petting him, and his tail drifts up, up, until it’s nudging between your legs. You gasp softly at the delicious pressure, but have enough presence of mind to keep massaging his ears.

“Yes,” he murmurs, a little breathless. “Like that.” You continue, and he continues teasing you with his tail. It’s not enough. You want more of him.

“How did you get the cat ears and tail, Sy?” you ask, trying to remain focused. 

The tail nudges you a little harder—you can’t help the jerk of your hips which sends you rocking into him, where you’re met with his hard dick under the fabric of his pants. The sensation of his hardness against your front and his tail at your back is almost overwhelming.

“Your fault, kitten. You and that fucking strawberry last week,” he growls again, flexes his hips into yours. “That cat I was petting was unhappy with how roughly I handled it while you cockteased me with your cake,” he gasps as you grind back into him, as you widen your legs to let his tail do whatever it wants, restricted only by your sleep shorts. “The evol kitties cursed me for petting without paying, and for roughing up the cat.”

You can’t help it. Even through the pleasure, you burst out laughing.

“They cursed you with a tail and ears, and that’s why you avoided me all week?” It’s absurd. All that worry, thinking that he’d finally grown bored with you, because he was too, what? Embarrassed? to reveal that he’d been given such adorable attributes. “You mean we could have been doing this all week?” you ask, incredulous, as his tail rubs against your sensitive spots through your shorts, as it nudges you again and again, as Sylus loudly purrs from the pleasure you rubbing his ears and the friction against his big dick is bringing him.

He opens his eyes, half-lidded, lips parted, panting. One of his hands drifts down your back and takes a handful of your ass, pulling, bringing your hips against his cock again. He grinds you on himself, leans forward, licks a swipe up the side of your face.

“The biological markers that were affected by the ears and tail are tied to my own evol—I don’t have my ability to manipulate energy so long as this curse lasts,” he says, breath hitching with the movement of your bodies.

You lean forward, press your forehead against his, share his panting breath. “What does that have to do with not calling me?” you manage, even though all you want to do is rip his pants down, shove down your own shorts, and impale yourself on him.

“Didn’t want you to see me as weak,” he admits. He opens his eyes, looks into yours. He then kisses you with his full lips, soft, slow, in contrast to his tail still nudging you through your shorts at a steady rhythm, teasing, teasing, teasing.

You pull back from his kiss, catch his gaze again. “Even without your evol, you’re still one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” you whisper.

He pauses, his ears flattening again. “Just ‘one of’ the strongest people you've met?”

You laugh. “I know a lot of strong people Sy. And your new bits are cute, just like you.” His tail firmly nudges you again, once, as if to warn you. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you tease him.

He just groans and kisses you again, his tongue slipping between your lips, his big hands moving to shove down your shorts. “I don’t make threats,” he says, low, smug. “I make promises.”

You roll your eyes, but neither of you talk any more after that.

***

Much, much later, after you’re thoroughly fucked out, muscles pleasantly sore, as Sylus purrs beside you in sleep, one arm flung over you, you lie awake thinking about his admission of worrying about being 'weak' in front of you. Of the vulnerability in his questions—why didn’t you call him if you were worried? Would you really replace him within a week? 

You’ve been so wrapped up in your own insecurities, so busy trying to protect yourself from what you think is the inevitable pain of being abandoned, that you’ve never stopped to consider what Sylus may worry about. What his insecurities may be. He has always seemed so larger than life to you, from the very beginning. Invincible. Solitary and strong. But as you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve also had glimpses of his own tender heart, the same tender heart he warns you about having—a liability in his vicious world. The care he shows the twins, who he insists are just his henchmen but clearly love him like family. His meticulous maintenance of Mephisto, whenever the bird needs parts switched out, cleaning, or upgrades. His habit of masking his true feelings by maintaining a look of boredom, as if revealing such feelings is a vulnerability that even those closest to him could exploit. Even his tendency to cheat at kitty cards—his luck is so bad, and he works so hard to compensate for it in the best way that his brutal life has taught him. In the end, Sylus is just a person, like anyone else. Complicated. Layered. Strong and vulnerable, cruel and kind. You’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about him as something you crave, something you adore, as well as something you fear, a threat to your heart. Not always as just a person, with feelings of his own.

Feelings that include feelings for you, specifically. He has never hidden his care for you, not since those first days of knowing him. Even if he looks indifferent, the words coming out of his mouth are always achingly straightforward, and sweet in a way that sounds sarcastic but you have learned is actually simply the unvarnished truth. His actions—his gifts, his texting, calling, physical clinginess when you’re with him—in the quiet dark, with Sylus’s soft snores next to you, his cat ears twitching even in sleep, you realize how utterly unfair you’ve been to him. How one-sided this relationship has been up until now in a lot of ways.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to show him how much you care about him too. How safe he is with you, just as he makes you feel safe whenever you’re together. You recognize that you need to do some work on yourself. That it’s not normal to go through life terrified of being abandoned. That the past does not predict the future. You can’t spend the rest of your relationship with Sylus, no matter how long or short it lasts, punishing him for the pain others have caused you.

You roll over in the dark and pepper his face with soft kisses, each one a silent apology for not calling him this week, when he probably needed to be reassured that you still care for the version of him with ears and a tail and stripped of his god-like abilities. How worried must he still be, moving through the world without such abilities, without his customary armor against a hostile world that wants him caged or dead?

As you lean over him, trailing your lips along his skin, his arms snake around you and pull you closer.

“Tell me what I did to deserve this, so I can do it again,” he says, voice raspy from sleep. His tail wraps around your waist.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” you whisper between kisses.

“A hunter’s trade secret?” You can hear his smile in the dark.

“A lover’s inability to properly articulate that all you have to do is continue being you.”

His tail tightens around you, and its end wildly thwacks your back. “That sounded pretty articulate to me. Your words are honeyed—is there a catch?”

You kiss him on his soft lips. His hands run along your hair, down your back.

“Only one way to find out,” you tease.

“I see you’re done pouting. Do I get any other rewards for just being me?” he asks, sly.

“Only one way to find out,” you repeat, nudging his nose with yours.

“Oh, I like surprises.”

“I know,” you say, because you do know that. You know so much about this man already.

He pauses, catches your gaze. “Keep it a secret, okay?”

Yet again, he’s showing you his weakness. Reminding you that he’s taking a risk by being here with you at all, just like you are risking your heart, and everything else, by being here with him. “Your secrets are safe with me, Sy.”

He holds you tighter in response, and you fall asleep in his arms. You don’t dream about anything at all.

***

In the morning, after you’ve made him coffee, after you’ve eaten breakfast and you’ve lounged on the couch with him, watching something stupid on tv while he browses online auctions, you tell him about your Snowy Owl mission. He’s heard of this person, but they’re not colleagues or rivals, moving in different circles. But he knows where to locate them, and you form a plan, inspired by Snowy Owl’s interest in modified wanderers and humans, and Sylus’s twitching ears.

“You want me to act as your catboy butler.” He says it flatly. “Boring.”

You nod. “And I’ll be your owner, willing to sell you to the highest bidder.”

His ears flatten against his hair, despite his bored expression, and his tail whips back and forth, back and forth, slowly. He really hates the idea.

“Do you have a better plan?” you ask.

“Better than you selling me off to someone else? I can think of a few. A carefully placed bomb on the cruise ship, for one.” At your look of discomfort, he continues. “You don’t even have to come. Just check off the mission as accomplished on your little Association to-do list.”

You scowl at him. “I’m supposed to bring Snowy Owl in, not assassinate them.”

“Boring,” he repeats.

“I’m not actually selling you to anyone, Sy. I just need a small distraction, much smaller than a bomb,” you cut him off as he opens his mouth. “While I plant a tracking device with them, once we pinpoint who they are.”

He leans over, rubs his cheek against yours. “What’s my reward for considering this utterly boring plan?” He drags your hand to the base of his tail.

You take the hint, grasping his tail firmly, and he groans. You pull a little, and he lets you, rolling onto his stomach on the couch. You straddle the back of his big, meaty thighs and begin palming his tail, starting at the base where it meets the skin of his lower back, circling your thumb and forefinger around it even though it’s thick enough that your fingers don’t meet. You pull, and pet, over and over again, and his purrs are so loud they start to vibrate the couch.

“Say yes,” you demand. “Put that tux and your new parts to good use before the concert.”

“Fine,” he gasps, as his hips jerk a little, pressing himself into the couch.

“Excellent!” You spring to your feet, heading to the shower. There’s not a moment to waste if you’re going to get this mission over with before his tail and ears disappear.

“Stingy!” he yowls. Literally yowls, like a big tomcat thwarted in his attempt at mating by a mean owner yanking him into the house from the alley where his would-be mate was waiting.

“Consider that the down payment. Upon delivery of your promise, you’ll get the rest,” you say in a sing-song voice, just to further annoy him.

“I want double!” he yowls again, but anything else he might be whining about is cut off when you let the bathroom door close behind you.

***

Sylus has been impeccable for the duration of your agreed-upon mission. Poised, elegant, obedient. He has tolerated you treating him like an object to be admired and dismissed on a whim, even when people approached you not just to express interest in your catboy butler up for bidding, but also when they showed interest in getting to know the mysterious owner of said catboy butler more intimately.

The only indication that he was perhaps not entirely pleased with his code name was a flick of his cat ears and one hard thwack of his tail against the rail of the cruise ship when you first said, “Please fetch me more of the strata, Mister Whiskers,” in front of the other guests on the dining deck.

Furthermore, he only tried to attack and eat one person’s pet parrot, and he dropped the seagulls he kept catching at each ordered “Drop it, Mister Whiskers!” from you every time.

All in all, you think that you’re having a harder time than he is. High tea is over, seagulls have been caught and released, and you’ve already collected a number of business cards and varying degrees of subtle invitations to further discuss your catboy butler. You’ve navigated each diplomatically, and are rather proud of yourself, but your own patience is wearing thin as you stand at a luxurious bar in a small lounge on one of the upper decks of the cruise ship. The floor to ceiling windows give a lovely view of the blood-red sunset over the water—it reminds you of Sylus’s eyes. The evening, and therefore the black market trading, is about to begin in earnest. You’re waiting for a mocktail—you’re on the job, and you are a professional after all—when yet another person sidles up to you. Sylus, who has been standing at a respectable distance from you at relaxed attention, hands crossed behind his back, looking coolly over the people scattered at elegant standing tables, ears swiveling at constant alert, looks toward the newcomer, but he makes no move to come closer to you. It occurs to you that one of the reasons you are feeling increasingly off-kilter is that you are so used to Sylus touching you, draping himself over you, maintaining at least a sliver of contact at all times, that this respectful distance makes you feel like he’s standing on the other side of a great canyon.

You turn to the person who is trying to join you at the bar. He’s handsome. Tall, muscular. Dressed nicely, with subtle style. Nothing like your boyfriend’s flashy jeweled necklaces and bold colors. His blue eyes are startling in contrast to his black hair.

“Hi,” he says, smiling a little ruefully, like he wanted to open with something better, but this is all he could think of. He knows that he’s handsome and can skate by on the bare minimum.

