#i like to think . that he moves in with you. far away

[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

PART 3

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@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973

[yukioos]

helloooo! can i request katsuki reacting to someone being an asshole to reader to his face?? :3

katsuki goes insane when someone’s rude to you

“move, bitch, you’re in my fucking way.”

for a second there, that boy thought that would be the last thing he’d ever say after he saw a fuming katsuki glaring at him. you and katsuki were just walking through the halls, pausing at your locker before you were aggressively shoulder-checked by someone in the general studies course. the force made you drop your books onto the ground, through you don’t say anything.

the footsteps stop once the boy feels a hand gripping hard onto his arm, and katsuki pulls him back, almost face to face with him. he scarily towers over the boy, trying to make him feel intimidated and ashamed for what he’s done.

katsuki asks, with a low voice, “the hell did you say?”

the boy rolls his eyes and sighs, “did you not hear me? i was telling her to move because she was in my way.”

katsuki raises an eyebrow and looks across the empty hallway, then states the obvious, “there’s a whole hallway, dumbass. you didn’t have to bump into her and act like an asshole.” when the boy ignorantly chuckles, katsuki’s hand moves to his blazer, “could blow you out the window if i fuckin’ wanted to,” he spits out with wide, dark eyes.

the boy’s eyes widen, and he shrinks into himself at the threat. he knows katsuki bakugo got first place in the sports festival in his first year, fought in a war, and went through some traumatic shit. he knows your boyfriend could beat the crap out of him if he wanted to.

so when katsuki demands, “apologize to her. now.” and he releases the boy, he can’t look you in the eyes.

but he murmurs, “‘m sorry.”

and katsuki, being the petty and protective man he is, asks, “huh? i don’t think she heard you, say it again.”

“i’m sorry!” the general studies student cries out, tears streaming down his puffy, red cheeks. it’s hard not to laugh at him when he looks like this, when he’s the one who was disrespectful first.

so katsuki pushes him in the opposite direction, telling him to go to class. he does as your boyfriend says, even going as far as running to his classroom.

but katsuki picks up your books from the ground, and his eyes soften when he looks at you. he asks, “are you alright?” holding your books in his left arm as he gently rubs your hand with his right.

you stay silent for a few seconds, then softly kiss him with overwhelming passion and love. he almost drops your books, but holds steady and brushes your hair away from your face with his free hand. once you pull away from his lips, you plant multiple kisses on his cheeks and neck, leaving him flustered and red.

even as you walk to your next class with him, you know nothing has to be said. he’ll willfully defend you anytime, and he knows you’re thankful for it. although he is filled with rage at the boy’s words and behavior, he can’t help but be content when he’s with you.

THIS WAS SO COOL TO MAKE!! thank u for requesting it

[gay-dorito-dust]

saja boys manager walks in unexpectedly to find a big blue tiger in the living room, they’re in a state of internal panic thinking their cover is blown…

Reader? Couldn’t care less, big fluffy blue tiger demands snuggles immediately.

Now they gotta deal with a completely separate issue… reader spending more time with tiger than them…

I just love that big goofy baby 💙

‘Alright boys good work today as usual. but please make sure you get some decent sleep tonight because we’ve got a hefty amount of press junkets to do and I don’t want to be the one to-‘

The words seemed to die on your lips the second you stepped into the living room. You’d have expected to see the boys you were lumped with managing, not a blue furred tiger with amber eyes that gave it a slightly demonic look, and a permanent Cheshire like grin as it lounged it’s large body on the floor comfortably. Everything about this blue tiger should’ve had your mind screaming danger, have you running away but when it’s big amber eyes landed on you, it’s mouth already stuck in a permanent Cheshire smile only seem to grow wider as it slowly waddles it’s way to you out of curiosity.

When within proximity to you the unusually blue tiger sniffed and pawed at your legs softly with it’s paws, looking at you as it blinked slowly, almost expecting something in return for bothering to get up from it’s comfortable position on the floor. You smiled and allowed a hand to brush through the thick fur atop of it’s head, scratching behind the ears as the tiger purred in content as it rest it’s body against you, it’s tail swaying in content before moving to hold onto your ankle.

‘You’re a cutie aren’t you?’ You said softly as you shifted the scratching to the tiger’s chin where you could feel it’s powerful purrs just beneath your fingertips as it’s eyes closed to indulge as your snails scratched places they couldn’t before. ‘Yes you are, the cutest cutie there is.’ You cooed at the beast as it slowly moved to lay on its back, showing you it’s stomach which was a lighter shade of blue compared to the darker shade of cobalt, paws closely tucked to it’s body as it looked at you with big eyes and a impatience you only see in animals that wanted more affection the second they get it.