You smile faintly back at him, despite wishing Sylus would come closer. “Hi,” you say. You’re not going to do all the work, dammit. This guy wants something from you, not the other way around.

“You’ve caused quite a stir tonight with your… companion,” he says, dark eyebrows lifting, gaze darting to Sylus and back to you again. “It’s made for more entertainment than usual on nights like these.”

You lift an eyebrow in response. “Oh? How so?”

“Watching the sharks circling and getting into tussles about who will ultimately have your pet.”

Your stomach twists at hearing someone other than Sylus calling him a pet. He’s not your pet. He’s your partner. He’s a whole person—a complicated, vicious, funny, cruel, gentle man. You suddenly hate the appraising look this asshole is giving him. But you’re a professional, damn it. You smile wider, going for seductive, amused, haughty.

“No need to tussle,” you tilt your head. “It’s simple. Offer the highest bid, and congratulations, you’re the owner of a new, obedient, exotic pet.”

The fuckhead eyeing Sylus chuckles heartily, as if what you said isn’t disgusting but the height of rich-asshole humor.

“I like the idea of owning the obedience of such a big, powerful creature. Is he willing to do anything you ask?”

The way his gaze keeps flicking to Sylus, as if he can’t help himself, makes you want to remove his eyes with one of your knives and wear them as a warning to anyone else who dares look at Sylus with such depraved, cruel desire.

“Place the winning bid and maybe you’ll find out,” you say coyly, somehow controlling your homicidal urges. Barely.

“Something to consider.” He shakes his head, as if trying to break the spell Sylus seems to have over him. “In any case, after a while, all these events start blurring together. May I buy you a drink, to thank you for dumping new blood in the water?”

This guy is the pinnacle of rich guy ennui. He probably would enjoy dog fights or hunting other people for sport, anything to break through his privileged, seen-it-all, can-buy-it-all numbness. Despite sharing the same status of filthy rich elite, this piece of shit is everything that Sylus isn’t. You want to hunt him for sport. Your nerves are fraying, and it’s getting harder and harder to maintain your composure.

“Shame, I just ordered a drink.”

He leans closer, invades your space.

“Why not indulge? You can have two drinks. And after, perhaps you’d like to show me just what your cat can do… a sort of preview, if you will.” He leans even closer, tilts his head as if a new thought has just occurred to him. “Is there perhaps a possibility of bidding for the pair, instead of just the butler?”

You realize that he’s propositioning you as well as your catboy butler, but the fury you feel at the idea of using Sylus for this fuckhead’s viewing pleasure overrides even your indignation at the insinuation that you, too, are for sale.

Suddenly Sylus’s warmth is at your back and the effect is immediate. Your murderous rage settles inside of you. You turn to him, lift an eyebrow like the imperious owner you’re supposed to be, slightly irritated at your servant’s interruption of… whatever this asshole at the bar thinks he’s getting away with. “Speak,” you command, imitating the most imperious man you know. Sylus, as he has done the entire duration of your appearance in public on this ship, does not react at all to your obvious inside joke.

“My owner,” he purrs deferentially, dipping his head. “You asked that I escort you back to your cabin at 21:00 in order to properly prepare for the bidding.”

The asshole’s gaze drifts from Sylus to you and back again. “A possessive cat, I see. What will he do, when his owner abandons him to another?”

You shrug, as if you don’t want to pull this guy’s tongue out of his mouth and garrotte him with it.

“As I said, buy him and find out,” you breathe through the nausea, trying desperately to stay in character—you are the same ilk as this guy, here to pawn your broken, loyal manservant onto anyone who can afford him. “But he’s right. Thank you for the interesting … offer, but the auction is about to begin. Tick tock, tick tock.”

“You’re a very good salesperson,” he smirks, as if pleased with the idea of depriving Sylus of his beloved owner and seeing if he can bend him to his will. You can’t see why you ever thought him handsome at all. “A raincheck, then, on the drink, and perhaps your own company.”

You just lower your head slightly, barely suppressing the urge to put this man on the ground and punch his smug smile until he is permanently unrecognizable, and the intensity of your renewed desire to hurt him for daring to even look at Sylus has you reaching for Sylus’s arm for support. He tucks your hand into his elbow and leads you out of the lounge.

When you finally reach your first class cabin on this pretentious floating black market, however, you see the strain that his flawless behavior has placed on your miscreant boyfriend.

As soon as the door closes behind you, he growls, deep in his throat, and spins, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you more roughly than usual through the elegant sitting room—the place looks like the interior designer was trying to recreate the staterooms of the Titanic—to the bedroom. Without letting go of your wrist, he yanks the scarlet velvet duvet and crisp white sheets from the bed and dumps them on the floor. The ocean glitters under the bright moonlight outside the bedroom’s window, the salt scent strong. The bed successfully stripped, Sylus now tries to jerk you onto the mattress, but you dig your heels into the plush carpet, feet dragging because despite your own strength, you can’t match his. You jerk your wrist from his grasp and whirl on him. You are willing to die for him, but you aren’t going to let him manhandle you like this.

“What is wrong with you?” you demand, rubbing your wrist.

“If I still had my evol, you’d be on the bed.” His voice is still calm, but his tail flicks angrily.

“If you still had your evol, I hope you wouldn’t use it on me when you’re this upset,” you glare at him.

He doesn’t respond, just begins to pace. Around the bed. Back into the sitting room. He veers into the bathroom and then returns to the bedroom. The anxious energy he’s giving off is palpable—you’ve never seen him this agitated in the entire time you’ve known him.

The longer he’s quiet, the more concerned you become. 

“Sylus?” you ask, softly. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m Sylus again? Not Mister fucking Whiskers?”

You stare at him. Your boyfriend, who is always up for teasing pet names and playful banter, is looking at you like he’s genuinely angry about the silly code name.

“Sylus—?”

His tail is thrashing back and forth as he continues to pace, ears flat against his hair. “Are you sure you’re interested in hearing how Mister Whiskers is doing now? You didn’t seem to be too interested when you were being fawned over by your suitors.”

You stare at him. At the tension he’s holding in his body, the wild movements of his tail.

“Sylus—”

“This was a boring plan to begin with, and now it’s even less interesting. You already have a mountain of gifts from my bidders—leave. Go through them to see if Snowy Owl has taken the bait so we can get this charade over with,” he snaps, effectively dismissing you. He sits on the side of the bed and puts his head in his hands.

With each harsh word, you feel your insides folding in on themselves. He hasn’t spoken to you like this since he held you captive when you first met. He promised he’d never treat you like that again, but you realize he never promised to never speak to you like that again.

Normally, how he’s talking to you—if it were any other person, you’d be out the door. Gone, ghosted. You speak to yourself cruelly enough every day in your own head, you don’t need that shit from other people. You’re even more shocked that it’s coming from Sylus, of all people. The Sylus who has cared for you so patiently, through all the time you’ve been together since that first auction. Who kills with his bare hands, but touches you with those same hands as if you’re made of glass. Until tonight.

You are tempted to run as the betrayal, confusion, and fear of the inevitable end course through you. To just stuff the gifts waiting for you on the sitting room’s coffee table into one of the big duffels you brought, move to another room, and wing the rest of the operation without Sylus. You can pose as a fucking waiter once you figure out Snowy Owl’s identity. You don’t need him for this mission. And you don’t need him in your fucking life, if this is his true self.

As you’re almost to the door leading to the hallway, reaching for the handle, you suddenly remember your promise to yourself, just a few nights ago—the night Sylus came to your place and you learned why he had gone silent for a whole week.

Your resolution that you wouldn’t give in to your fear at his expense anymore, that you would show him you care for him, just as he has done so for you through all of your time together. Even when he witnessed your worst moments, he did not walk away from you. He stayed, even as you pushed him away.

You think about how he was afraid for you to see him stripped of his power, as if you’d ever think him weak, and think less of him for something outside of his control. If I still had my evol, you’d be on the bed. How unnerving must it be for him to be in this shark’s tank without his ability to protect himself beyond his own body? It suddenly occurs to you that if he gets injured while his power is suppressed, he won’t heal like he normally does. The idea that he could get seriously hurt while here, helping you on a mission that has nothing to do with him, hurts a hundred times worse than the words he just snapped at you.

Weren’t you just furious with that fuck from the cocktail lounge for talking about Sylus like he was an object, instead of a person? Sylus is a human being. He’s not a god. He’s not perfect. He’s just a complicated man, a complicated man who hurt you with his harsh words tonight, but who has steadfastly shown how much he cares for you in the best way he knows how. Who could be expected to act normally, to be their best self, if one were to find oneself fundamentally changed, stripped of a lifetime of skill and ability, experiencing strange new urges, and to top it all off, thrown into a dangerous situation? 

You turn and walk back through the sitting room, to the bedroom where he’s sitting, head still in his hands. You stand in front of him.

“Sylus.”

He doesn’t respond. You reach out, gently grip his chin, and lift his face.

He lets you, docile. His cat ears are drooping.

“Tell me,” you order.

He refuses to look at you. His tail swishes petulantly behind him. 

“Tell. Me.” You tighten your hold on his jaw.

His eyes flick to yours, but he keeps his face turned away. “Caracal’s hate water.”

You gaze into his beautiful eyes, fire-lit gems. “And a caracal is the type of cat that you’ve partly mutated into?”

He nods, just a little movement of his head.

“And I brought you onto a boat, surrounded by water.”

He finally turns his head to face  you, gazing at you but not responding.

“What else?” You relax your hold on his jaw, moving your palm to cup his cheek and bring up your other hand into his hair, running your fingers through the soft strands.

“Each person who shook your hand, who handed you their business card, who leaned too close to you… their stench is all over you.”

You run your fingers through his hair until you reach one of his cat ears and gently begin to rub it. He closes his eyes and he leans into your touch.

“What else?”

“If this plan goes sideways, I won’t be able to protect you.”

With each admission, his shoulders relax. His face softens. But there’s still something bothering him. You search his beautiful face. His tail flicks, flicks, flicks.

“What else, Sy?” You lean down, rest your cheek against his soft hair. His ears are velvet against your skin.

He reaches out and clasps the backs of your thighs to pull you closer to him and rests his forehead against your chest. “Even if it’s just for the mission, are you really okay with letting someone else have me?”

It takes you a moment, but when you realize what he’s saying, you’re floored. 

Sylus has spent the whole evening watching you laugh off multiple peoples’ offers to take over ownership of your catboy butler. He watched you tell that little bitch at the bar, more than once, to buy Sylus to find out how obedient he is, how he’ll react to being parted from his beloved owner. Each time, you responded in character, like the idea didn’t bother you at all. Because that’s what the mission required. 

You realize that this entire ordeal has made him insecure. He wants you to be jealous. He wants you to be possessive of him. The thought never once crossed your mind that he would be bothered by the cover you planned for this mission. He is always so self-assured, only hinting at flashes of jealousy in playful, dismissive terms. And yet he doesn’t want you to be okay with the idea of him being possessed by another, no matter how briefly, no matter how falsely.

You continue to pet him as you let everything he just admitted sink in. The water, other peoples’ scents on your body, his lack of power at the moment, your lack of jealousy at the mere idea that another would have him.

After all the times Sylus has comforted you, cared for you, solved problems for you, it’s now your turn to do the same for him.

You drop your hands and he looks back up at you with such raw longing that you almost can’t step away. But you must.

“Would you like to abort the mission?”

He looks at you in confusion. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your job.”

You smile down at him helplessly. “Don’t you realize by now that you’re more important to me than my job?”

He sucks in a breath.

“How else could I be with the most wanted man on the planet?”

“The only reason I have been able to repress my instincts through this whole shitshow is reminding myself how important this mission is to you,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

“Your instincts?”

“You have no idea,” he says through clenched teeth. His tail is violently flicking again. You can’t bear to see him so distressed.

“Yes or no. Forget what you think I want. If it’s too much, we leave right now.”

Eyes still closed, ears still flattened to his head, he shakes his head no.

“Okay.” You turn, but he reaches out and grabs your wrist to stop you leaving. You put your hand over his. “Since I can’t remove the ship from the water, I’m just closing the window and the curtains so you don’t have to see it.”

He reluctantly releases your wrist. You do as you promised, and when you’re done you return to stand between his legs.

“What do you need to do about how I smell?”

You don’t have to repeat yourself. He grasps your wrist again, pulling your closer. He grabs the hem of your outfit and pulls, tugging it over your head, lifting your legs one by one to tear off your shoes, tossing everything into the farthest corner of the room, until you’re standing in front of him in your underwear. He then pulls you down onto the bed with him, rolling you under him. He presses his face into your neck and rubs, rubs, his tail wagging behind him, his ears brushing against your skin again, their softness making you want to grab them and pull, pull, the cuteness aggression difficult to contain. You satisfy yourself by running your hands through his hair, gripping slightly, tugging, releasing.

As he rubs his cheeks all over you, he pauses to lick your skin, runs his hands along your shoulders, your arms, your waist.

After a long time, his manic movements slow and he inhales deeply. “You have no idea how hard it was to resist the urge to piss on your shoes while you were talking to that bastard in the cocktail lounge.”

You freeze. “Piss… on my shoes?”

“Didn’t you know? Cats urinate to mark their territory,” he licks your skin again, purrs. “And you’re my territory, sweetheart.”

You don’t even know how to feel about his admission. “Well… I might be willing to die for you, but I draw the line at letting you pee on me. So thank you, for not giving in to your caracal urges.”

He pauses, lifts his head. “Don’t fucking say you’ll die, ever again,” he growls. “I forbid it.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly. You decide it’s not a good time to point out that you will, in fact, someday die. Probably sooner than the average human, with your job. So you just say “Okay.”

He looks mollified and his tail begins to swish playfully again. “So that’s a no on watersports, in the future?”

You scowl at him. “Just try to piss on me and see what happens.”

“That sounds like a challenge. And you know that’s like catnip to this big cat. Are you sure you aren’t actually interested in golden showers?”

All you can do is laugh, and pull him down to you, and kiss him so he’ll shut the fuck up about peeing on you.

After a few minutes of mauling him, you groan and pull away.

“If we don’t want this entire thing to be a waste, we need to check the contacts we made today and finish the mission before the auction is over.”

He rests his head against your shoulder. “I know, but I don’t want to get off you. No one can hurt you as long as you’re under me,” he grumbles.

You stare at the ceiling and run your hands through his hair again, fondling his cat ears. “I survived before I met you, because I’m a fucking badass. I’m strong enough for the both of us, especially for a covert mission like this. We go through the business cards and gifts, pinpoint Snowy Owl’s room, you distract them for ten minutes while I plant surveillance, we get the fuck out before the auction’s over.”

“You and I both know how quickly plans get fucked,” he murmurs into your skin.

“And you and I both know that I am skilled enough to unfuck it. And with you here, even without your evol, it’s going to be okay.”

His tail lifts, curls up your leg.

“Fine.” He rolls off of you reluctantly, and you immediately miss his weight. “But the reward for going along with your plan is now tripled.”

“You can have anything you want, when this is over,” you promise, sliding off the bed and gathering your clothes from the floor.

“Even a golden shower?”

You throw your shoe at him. He just catches it and laughs, relaxed again.

After you’re dressed, the two of you tear into the gifts people sent hoping to gain your favor and therefore an advantage in the auction for your catboy butler. Sylus, the spoiled creature that he is, tosses multiple priceless trinkets aside like they’re trash, complaining about being bored out of his mind. However, he bats at a feathered butt plug before realizing what he’s doing and then tosses it as well. The only other thing he expresses even a passing interest in is a little spray can with DOCTOR SLEEPYTIME printed on the side, with the caption reading, “A stalker’s new best friend! Never worry about your target waking up too early again! Ten fewer side effects than chloroform!” You squint at it. The legal disclaimers are a solid block of text underneath the caption. Apparently, one of the side effects that it still shares with chloroform is death. You don’t comment when you see Sylus slip it into the breast pocket of his tux, not even wanting to know what he has planned for it. Finally, you open a small box and realize that the weird little thing inside matches the description the Association provided you of Snowy Owl’s calling card.

“Got you,” you whisper triumphantly, pawing through the packaging to figure out which room it came from.

Sylus stands, prepared to play his part in this little ruse, but you stop him before he opens the door. “Wait a second,” you say, running to the bedroom, throwing open your luggage in the cabin’s closet, and pulling out what you had hastily prepared in anticipation of this mission.

You return to Sylus with the item hidden behind your back.

“You asked if I’m really okay with the idea of sending you to someone else.”

He just watches you in silence, ears twitching in curiosity, tail swishing behind him.

“Of course I’m not. You don’t know how badly I wanted to slit that fucker’s throat who talked about you like you’re not even a person. I feel sick at the idea of anyone else looking at you with anything less than respect and admiration, let alone as some kind of object to be owned. I can’t even stand the thought that I own you. You are wholly your own person, and I’m just happy that you want me by your side, and allow me to adore you.”

His tail swishes faster the longer you speak, but stills at your last sentence. “But you do own me. Body and soul.”

You swallow through the thickness in your throat. You’re not going to cry at his absurd, devoted answer.

“Then perhaps you will do me the honor of wearing this while we’re apart.” You show him the soft black leather collar. “It can only be placed on you, and taken off you, by a person whose pheromones match those of your owner. Your true owner.”

“So this was your trump card,” he murmurs, tail thwacking against the door so hard that the door vibrates.

You shrug. “You don’t have to wear it.”

He flattens his ears against his head. “Nonsense. Put it on me,” he commands imperiously.

You try to hide your smile, but probably fail. “In that case, I hope it will remind you that I am definitely not okay with sending you to someone else. But none of this is real, and when we’re off this boat, I’m never going to ask you to do something like this again.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around your wrist. “How many times must we go over this? You can ask anything of me.”

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I want to.”

Without waiting for his answer, you unclasp the collar and lift onto your tiptoes to thread it around his neck. He growls softly, in annoyance or exasperation, and sinks to his knees in front of you.

As always when Sylus kneels before you, you’re overcome with a sense of wrongness. But he seems to want to give this to you, to drive home the point that anything he has is yours for the taking. You can’t find it in yourself to refuse him by insisting that you could have reached his neck just fine without him having to kneel.

You lay the collar against his neck, thread the end through the buckle, and tighten it. His eyes are half-lidded, the glow of his irises spilling from between his eyelashes. He seems to be enjoying this so much that you tighten it just a little bit beyond what is necessary, just to see his reaction. He lets out a pathetic little gasp, and you loosen it, worried you’ve hurt him. But his chest expands and his ears droop, almost as if he’s disappointed. So you tighten it again. “Yes,” he breathes. 

You stand there, with this gorgeous, half-feral man at your feet, fingering the pendant of the collar. You couldn’t afford the platinum that you think Sylus deserves, so silver had to do. But you did splurge a little to have your initials engraved on the inner side of the pendant, so that it’s pressed against his skin where no one else can see it. Your little secret against his pulse.

“We need to get moving, Sy,” you whisper, regretfully.

He rises gracefully to his feet.

“If you want it taken off, just ask.”

He gives you a disdainful look, his only response a tsking sound on his tongue. He leans down, kisses you, once, hard, and then straightens. He turns, throws open the door, and disappears down the hallway.

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. When you arrive at Snowy Owl’s door, you pick the lock easily, slip into the empty room, leave a variety of tracking devices in their possessions, and slip out again unseen.

You return to your room, prepared to wait for Sylus, trying to suppress the worry that he’ll have to put up with yet another handsy asshole all because he doesn't want to jeopardize your mission.

However, when you open the door, you find your big, beautiful cat already lounging on one of the sitting room’s ornate love seats, examining his nails and humming leisurely.

At his feet is the asshole from the cocktail lounge,  bound, gagged, and clearly roughed up, his bloody nose dripping into the fabric of his mouth gag.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you ask.

Sylus rolls his head to look at you, lovely eyes glowing in the light of the tiffany lamps on the tables on either side of the love seat.

“I brought a gift for my owner,” he says, ears twitching between you and the asshole who started to struggle at your entrance, making little pleading whimpering noises. “I could tell how much you hated this waste of oxygen the whole time you had to endure his attention at the bar.”

“A… gift?” you repeat.

“You have no idea the self control it took to suppress the instinct to bring him to you as a corpse, as nature intended, when I was done playing with him. But I assumed that would make my owner mad,” he says languidly, but his tail is flicking in agitation.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, trying to process this… gift. “And Snowy Owl?”

“Passed out in a janitor’s closet in the ship’s casino,” he shrugs. “Doctor Sleepytime is true to its claims. A great improvement over chloroform,” he drawls. “I’ll have to leave a good review on their website.”

Relief floods through you. You’re done. The mission is almost complete. All that’s left is to get the fuck off this floating cesspool.

“Thank you,” you murmur. But you’re still left with the problem of what to do with Sylus’s ‘gift.’ “But Sy, what the fuck am I supposed to with… this.” You can’t help but sneer a little at the asshole still struggling on the ground.

“Whatever you want, my heart,” Sylus responds. “He’s wanted in Linkon City by at least three different agencies. But we could just dump him over the railing and be done with it. In fact, I’d prefer that,” he says, perking up.

You march over to him and slip a finger under his collar.

“No! Bad kitty,” you scold, pulling a little on the leather, intending to simply tease him for his outrageous suggestion.

Sylus just gasps, eyes going half lidded again. You stop in surprise at the clear pleasure your rough treatment is causing him, but he wraps his hand around your wrist and moves your hand again, tightening the collar against his neck once more.

“If I’m a bad kitty, you better keep a tight hold on me to make sure I don’t drag home any other unwelcome surprises,” he says, voice low and rough.

“Oh?” You marvel at how lovely he looks, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open, breathing hard. “Maybe my bad kitty needs to be punished, so he stops suggesting I murder wanted criminals instead of bringing them to justice like a professional.”

The man on the floor who is forced to witness this flirtation struggles harder, his whimpers ranging from disgusted to terrified. You ignore him.

“Oh nooo,” Sylus says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he narrows his eyes. “You better make good on your promise. Or are you just full of empty threats?”

You lean down and press the heel of your hand onto his hard cock straining against his zipper, hard. He moans, eyelashes fluttering.

“Get us to the getaway boat without causing a scene and you’ll find out what I’m full of. Or what I’m about to be full of, if you’re a good kitty for me,” you breathe into his ear.

The man on the floor gags a little.

Sylus stands, lifting you in one arm, grabbing a full duffel bag you hadn’t noticed with the other.

“What’s that?”

“Your bad kitty helped himself to a cat treat,” he purrs.

“What kind of souvenir?”

“The loud, prone-to-exploding-if-you-shake-it-too-hard-kind.” He grins at you, canines flashing.

You can’t help yourself. You burst out laughing.

It may have started with trouncing your crimelord boyfriend at kitty cards, but it ended with you learning how to better care for your catboy boyfriend. It also ended with the arrest of both Snowy Owl and the poor bastard who had to listen to you 'punish' said boyfriend from inside the duffel bag that he was stuffed in after Sylus cut the engine of the getaway boat halfway to your destination, too impatient to wait till you both got home to claim part of his reward for being such a good, good kitty.

[trendywaifus]

don’t you love it when they run? ( also im revamping my masterlist. ) you and black swan record for her onlyfans video cw: gn! reader with a dick/strap, rough sex, manhandling, teasing, cursing, overstimulation, top! reader, bottom! black swan, spanking, pet names, restraints

one of the favorite things that black swan’s shameless subscribers love to see is a majestic woman with a guarded aura get put in her place. why not give the audience what they desire while she orchestrates savory memories and have her fun?

the memokeeper’s legs dangles off the ends of the bed, rivers of tousled, pale purple hair splayed out across the sheets as you fuck her into the mattress. your body is flushed against hers, sweaty bare skin sliding over the other as your hips roughly slaps her ass at a rapid pace. black swan feels hot and lightheaded but the controlled smile on her countenance never leaves her subtle, trembling peach lips.

“ st-still want to smile while i’m fucking you like this? ” you groan, nails digging into her love handles, repeatedly fucking your lengthy cock into her. a few moans leaves the woman’s mouth before she taunts you in a teasing whisper, “ a-are you implying that i shouldn’t be right now?” she tries to hide the quiver in her low voice to gain some semblance of control despite the position she’s in right now. you slow your pace and prop yourself up on your forearms to cast her an annoyed look.

“ do you really want to act like this in front of the camera, ‘swan? “ you ask low enough so the audio can barely pick up on your voice. her eyelids lowers, sunset eyes twinkles with a glint of mischief as the corner of her mouth curls into a small smirk. “ my dear, “ she drawls, her breath hitching ever so slightly as your shaft deliciously drag along her walls. “ i’m not quite sure what you’re directing at.” why is she trying to act like a brat?

with the roll of your eyes, your fingers wrap around her throat and slightly squeezed as you kissed her. the soft vibration of her hum tickles the tips of your fingertips. “ i’ll fuck you dumb. “

“ hm. do your worst, if you can— “

black swan’s words were cut short as you abruptly removed yourself off of her and wildly flipped her on her stomach with admirable strength. a silent gasp forces its way out of her lungs when she feels your entire body weigh on top of her. your hot, heavy breath wafts against the shell of her ear. “ i wonder. .” your fingers drum thoughtfully against her hip bones, “ if i can trick your ‘body’ into thinking what you’ll be feeling is naturally physical? “ a shiver runs down her spine at your breathless speculation.

black swan gasps, but this time, it’s loud and strained as your palm meanly comes in contact with her plush ass. you stand upright, yank her hips down until they’re barely off the bed, forcing her feet to touch the carpet floor. your digits curl around her wrists and wind them behind her back, bounding them in place. black swan lets out an airy chuckle, “ restraining me, my dear? you think i’ll run? “ she asks with raised brows. if she can, she’d crane her neck and give you a mocking smile masked as a patient one.

“ all you have to do is keep your feet on the floor and you’ll see why, gorgeous. “

your cock teases the memokeeper’s leaking slit, circling and rubbing against it until you hear soft huffs and puffs of frustration from her. before she can open her mouth to aim a retort at you, you slam yourself inside of her. “ o-oh! “ she moans. your thick shaft stretches her out and you don’t give her time to adjust when you snap your hips backward and forward all over again. from this position, she can practically feel everything, even in her legs. the prominent vein grazes a sweet spot causes black swan to dig her teeth into her fleshy bottom lip.

her slick walls clenches around you as she hears the sloppy squelching sounds of her dripping hole repeatedly taking your cock. your pace is consistent but not as fast as it was before—yet, her legs was already grow weak. “ hhngh. .” black swan can’t help but let out drawn out broken moans. you chuckle when you feel her knees buckle and twitch. “ you feel that already, baby? where’s your quips at, hmm? “

a breathy grunt claws out from her throat. god, she sounds so ethereal, you want more but for now you’ll take the chance to bully her. “ mind you, i’m not even going fast yet. “ you remark, watching her body jerk forward when you firmly thrust back into her again, pieces of her silky hair slides off from the gentle curve of her back. “ do your worst, she says.” you mock her, letting out another chuckle, rutting your hips into her. “ and i’m not even doing my best. “

“ y-you talk too much. .! “ she snaps, rare annoyance weighing with her wobbly voice.

“ and you really shouldn’t be talking at all—here, i’ll give you and what our viewers want. “ you pick up the rhythm, matching the fast beat of black swan’s ‘heart’.

“ a-ah! mmphhhh! ” a choked half-scream escapes from black swan’s panting chest, her feet struggling to stay still on the floor because of your relentless thrusts. again, she feels it—she feels your girthy length deeply kissing at her g-spot, filling her up to the brim each time without stopping. her nails digs into her clenched fists until her knuckles are ivory white.

“ now i know you can really this one, baby. “

her slick created a slippery mess all over your cock and groin and a sticky sound of your skin smacking into hers. black swan feels the hotness swelling in her belly as her head spins. you release one of her wrists to slap her ass again, eliciting a strained groan. she instinctively squeezes her pulsating walls around you once more. “ you’re free to cum whenever you want, i’m still going to fuck you silly after. “

she wants to bite back, to give you even a sliver of illusion that she’s still put together. but, her mind is jumbled, cloudy with lustful thoughts; it’s as if her tongue was tied into a knot too. the urge to release grows strong by the second from the grueling moment of your hips. her knees bends in and the only things that’s keeping her from collapsing is you hoisting her up with your body. black swan swears if she gaze upwards through her blurry vision, she can see constellations.

from one more aimed thrust, sunset eyes rolls to the back of black swan’s head and thick creamy fluids gushes out from her stuffed hole. “ theeere she goes. come on, give it to me, beautiful—let it alll out.” a bead of sweat drips down your brow and with tired hips, you still continue to fuck into her while she rides her high, camera long forgotten. a strangled moan leaves her drooling lips. with her freed hand, she grips at the sheets, twisting and turning the silk fabric to endure the intense amounts of pleasure crashing into her body like wild waves on a stormy night.

“ that’s right, baby—take it. “ black swan hears you hiss and then not even bothering to hide your moan right after. you feel so raw inside of her, it’s starting to finally make her go dumb and hyper sensitive. she wants, no, needs this moment to be engraved in her memory. you’re so utterly addicting, it’s driving her crazy.

series of broken moans leaves black swan’s body as your fat cock rubs against her sloppy, overstimulated walls. the mushroom head hits an abused, spongy spot inside her pussy which leaves the usually composed woman pathetically attempting to move away from your thrusts by clawing up the sheets with her freed hand and the balls of her heels.

“ aht. aht. “ you tut, planting your upper body on top of her back, stopping her with your weight. you grasp black swan’s jaw and maneuvered her head to face you enough to see the dazed expression on her beautiful features. “ aren’t you a little too graceful to be running? stay and gimme a kiss, sweetheart. .“

[moonstruckme]

hey mae this is purely self indulgent (bc i think i just got the worst haircut of my life) but would you write a drabble where steve comforts reader who got a bad haircut? totally understand if this isn’t something you’d write but thank u either way <33

Oh no! I'm sorry lovely, I hope it wasn't as bad as you originally thought and either way, it'll grow back <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 578 words

“You can’t wear that all the time.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says Indiana.” Steve sets a hand on top of your hat. Your own flies up to cover it, worried he’s going to take your hat off, but he doesn’t. “It’s seventy degrees out, and it’s gonna be for weeks. You’re gonna melt in there.” 

“Good thing your place has air conditioning.” Steve gives you a look, but you’re not about to admit that even in his cool basement your scalp is starting to itch from the heat. You sigh. “It’s fine. It’s worth it to me.” 

“Let me see.” 

You clamp your hand harder on top of your head. “No.” 

“Come on,” Steve laughs. “I’m picturing the worst thing I can imagine, and it’s only bringing you down from a ten to an eight. It can’t be that bad.” 

“I don’t appreciate you evaluating me in numerical terms.” 

“Are you really telling me that if I dropped below a nine we’d still be dating?” 

You know he’s joking, but you give him a hard look anyway. Steve smiles with one side of his mouth. 

“Come on,” he says again, gentler now. His fingers curl in the material of your hat. Your face heats, but you allow him to ease it off your head, smoothing down self-consciously the hair beneath. 

Steve looks at you for a second. His expression is frustratingly difficult to read, not horrified or happy but not necessarily anything in between, either. He just looks thoughtful. 

“I don’t get why you were so nervous,” he says finally. 

“Steve,” you plead, “don’t lie to me.” 

“No, honest. I mean, it’s not your best look—” 

“I know that!” 

“—but it’s not as bad as you were acting like it was. You’re not, like, hideous.” 

“Oh, thank you.” You cover your face with your hands, anxious laughter bubbling to the surface. “I’m glad to be not hideous.” 

“Shut up.” Steve bumps his knee into yours. His hands wrap around your wrists, not pulling but there. “That’s not what I meant. You just acted like I was going to think you weren’t pretty, and I mean, that didn’t seem super possible to me, but you were so nervous you almost convinced me. But you’re still pretty. I think I was right, nothing can change that.” 

When you don’t reply, he laughs, giving your wrists a little shake. “I’m serious. I mean, I’m not just dating you for your looks, I’m not that shallow, but you’d be hot even if you were bald. It doesn’t matter.” 

You peek at him. “You think I should go bald?” 

“If you want to,” Steve says easily. “It could be cool. Don’t tell Robin unless you’re sure, though. She’d love to shave your head. She’s been trying to get me to do a buzz cut every summer since I met her.” 

“I don’t think you should shave your head,” you say meekly. 

“Yeah, me neither. But would you still like me if I did?” 

You nod. Steve grins, pulling you towards him for a kiss. “There you go, then. It doesn’t change anything.” 

Your face still feels hot, but now it’s a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure, Steve’s eyes on you unmistakably adoring despite your botched haircut. 

He picks up your hat. “Let’s get rid of this, ‘kay?” Tosses it into a corner. “I mean, I like you with the hat, too, but I like you the most when you’re not…”

You smile. “Sweaty?” 

“Boiling yourself.”

[pupkashi]

boyfriend!yuta headcanons

a/n: i have been having major yuta brainrot as of late ,, here u guys go ! i hope these are too badly ooc seeing as though I’ve only written for him a couple times ! they’re a bit all over the place so plz lmk what y’all think :3

wordcount: 1,183

masterlist

first things first this boy is an absolute nervous wreck anytime he’s around you before he asks you out, I’m talking stuttering and fumbling over his words, looking anywhere but you, trying his best to not embarrass himself (he inevitably does poor guy)

asks you out when it’s just the two of you, on a picnic or watching a movie, his palms are sweaty because what if he just hallucinated you saying you liked him back and this is a big mistake??

okok this boy would definitely wear those ‘i love my s/o’ shirts, starts off as a joke, then wears it unironically because yeah, he does love you, what about it??

the biggest simp in the world yall, does anything you want him to, buys you whatever you want whenever you want it, you tell him jump he’s asking how high while already jumping

it’s a serious problem, considering you now have to make it clear that just because you say something is nice doesn’t mean you want it

“this sweater is nice right yuu?” “yeah it is really nice” ,,,, “yuta why do you have two bags?” “i got you the sweater in every color you like :3”

you’re always getting packages at your door, handing them to him only for him to say ‘oh that’s actually for you!’

the worst part of this is he absolutely hates when you get him something, always telling you to spend your money on yourself or save it, saying he has everything he needs already

still accepts your gifts with open arms, over the moon because ‘you really thought of me ?? i love you :(‘ he literally is ‘🥺’ if it was a person

calls you every sweet nickname he can think of: baby, babe, sweetheart, darling, my love, honey (he tends to favor my love and darling)

you tend to call him things like: baby, lover, pretty boy, angel

he turns into an absolute blushing mess when you call him pretty boy and angel, giggling and trying to not forget what he was talking to you about in the first place

the kind of boyfriend who will buy you flowers weekly, no matter what.

ever since he overheard you on the phone talking about how much you loved his ‘just because’ flowers, he made it a reoccurring purchase at a local flower shop

gets you all your favorite snacks when he just so happens to stop by at a convenience store, handing them to you with a happy grin, ‘we can have movie night with snacks now!’

has your coffee order memorized before you guys even started dating, rarely asks if you want some, usually just surprises you with it <3

he is such a homebody boyfriend :( prefers calm and cozy nights in sipping on hot chocolate cuddles in warm blankets over going out

takes you out to nice restaurants though !! especially if you like going out, he’ll take you on all kinds of dates

goes ice skating, amusement parks, the fair, laser tag (you destroyed him), escape rooms, literally everything

at restaurants if you’re between two things to order he’ll get one of the ones you want so you get try both :3

if you don’t like what you ordered he’ll swap with you / will tell you to order something different, saying he’ll take the other plate home and eat it tomorrow so you don’t feel bad abt it <3

LOVES going grocery shopping with you </3 finds it so domestic and lovely to be able to pick you celery with you (he also gets excited when you ask him what he wants to eat so you can get the stuff for it)

he’ll always tell you he wants to bake cookies and other treats with you, grabbing all the ingredients and grinning at you sheepishly when the cart starts to get full

“we came here for four things, how did you manage to make me get all these things” “cause you love me” he giggles

giggles at everything you say !!!!! topples over laughing when you tell a joke (we get it bro you love us 😭)

it’s so easy to make him blush and flustered, literally just winking at him makes his brain short circuit (let’s not get started on when you two make out) (he whimpers 🤭)

has pictures of you as his lockscreen, always smiles a bit when he unlocks his phone, when he’s away on missions he finds himself checking the time more often than he really needs to

AMAZING TEXTER !!!!! will reply to you very quickly and address all your messages and reacts to all the things you send him (everyone is amazed because is this the same yuta who left them on deliver red for three days before replying ??)

he is SO the jealous type ,, he tries not to be, really he hates having negative emotions of any kind, but he can’t help it :(

his entire demeanor changed drastically when someone starts flirting with you, he’s standing up straighter, clenching his jaw and has that threatening look on his face, no sign of the once cheerful and bubbly boy

he’s wrapping an arm around you, tugging on your hand and trying to get you alone so he can make out with you and remind both you and himself that you’re only his <33

insanely protective of you !!! he’ll be holding your hand in public, always making sure he knows where you are, in crowded areas he has one hand on your waist to help you through the crowds <33

will obliterate anyone who even tries to threaten you, ‘look at them again and you’ll be wishing i had killed you’ but in a not creepy and actually very 🦋way yk ?

really listens to you and everything you have to say, asking questions about your interests and genuinely loves listening to you talk about the things you like <3

i know he gets u literally everything but he gives you amazing and thoughtful gifts for special occasions !! he manages to always get you perfect gifts every single time <3

he compliments you everyday without fail, no matter where he is in the world, he will ALWAYS tell you how stunning you look !!!

reminds you everyday how much he loves you, telling you and leaving you little notes, writes you love letters like he’s away at war even though he’s most likely to get back before the letter even ships

cooks you dinner when he has the chance (he’s actually a pretty good cook!!) going all the way with wine (if you drink of course) and roses

uses your shampoo and conditioner sometimes because he just loves the way they smell and they remind him so much of u hehe

has your skincare routine memorized to when you’re too exhausted to do it he can do it for you <3

he’s overall just a soft and sweet lover, doing anything and everything he can for you because he knows you’re the one for him <33

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags

[hederasgarden]

Okay you’ve mentioned several times about Scott’s breeding kink, so I just need to know how he’d react when he finally knocks his girl up. Or how he’d be with a pregnant reader, especially if they’re with Storm Par or Tyler’s crew and is out chasing storms all day

On Tuesdays my movie theatre does $6 movie tickets and with reading all your Scott and Tyler stories I’m thinking I need to go see Twisters again!

I love this ask so much!

This might surprise people who think I'm going to say he’ll become all mushy and sweet, but I think he’ll turn into an even bigger asshole. His worst qualities will come out during this time because there are so many variables he can’t control and deep down he's worried about you and the baby but probably not able to articulate it. This will manifest as him trying to exert even more control over the situation to manage his anxiety. Expect him to argue about you being out in the field with Storm Par, especially if it’s storm season. He'll have 100 different reasons why it's unsafe and won't relax until you're sitting safely in your office.

You’ve been with Scott long enough to understand how he operates, and you know his actions are driven by his desire to keep you and the baby safe and healthy. That doesn't make him less annoying though because as soon as he finds out you're pregnant, he’ll be reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting and diving deep into the latest research. Once he’s armed with all the facts, he’ll obsessively monitor what you’re eating and doing, quoting the book chapter and verse.

Those prenatal vitamins you picked up at CVS? He’ll throw them straight in the trash and tell you to take this fancy brand you’ve never heard of, claiming it’s verified by an independent lab and superior to your drugstore brand.

That cute little mobile you want to hang over the crib? Absolutely not — it’s a strangulation hazard. The old bassinet your aunt wants to give you? That’s going in the trash too because, from an engineering standpoint, it looks structurally unsound and is probably covered in lead paint.

He’ll be annoyingly confident about everything right up until the moment the baby is born. When the doctor hands him his son and he looks down at that tiny, scrunched-up face, all he feels is a wave of panic. How are the two of you supposed to take care of this fragile little thing? This is a person, not a problem to be solved and accounted for.

He’d never outwardly panic, but he knows you can see through him when you say his name softly and reach for his hand. 

"Look at me," you'd whisper, smiling at him — tired, sweaty, and beautiful after going through hell to bring his son into the world. You would look so at ease and happy that suddenly Scott would know everything would be okay because you’d be right beside him.

Together, you've got this.

Talk Shop Tuesday

[webslingingslasher]

how about something where peter and reader are having sex but reader gets a bad calf cramp midway. peter tries to help by massaging the leg but he's just laughing really hard. overall v funny and crack. love your work btw!

w: smutty smutty, a little name calling.

Your arms are glued to Peter’s while he thrusts into you, you grip him tightly trying to keep him close. The sheen that covered his body made him both sticky and sweaty. 

“Fuck!” 

The back of your head rubs against his pillow, his hands push higher on the backside of your knees, you’re fully spread open and he continues to push further, you’ve never felt him so deep. 

“Baby, you’re… fuck,” you can’t even compliment him, you’re a million percent cockdrunk at the moment. 

You could kiss your left knee with how high Peter had it pushed up, he grunts at the new angle and thrusts deeper. You shoot out a cry of pleasure, his words come out between clenched teeth. 

“So good, you’re doing so good for me.” 

You whimper and whine along with his praises, you’re so lost your words tumble out. 

“Thank you, thank you, you know me so well.” 

Your boyfriend grunts but a smile takes over, he slows down and puts a hand on your cheek. Your mind races but his touch grounds you a little, you push your hips into his, trying to get back the momentum. 

“Are you thanking me for fucking you?” 

You try to clasp your hands around his neck and he narrowly misses, you roll your hips into his taking control. 

“You were being so nice, now you’re being mean.” 

A sarcastic pout takes over his face, he pushes his body down, anchoring himself into place with an arm by your head, the other hand takes your leg to push it over his hip. In one fluid motion he thrusts into you hard, you lose your breath and gasp against the pillow. 

“This what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck you hard and deep?” 

He keeps going, drilling in and out and your mind spins with pleasure. 

“C’mon, baby. Said I was being mean, is this better?” 

Your fingernails pierce the skin on his shoulders, your boyfriend's aggressive words made you slicker, you can hear the difference in sounds and know he can feel it on his end. 

“Like that? You like when I make you needy? Like you’re a dirty slut who-” 

A punch to his chest, panicked words usher from your mouth. 

“Out! Get out of me!” 

He didn’t mean to take it that far, he thought you liked it, it felt like you liked it. Peter paused, his motions stopped but he didn't move. 

Your leg had slipped down on his thigh and you were met with a wicked cramp that you needed to step down on to fix it, the pain and pressure was spreading up your thigh, a true life or death moment. You pushed at his chest to get him to move but he was frozen, you let out a yelp and threw his shoulders away the best you could. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

More aggressive than you meant but, fuck, charley horses were the worst cramps imaginable. 

Peter finally snaps into motion and pulls out of you quicker than he normally would’ve, you hiss at the feeling but jump from the bed, he watches you with scared eyes. He shouldn’t have said that, called you a dirty slut, he was just talking in the moment. 

The second you’re able to stand you deflate with air, the pulling motion eased. You finally had control of your leg back, it was tender as all hell from being locked up but it was your leg again. Picking it up and pressing your weight back down you felt ready enough to finish what’s been started. 

You flop back down to the bed and open back up, “ready.” 

Peter doesn’t move, you look down at the foot of the bed. His eyes are focused on yours, he looks scared. 

“Are you-” 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking and it was a just in the moment thing and I didn’t mean it.” 

You squint your eyes and look at his face, “what?” 

Peter’s arms fly out to cup your face, you have squished cheeks and are forced to look in his eyes as he hovers over you. 

“I don’t think you’re a slut. Like, at all.” 

You bat his hands away, “I didn’t think you did but, thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

Well, now he has no idea why you threw him off. 

“I thought you didn’t like it.” 

You sit up with him, “calling me a slut?” 

A nod, you retraced the steps and let out an “ohhh,” then shake your head and smile at your boyfriend. 

“I had a cramp! I feel like you know how much I liked you saying that.” 

Peter’s hand was thrown over his chest, telling his heart it can stop going so fast. 

“I thought you did, but then I thought I went too far, thank god.” 

You scoff and tilt your leg open more. 

“Not far enough, now give my leg a rub down and fuck me like a dirty slut.” 

His fingers dig into the plush of your calf, already tenderizing the area, “yes, ma’am.” 

[yanderenightmare]

Thinking about Alpha Bakugou using the internet to find out how to calm down his terrified little omega darling during mating <3

I love this idea!!! Because you just know he stumbles upon the worst most subjugating blog post, written by the most pompous Alpha-dirtbag out there – degrading Omegas, talking down about them as though they’re but silly childish things in dire need of an Alpha’s help. 

And you know Bakugou’s egocentric enough to eat all that self-serving shit right up like it's gospel.

BNHA ! FIC

Alpha ! Bakugou Katsuki x Omega ! darling

WC: 3.2

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, omegaverse, yandere, marking/biting, blood, subjugation + a little angst in the end

Five Steps for Alphas Mating Omegas

Step 1. Step one is simple: Talk Remember, Omegas, though a little wild and chaotic, are equally influential, sensitive, and weak to not only an Alpha's orders but our compliments, confessions, and encouragement as well. Just a few simple sweet nothings can warm an Omega’s core even when confused and stressed.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, puppy~” Katsuki made sure to mouth against your neck while sucking the skin full of blooming bruises.

His large warm hands, kept like a belt around your waist, messaged the soft skin with restraint – having slipped beneath your top to feel you directly. His back hunched and hips fighting to keep from humping – feeling his mouth water and the growing bump in his pants start to ache – getting drunk with all the right overwhelming instincts, sniffing until his nose stuffed full of that sweet Omega scent.

He’s always known what you are. Way before your scores ever confirmed it. He’s been able to smell it off you ever since you grew tits – and been able to tell long before that simply by the way you scurry around with those big puppy-dog eyes of yours. 

The ones you’re looking up at him with right now.

“Katsuki…” You whined, and he grunted – head too hot to formulate any other response – only getting rowdier the more he lapped at the sheen of sweat coating your flesh.

It’s always been obvious that the two of you would wind up as mates – you’ve been imprinting on each other since you were both in diapers.

Even so, he hasn’t found making you trust and accept him easy over the years.

You’ve always regarded him with that very Omega-like uneasiness – looking up at him through your lashes with your shy fluttering eyes – a little pout on your lips and a little hitch in your breath each time he makes a move.

You’re too cute like that. Making him so fucking horny.

“Katsuki?” You whined again – this time more urgently, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Giving a reluctant groan, he smacked off your neck for only a second – huffing out a rushed “Yeah?” before returning to your neck. Working the skin – making it warm and numb to take his bite.

“Can we- can we wait?” You managed to force through the anxiety making your throat snug under the threat of his canines – a mix of pleading and shame evident in your meek voice where you felt smothered beneath the mass of him.

“Wait?” He questioned with a small laugh, though otherwise ignoring you – his lips still mouthing your neck and cheek with damp hot breaths – greedy hands climbing further up under your shirt, high enough to start playing with the lace of your bra.

“Just a little while?” You urged. “Please, Katsuki? Just a couple days?” Lip quivering and brows knotted as you tugged on his shirt, trying for his attention.

He pulled off your neck yet again, this time with an audibly annoyed groan – his red eyes soaked with hunger and focus. “Why?” He asked, visibly trying his own best to consider your concern, albeit begrudgingly where his hair had become sweaty in the wait.

“I'm not ready… can we please wait?” You begged, your big doe-eyes wet with the beginning of tears, searching for any ounce of pity he had to spare – doubtful but hoping he would listen.

You’re a little silly sometimes, he thought. What do you think he’s been doing all this time except wait?

He tsked, looking at your cute face torn with timidity and nerves – thinking silliness couldn’t be helped. 

You’re an Omega, after all. 

He gave your pout a kiss of assurance but otherwise offered little other comfort – hoping the small effort would be enough to calm you. “You’re ready, puppy. Believe me.” He encouraged, once again slipping down to your neck – thinking if he found your soft spot, he could lick all your uncertainty away and unlock that domestic spirit he knew lived inside you.

But you weren’t so easily soothed – no longer just reluctant but protesting now. “No- please, Katsuki-” You insisted – your hands raising to pull on his shirt, even when knowing full well what little it would do.

“Puppy~ you couldn’t be more ready.” He insisted, trying to keep his voice soft and comforting. Gently prying your hands from his shirt and lifting them above you. “You just need to trust me.”

“No, no, no, please, please, please wait- Katsuki, please.” You shook your head with a sniffle, eyes squeezing shut with teeth sinking into your lip – trying hard to keep from sobbing even as your voice wobbled in the hysterics. “Just a couple of days- please?”

Katsuki started feeling defeated in his tactics, looking over your face twisting with panic and dread, hearing you beg while feeling the fight in your fists grow more adamant, trying to pry themselves out of his hold. 

It was time to give up on step one and move on.

Step 2. This step is for when the first step doesn’t work: Tie your Omega up It might sound harsh, but it’s actually in everyone’s favor. Tying up your Omega benefits and prevents a lot of uncomfortable situations during mating. For example, they won’t be able to scratch and claw, and you won’t have to use your strength and potentially hurt them when trying to calm them down. If your Omega is especially wild, it might be a good idea to gag them as well in order to keep them from biting back.

He didn’t want to have to do it this way, Katsuki told himself. He wanted you to accept it as a yielding Omega should – and where he had expected you to be a little anxious, he certainly hadn’t thought you’d be so brazen as to fight him on it.

But he guessed it couldn’t have been helped, pulling the cotton rope he’d kept ready in his pant pocket – bringing it up to the small hands he had pinned to the pillow right above your head.

“I’m sorry, puppy. I have to do this.” He mumbled, starting to loop the soft thread around your conjoined wrists while holding them down. 

“What- no-” Your eyes peeled open from withholding tears, growing wide when looking above you. “No, Katsuki- please don’t tie me up.” You started then, now with salted streams running freely down your cheeks. “Please- I’ll be good, I promise-”

“Sh-sh-sh, puppy-” He soothed, placing his lips on your forehead, tying one secure cross-knot after the other before fastening them to the bedpost in a neat bow. “It’ll hurt either way. This is so it doesn’t hurt more than it has to.” 

He tried reasoning with you, but you wouldn’t listen – further spiraling into a complete panic with endless prayers rushing past your sorry lips. “Please untie me, Katsuki, please- please don’t do this- please-”

“It’s for your own good, puppy.” He dismissed – holding your face in both hands in an attempt to try and keep you from shaking.

“No- please, don’t do this-” You sobbed in spite of his efforts.

And in the failure of trying to lull you, he really didn’t know of any better way than what he said next. “If you keep screaming, I’ll have to gag you as well.”

And you went still.

And he realized a little too late how he’d growled it threateningly like a bark – left to watch how your pout quivered silently after – your twitchy button-nose and watery red eyes such a terrible twist to his heart where you looked so undeniably pained and betrayed whilst terribly pitiful whimpers left you, sniffling and hiccupping with hitched breaths escaping you in trembles.

He tried comforting you with yet another kiss to your forehead, maintaining the smoothness of his tone so as not to further scare or upset you. “I didn’t wanna have to do it this way…” He mumbled softly, rubbing his thumb against your cheek in hopes you would nuzzle into his palm, but only succeeding in smearing tears. “But you’re not really leaving me much choice here, puppy...”

Step 3.  Keep eye contact Omegas are a neurotic and forgetful breed. Keeping eye contact will help them stay calm, especially when you’re trying to soothe them. For example, assuring them that you’re not going to hurt them. Additionally, explaining why and what you’re doing can help an Omega understand and therefore ease their worry.

“I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.” He vowed, keeping your face cupped in one hand while letting the other fall back down to grip your waist, feeling your breath quicken beneath it while watching the anxiety widen your eyes even further. “Look at me, puppy.” He distracted, fishing your gaze up from looking down at the threatening tent in his pants. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

You tried finding solace in his words but didn’t find it much comforting upon the sight of his fangs – reminded of how he was going to sink them inch-deep into your neck.

“I’m not ready-” You repeated once like before, eyes swirling while looking deeply into his, trying to latch onto anything that might take pity enough to listen to you.

But it didn’t seem like any amount of your pleading words or teary trembling features was enough to reach him. “It’s okay, puppy~ I’ll help you get ready~” Is what he answered instead – nose nuzzling against yours in his own attempt at convincing you. “I’m gonna make you feel really good…”

You weren’t swayed, feeling ignored and suffocated and overwhelmed because of it. “But-” You tried again, only to once again get cut off.

“Shh- stop thinking so much.” He shushed you, still with his thumb rubbing gently over your cheek. “Listen to me, puppy. You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right?” 

The question was left hanging without an answer for a moment longer than what he was comfortable with – his brows furrowing at the way your eyes skittered to avoid contact with his – feeling something twist in his chest at how you shifted uncomfortably beneath him.

“Right?” He repeated a beat later, his red eyes big and searching while vying for your gaze – gutted when you looked further away to escape it.

The quiet that followed felt strangling, and he had to swallow thickly to prevent choking on it. 

He thought you trusted him more, but your silence spoke loudly. Suddenly he felt like what he was doing was something much worse than what it was… 

He’s only doing this to help you, but you’re treating it like he’s committing a callous crime.

He knows he’s not always been the best mating material, but he’d thought you’d seen the change in him the last year.

But… you’re still terrified of him, aren’t you?

He exhaled a breath he’d been holding and resumed the normal pace. “I love you, puppy.” Once again, he brushed the well of tears forming beneath your eyes away with the stroke of his thumb – as the other hand continued its path, now moving downwards, over your skirt, until brushing your naked and trembling thigh. “You know that.” He spoke in a tone devoid of brass, simply tender yet hot, brushing your lips with his. “I’ve always loved you.”

You made unsure sounds but kept any words to yourself – unable to deny how his confessions made your cheeks heat, yet still left feeling dubious – lashes fluttering upon downcast eyes, feeling the rough fissures of his warm fingertips brush upwards, hiking your skirt up in its path until fingering the dainty lace of your panty line.

“All I want is to keep you safe.” He murmured, now in a damp whisper smeared wet against your neck, where he returned like before, kissing the same spot while searching for the place that would make you weak. “I’d never hurt you…” 

His finger curled around the lace kept at your hip, and your fingers curled into your palms – knuckles whitening and joints aching in your trembling fists when he began pulling the dainty article down your thigh.

“But-” You couldn’t help but plead, feeling the air ride under your skirt to lick your exposed private – but the protest was left unvoiced as the hand kept on your cheek locked over your mouth instead.

“Shh-” Katsuki continued, his mouth and lips and tongue and teeth lathering your neck with growing desperation – a breathy growl in his voice now as the hand kept between your legs grew clammy from the heat. “No more buts and don’ts. No more silly fears.” He swallowed thickly to keep from drooling, sucking in a breath. “I promise, puppy, you’ll feel a lot better after letting me do this.”

Step 4.  Next to last: Put yourself in your Omega’s shoes It’s important to remember that Omegas feel things differently than Alphas. While we smell sweet and fertile Omega pheromones, they smell threatening Alpha pheromones. Moreover, being smaller and weaker than your mate can't be easy. It’s natural for them to feel scared and hopeless. And as an Alpha, it’s your responsibility to ensure your Omega feels safe, protected, and taken care of.

Your whimpers buzzed against his palm as he cupped your sex with the other, his thick fingers stroking the tender puff of pussylips there, feeling the softness with curiosity.

“I know, puppy.” He soothed in a strained whisper. “You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re tired.” His breath getting heavy when delving between the folds to feel the wet heat there, needing to bite his tongue to keep from growling out a curse. “It must be exhausting being on alert every day… acting like something you’re not.”

You trembled, tasting the salt of his hand on your tongue where muffled cries failed to reach him – thighs quaking around the thick arm prying them apart – breaths erratic, feeling his fingers touch and explore and play in the slick found there.

“I wanna help you, puppy…” He insisted – but the smirk inching up his face wasn’t convincing, nor the way you felt it graze your throat like a knife. “I’ll make you feel so soft and safe- I promise, puppy.”

Step 5. Finally: Find the soft spot and bite it Keep in mind that you’re not saving or helping anyone by not claiming your Omega. Despite how much they might be crying or begging you to stop, marking them will only help them in the end.

Panic made you feel inclined to bite the hand smothering you and kick the weight which had you trapped – but something more instinctual made your body burst open like a blooming flower as his lips finally found that terribly delicate spot, the one hidden just beneath your ear.

You gave a moan and felt everything unknot, smoothing out into something numb and mellow – into something which welcomed his mouth and the promise of teeth within it.

“There you go, puppy~” He hummed, feeling you go slack and cuddly, turning into something even softer beneath him. “Just like I promised~”

He lifted his hand from your mouth, watching you pant in heat – having turned into something all too vulnerable – eyebrows cinched, and spit-slicked lips parted with soft moans while his fingers swept through your slit, rubbing circles into your budding clit – making your hips timidly buck back in chase of the pleasure. 

“We’re gonna be perfect, puppy~” He purred, mouth still hooked onto that same spot that had you feeling all manors of fluffy – while his own hips stuttered in restraint as his other hand dove down alongside the other in order to unzip his own pants. “No more pills and suppressants- no more holding back-”

He tugged himself free, pushing his pants and boxer down to where he knelt – letting loose a long hefty sigh of relief against your neck while stroking himself against your cunt. Exchanging hands to rub himself with your wetness – breath stuttering with a groan – getting ready to enter you while his teeth sharpened for blood.

“Every time you get you’re little bellyache, I’ll breed you good and full…”

He pressed inside you in the same moment his teeth bit into your neck – swiftly, yet slowing, sinking in as deep as possible with ears too hot to hear you scream.

Large paws squeezed even tighter into plush handfuls of flesh, drawing claws at the blinding taste of blood rushing out of freshly split skin, pouring into his receiving mouth where a full eclipse occurred in his mind, making him go fully feral.

Benefits of the bite:  - their ruts/heats won’t affect anyone other than you (meaning they’ll permanently stop being a target to other Alphas) - moreover, regarding ruts/heats, they’ll feel grateful for having someone they can always trust to help them at that vulnerable time of the month - they’ll become more domestic, feeling safer and happier for it - and because of the above, they’ll be less prone to stress and fear (all of which will improve their mental health) - additionally, the newfound sense of safety and loyalty will indict maternal instincts (making them more joyed over the idea of having pups) - furthermore, having pups will give them a sense of purpose and drive (allowing them to finally feel complete)

His senses came back to him slowly as the wild rush of blood died down – leaving him cold – feeling your limp body lay weak in his arms – barely breathing – if one could at all call it such and not whispy whimpers which left you at the labored rise and fall of your withering chest.

The blood was everywhere.

Sticky on his face and chest and hands, and redder than he could’ve imagined – coated thickly on your skin – gushing in wild flows from the gaping wound he’d ripped open on your neck.

He'd lost control.

His breath shuddered, dry in his throat – which croaked when he tried opening his mouth. “You’ll be okay, puppy-” His hands shook – speaking as if trying to convince himself more than you – unsure if you could even hear him. “It’ll be okay-” 

Tired eyes seemed too heavy to stay open, with a glazed gaze that stared straight passed him – vision spotted and darkening quickly, fuzzy and just too slipping to hold onto.

You could only hum weakly as everything became blanketed – his voice giving way to an echo of unstable curse words and muted utterings of your name – soon to become simple shapeless sounds in the lulling void that enveloped your mind.

With every sense laying to rest, a sudden foreign warmth coaxed you to give in – to let yourself be smothered in something which felt akin to sleep yet seemed somewhat heavier – luring you away from the blurring sight of red eyes and red-stained skin and into the quiet comfort of dreamy drowning darkness.

tip-jar: Kofi

[mj0702]

Lucy, Ona, Aitana and Keira were sitting in the Bronze-Batlle kitchen having breakfast together when Keira suddenly perked up

“Did I just hear a groan?” the English woman asked looking straight at Lucy

“Naah… you hearing things” your sister waved off knowing what Keira implied

“I swear I heard her groan” Keira said sternly

“And why would that be so important?” Ona asked confused looking between the two exes

“If you taking care of Bitsy for as long as we have you get used to different types of groans” Keira said but still listening closely “… there’s the “I’m tired” groan, the “you annoy me” groan, the “I’m annoyed with myself groan”, the “I’m in pain” groan, probably a G groan AND… the worst one… the “I’m sick” groan…”

“She was fine when I tugged her in yesterday” your sister said but starting to listen for any sound of you too

“And? We all get sick?” Aitana looked more than confused “Except for Alexia… I’m sure Gems are scared of her too”

This statement had the whole table in tears laughing but then Lucy and Keira heard it – the slightly louder groan.

“Fuck” Lucy swore looking first at Keira then at her girlfriend “Pack a Bag… fast.. we’re leaving… Cuba or something”

“Absolutely fucking no” Keira exclaimed upset “… you stay… I took care of her the last four times”

“So you know what you’re doing” your sister said stressed nudging her girlfriend “Go pack… what you waiting…”

“Lucy” you whined from your room

“….. ….. …. Fuck” Lucy swore under her breath which had Keira laughing victoriously “… yeah Bubs… I’m coming… I’m not doing this alone Walsh”

“You have a girlfriend now” Keira laughed patting Onas back “good luck… may the odds be in your favor”

“Luuuuccyyyy” you whined pitifully again

“YEAH!!!!” your sister yelled back already getting annoyed “I’m on me way!!!”

“What do you mean “Good luck”??” Ona looked at Keira confused

“Bitsy is… not a good sick person… it’ll train you for when you have a sick three year old” Keira chuckled pulling Aitana out of her chair “… we need to leave before she realizes we’re here”

“LUUUUUCYYYY!!!” you whined again

“Give me a second Bubs…” your sister smirked evilly looking at her Ex

“Don’t you dare Lucy…” Keira immediately caught on what Lucy will do in a second

“… I just need to say bye to Keira” your sister yelled in the direction her eyes never leaving her Exes face as she continues to smirked

“KEEEIIIIRAAAA” you now whined pitifully

“You will pay for that… and if I have to dump you in the ocean with a bloody cement block on your feet” the English woman sneered which caused Lucy to laugh loudly

“Come on… just like old times” your sister chuckled walking towards your room

The sight that they were greeted with was just… pitiful. You were covered by all the blankets you could find still shivering your hair stuck to your sweaty forehead whining pitifully

“Oh Bits” Keira said sympathetically “Picked something up huh?”

Keira went over sitting down next to you on the bed immediately springing into mom-mode putting her hand against your forehead

“Not feeling good” you mumbled but sighed deeply at the coolness of Keiras hand against your warm skin

“I can see that Bits… you’re burning up” the English woman said before turning to her ex “Thermometer, cold wash cloth, cold towel – and with cold I mean room temperature and bring some meds… you have Nyal?”

“I don’t wanna take the yucky stuff… it’s yucky” you whined upset

“Hush you… adults are talking” Keira gently shut you up

“Stocked it when I was sure she’s staying….” Lucy said already on her way out

“Tell Ona to make some tea” Keira yelled after her Ex

“I don’t want tea” you immediately whined trying to get Keiras hand back on your skin by pressing your nose into the side of her hand

“I know sweetie… but you need liquids” the blonde said sympathetically softly stroking over your face

“Keira” you started to cry silently

“You’ll feel better in a minute Bitsy” Keira said softly keeping her voice low and steady

“Me head hurts…” you whined “… and me tummy hurts… me whole body hurts”

“I know Bits… I know” the blonde sighed “you’ll feel better soon I promise”

It was the moment Lucy decided to come back into the room throwing the wash cloth at her ex who caught it with ease and immediately started to clean your face from the sweat

“Here” Lucy said also keeping her voice low holding out the Thermometer to Keira who took it looking down on you

“You couldn’t get a normal scanning one? You just had to get last century model didn’t you?” Keira looked unimpressed before she got her attention back to you “Open Bitsy”

“Mh-hm” you pressed your lips together shaking your head slightly

“Come on Bitsy… you know the drill” Keira said sweetly “It doesn’t hurt and it’ll be over in a flash”

“Mh-hm” you again shook your head even going so far to rob a little away from her

“Don’t test me y/n Tough Bronze” the blonde said sternly knowing if she’d give into your game she would sit there with the Thermometer the whole day “Open”

“Lu…” you started to whine for help but the second you opened your mouth just a millimeter Keira already slipped the Thermometer under your tongue holding it in place

“Don’t even try Bitsy… I won’t let you spit it out” Keira said firmly feeling how your muscles work to get the offending piece of plastic and metal out of your mouth again

You whined even more when you didn’t succeed tears running down your cheeks when the Thermometer beeped and Keira pulled it out of your mouth looking at it concerned

“38.7.…” Keira looked at Lucy a little lost “…. We need to get that temperature down… asap”

“Here” Lucy held out a syringe with purple syrup as Keira repositioned herself on the bed pulling you into her lap

“Thanks…” the blonde said her attention never leaving you when you pressed your sweaty forehead against the crook of her neck whining

“I know Bitsy… gonna get better soon” Keira said softly seeing how distressed you were while trying to guide the syringe into your mouth “Come on Bits… it’s going to help”

“It’s yuck…” you cried and as usual Keira was merciless by squirting the purple syrup into your mouth causing you to cough

“Sorry Bitsy…. But we both know it had to be done” the blonde said softly hearing your cry of pain “I know… I know it wasn’t fair”

“You’re so mean” you cried trying to push Keira away but you had no strength whatsoever

“Sorry Bitsy… you gonna take a bath with Lucy and I’m gonna make you a fresh, nice, comfy bed okay?” Keira said softly looking at her ex who as usual stood to the side a little bit looking a little lost

“Come on Bubs” Lucy sprung into action unwrapping you from your blanket cocoon pulling you into her arms carrying you towards her bathroom

“How… how is she?” Ona asked carefully as Keira entered the kitchen

“Sick….” Keira huffed plopping down on a chair “… sorry Ona… we’ just done it so many times we just function… we don’t even need to think about it – we just do it”

“No it’s alright… I’m still bad at reading her when it comes down to different emotions” the spaniard apologized “I thought I better keep my distance”

“Oh god please don’t apologize… I’m pretty sure you are already more useful than Lucy… she never knows what to do when Bitsy gets sick…” Keira chuckled “… I stuffed them in the bath right now… bed is freshly made… I see you already made tea… have fun”

“What you mean… Keira” Ona screeched as she watched her friend leaving

“You’re a part of the Bronze family… that shiny thing on your finger says so… you got to learn at some point” the English woman said before pulling the door close behind her

“Great… what am I doing now?” Ona asked herself before you yelled again

“KEIRA!!!”

“She went home Bebita” Ona said softly as she entered the dark bathroom

“I want Keira” you whined trying to get out of Lucys arms who held you securely against her and in the bathtub

“Can you pass me a towel please? And get some new clothes for her? Just some shorts and a sports bra” Lucy asked her fiancé

“Sure… anything else?” Ona said quickly

“Call Ale and tell her we’re not coming to training for at least three days” your sister said as she accepted the towel the spaniard held out “Come here Bubs… let’s get out”

“I want Keira” you whined again

“I can offer an Ona” your sister said chuckling

“Then I want an Ona” you sniffled pitifully and Lucy laughed

“Okay… you get Ona for cuddles… but you promise me to be good” your sister said as she dried you off and peeled the wet clothes of your body

“So good” you said

“Good… because if you not good I’ll get Alexia” Lucy chuckled as she helped you into your new shorts Ona laid out on the counter

“No por favor… I’ll be bueno” you slurred a little bit your body overwhelmed with the fever

“Okay… no Alexia… now… Ona cuddles?” Lucy asked as she picked you up easily

“ONI!!! Una abraçada?!” you yelled when Lucy carried you down the corridor

“Una abraçada?” the spaniard asked confused

“No idea what she said but I promised her cuddles with you if she’s being good” Lucy said as she laid you down on the bed you immediately making grabby hands towards Ona

“Okay… I didn’t know she would want me here” Ona said confused as she sat down next to you

“Segur que sí… La Lucy és dolenta” you mumbled climbing half on top od her

“És dolenta, no ho crec, la Lucy només vol ajudar” the spaniard chuckled

“Lucy is not whatever you discussing about Lucy” your sister huffed

“T’estimem” Ona chuckled knowing Lucy had her problems with catalan

“Yeah yeah” your sister waved off but smiling nonetheless

[propheticbride]

Slut

“What did I just say to you, slut?”

Rafe grabs you by the chin and turns your head, forcing you to shift your eyes back to the mirror beside the bed that runs from the floor to the ceiling. “I said that I wanted you to watch.”

Your cheeks flush as you take in your reflection. Sitting astride Rafe’s lap with one of his large hands curled around your throat, the mirror gives you both the perfect view as you ride him, able to watch each time that his dick slips in and out of your cunt. Shame and embarrassment course hotly through your system, twinning together with the odd sensation of arousal that, despite everything, Rafe still manages to bring out in you.

“You can move now,” he drawls, giving your throat a gentle squeeze. It’s not so much a threat as it is a simple reminder. Rafe is in charge. Rafe is in control. And it’s simply in your best interest to play along and give him what he wants. “Come on, princess. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I’m sorry, Rafey,” you mumble quietly. As you begin to roll your hips once again, settling your hands on his chest for leverage, you try to keep your eyes focused on the mirror, but it only takes a few moments before embarrassment overtakes you, and you look away once more. “I can’t do this.”

Rafe huffs at you, baring his teeth as he tightens his grip on your throat. “Did I ask you for your opinion, whore?” he sneers. “I told you I wanted you to watch, and that’s what you should be doing.”

A soft whimper slips past your lips, hot tears welling up in your eyes.

“Don’t even start with that,” Rafe growls, and you quickly blink them away.

You can always cry later, you remind yourself. Later when you’re alone. When you’re safe.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again. Steering yourself, you swallow your embarrassment and turn to stare straight in the mirror as you raise and lower your hips, grinding your clit against his pubic bone as you ride him. Your arousal slowly returns to you, bleeding through your veins and causing a spark of something other than shame to ignite in your lower belly. Not only do you feel yourself begin to grow wetter, but you can see it as well. Your slick glistens on his dick, and your mouth parts just slightly as you watch, all traces of embarrassment seeping from your body.

“That’s it,” he purrs, stroking his thumb over the hollow of your throat. “You like it, don’t you? I knew that you would.” You dig your nails into skin, raking them down his chest as you begin to roll your hips faster, making him hiss. “Always acting so shy and innocent, but deep down you’re just a dirty little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Rafey.” you pant, your mind beginning to cloud over with a haze of lust and want and desire and, worst of all, need.

“Look at you, making a mess all over my dick. What a needy little thing you are.” Rafe bucks his hips up, and the force of his thrust catches you off guard, causing you to cry out in both surprise and pleasure. “That sweet cunt of yours is mine.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror, locking eyes with him as you once again pick up your pace, feeling your orgasm begin to build in your belly. “Yes, Rafe.”

“Are you going to cum for me?” Rafe murmurs, reaching down in between your bodies to circle your clit with his thumb. “I want you to watch yourself. Watch how fucking beautiful you are when you fall apart. Go on. Soak my dick.”

All it takes is another brush of his thumb over your clit for you to cum, and you resist the urge to close your eyes as your orgasm slams into you. The force of it is so intense that it makes you tremble, and you moan loudly as the walls of your cunt flutter around his dick.

“Rafe,” you whine, and he simply shushes you, not even bothering to correct your slip of the tongue.

You barely recognize your own reflection in the mirror; the girl who’s rolling her hips so forcefully, so aggressively, her skin all flushed and sweaty as her cum seeps out from her cunt and drips all over Rafe’s dick, whining loudly as she scratches her nails down is chest surely can’t be you.

“See?” Rafe asks as he once again locks eyes with you in the mirror. “Isn’t this so much better than John B?” His mouth makes contact with your neck hard, and you whimper at the pain.

“Yes,” you breathe. And you do. The creature atop Rafe, so unashamed in her pleasure and need, knows he’s better than her boyfriend who had been way too distant to have any emotional connection like this.

“That’s my good girl”

[euphoricfilter]

regret:

pairing: jungkook x gn! reader

genre: non-idol au || angst ||

summary: regret is the worst emotion

tags/ warnings: kinda just angst… the ending is ambiguous so you can try make it happy if you want

notes: a little ramble based on how i feel at the moment as a little treat before bed <3 i feel very rusty because i haven’t written in so long

☆ where you can find the rest of my stuff!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

the knowledge that the thing you want to say is going to hurt someone you care about is the worst feeling. a strange sinking in your chest, malleable guilt that chews away at your mind and your heart.

words tacky on your tongue as you rehearse them in your head over and over, a well practiced script. because ending something with someone you like a lot hurts. really, truly, hurts.

it hurts knowing you’ll hurt them and it hurts not knowing how your relationship will be after you utter the miserable set of words stuck in your mind.

jungkook was your first.

jungkook was your everything.

he was perfect, within whatever limitation human perfection has. he treated you like you were the best thing on the face of the earth. you were the light of his eyes, perfect in all your imperfect ways. a piece of you tucked away in his mind all hours of the day.

quick to message back when you text about your day. always on the other end of the phone. always there. the one person in the universe who loved you for who you were, the one person who loved to spend time with you all hours of the day. just the silent comfort of knowing you were there enough for him.

gentle as his fingers would run through your hair, legs tangled together and breathing soft as you linger between the waking world and gentle sleep.

his love for you was all consuming.

which is why you didn’t understand why it felt like your world was crumbling. a phantom hand wrapped around your delicate neck, constricting every breath you took.

a constant spiraling anxiety, tugging you further and further into this abyss of worry and self loathing.

the strange self loathing you have when you don’t know yourself anymore. unsure why. what reason there is to your existence. why people even liked you when it felt like you had nothing else to offer.

and at the time you thought you needed a break.

palms sweaty as you hold the phone to your ear, boyfriend understandably concerned by your recent lack of communication.

“hello..?” jungkook answers.

you swallow, “hi” it comes out quiet, throat already lodged, eyes glossy.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he hums, you hear him shuffle on the other end of the phone.

your lungs inflate as you take a deep breathe

“i..” you start, all that practice getting you nowhere as your mind stops, guilt clawing it’s way up your throat.

“baby?” he presses on, worry evident in his voice.

“i don’t know if i can do this anymore” the bitter words slip off your tongue, “you don’t deserve this”

and of course jungkook had been baffled. though maybe a small part of him knew that this was coming, how you’d slowly started to creep away from him. the unintentional distance scratching the surface of what was rattling around your mind.

“if this isn’t what you want… then that’s okay” he breathes, “i just want you to be happy”

you feel the tears trickle down the mounds of your cheeks, “no” you huff, “god, jungkook please don’t be nice right now”

“what do you want me to do?” he laughs, though you can feel the lack of humor, laugh dry as it’s pushed past his lips.

you wipe your wet cheeks, “call me a bitch or something”

“i’m not gonna call you a bitch” he sighs.

“but you don’t deserve this… i should have at least come in person or… i don’t know” you cry, “i feel like such a horrible person”

“you’re not a horrible person” he hums, “i don’t want you to feel bad”

“too late” you murmur, “i feel like shit… you’re just so nice and i really like you…. but i don’t think i can do this anymore”

the fact he has been so nice had made it harder. the sadness in his voice as he reassured you as you cried. the moment sinking in when you finally put your phone down. you’d shattered something so lovely. you’d ripped away the only person who made you feel seen.

and the week after was no different. he didn’t message you. so you never tried reaching out, how could you when you’d broken his heart.

it felt selfish missing him. wanting any sort of contact you could get.

and when he messaged about bringing some of your stuff over back to your place, that wasn’t enough. you knew that the small exchange wouldn’t be enough because you missed him, and asking for friendship after you ended the relationship chewed away at your mind.

sometimes missing someone is a strange feeling. knowing that the dynamic you once had is totally different, that it might never be the same as it was.

and sometimes missing someone hurts a little less than the guilt that eats away at you for what you have done. or missing someone can hide that slither of regret you have, wishing you knew you’d hate life without them as much as you did with them.

the world is lonely when you don’t feel seen.

dread wrapping around your mind. slowly sinking further and further into the darkness. nights spent thinking about the moments you’d shared together. that maybe you want what was once there.

you missed jungkook more than you’d like admit and it was eating away at your heart.

all it took was a week. a week of silence. a week of being alone and figuring out life by yourself.

you tip your head up, full moon shining down on the street as you stand outside jungkook’s apartment building, feet shuffling against the ground as you hold your phone to your chest. you’d written a message, rewritten the message, thought about what you’d say.

and that selfish part of you wants to send it. that selfish part of you wanting him to be there, for you to touch him, know that he’s really there and you can change what had happened.