‘Okay! Okay some belly rubs and pats coming right up for the blue cutie!’ You laughed as you set aside your tablet, kicked off your aching shoes and kneeled next to the tiger and began to rub its belly like you would a cat or a dog, switching to patting it’s belly when you felt it was growing bored and then switching back to rubs once more. You didn’t know why you didn’t seem scared of this creature, after all a tiger was a predator by all means but this one had the scare factor of a small kitten, it looked at you in awe and it’s ears would twitch at the sound of your laughter as it’s tail swished happily.

It didn’t give of signs of being an actual threat towards you in anyway and that’s probably why you didn’t feel the need to run away and hide -not that you could ever hope to out run it- but instead spend time giving it the love and affection like you would to anyone else, whispering sweet words to it despite knowing it wouldn’t understand and struggling to hide your cuteness aggression when it bats your hand with it’s paw, showing off it’s toe beans.

Meanwhile the Saja boys were loosing their shit. Jinu had lost his tiger companion, which they suspected was loose within the apartment, where you were also happen to be to go over the itinerary for tomorrow.

‘How can you miss a demonic blue tiger?! It’s big and blue and did I forget to mention demonic!’ Abby says as he, baby, mystery and romance followed Jinu further into the apartment as quickly as they could in hopes they’d find Jinu’s companion before you did. They’ve came this far in their mission and it wouldn’t work out well for them if Gwi-Ma was ever to find out their true identity was figured out, and all because their human manager came across a unusually blue tiger within the apartment.

Jinu groaned as he -much like the rest of the group- was growing more and more frustrated the longer his search went without seeing his tiger companion, the dread growing within his stomach as each door they opened they were greeted with nothing big or blue or tiger looking in appearance. He had been specific about them staying in his room -especially if you were within the apartment- until further notice but it seemed as though the tiger had devolved a rebellious streak as of late and decided to leave the room on it’s own accord, which only made things worse for the demon boy band who were slowly losing their minds the more time passed and no blue tiger was in sight.

Time was of the essence and unfortunately they didn’t have enough of it before you realise what you were managing.

‘What if they found them?’ Romance asked, looking between Abby and Jinu as Mystery seemed to be sniffing the air as if he could find traces of the tiger by doing so, or by chance notice something that none of them could that would greatly help them.

‘Wouldn’t we have heard (name) screaming or shouting by now if they did?’ Baby replied, raising his brow as he pops his lollipop back into his mouth, acting as nonchalant as he could about the entire situation but internally he was just as on edge about their secret being exposed as the rest of them. He liked you- they all did- but the mission came first and foremost, and if you had figured out what they were, nothing good would come from it and all would be lost for them.

Jinu was about to say something when your laugh reached his ears and he was quick to pick up the pace, rushing towards the living area of the apartment as the sound of your laughter grew, followed by a familiar purring of a certain companion of his that had been the cause a lot of the chaos and uncertainty up until now. Abby, Mystery, Romance and Baby followed suit after having heard the sound of your laughter as clear as day, also curious as to what was making you laugh like that which brought about feelings of territory and protectiveness out of them, after all you were their manager not someone else’s and they wouldn’t take too kindly to someone else taking away your attention from them.

Yet what they saw was what they expected, yet not at the same time. The blue tiger had found you like they feared but instead of screaming and running away like they thought you would, you were cuddling by the blue furr ball, burring your head into it’s neck as a sigh of relief left your lips and acting like all of this was as next to normal to you.

‘You’re comfy.’ You said, the tiger huffed as though to say they were in agreement with you. ‘Like really comfy and I don’t feel like moving anymore. I’ve done enough work today don’t you think?’

‘(Name)?’ Jinu called.

You groaned as you lifted your head from the tiger’s neck to look at the group of bewildered men, staring at you as though you had grown a second head. ‘What? Can’t you see I’m trying to destress here!’ You tell them, but before Jinu or the others could voice their reasoning for interrupting you, you continued as you rested your head against the tiger’s neck once more, softly toying with it’s toe beans. ‘Besides where were all of you! I came here to tell you about the press junkets and that’s when I found this cutie lounging on the floor, looking as though they could use some company. Didn’t you big guy?’

The tiger huffed, not caring that it subjected Jinu and the rest of the group to a full blown panic, looking rather content as your pillow more so than anything as it intentionally looked from Jinu to Abby, Mystery, Baby and Romance as though intentionally showing how they were getting what they couldn’t without having to try.

‘We were-‘ Romance was about to come up with an excellent excuse, when it was cut off by you waving your hand lazy as sleep called your name.

‘I honestly don’t care, just don’t be late for the early morning press junkets, good night.’ And with that you were out like a light and the tiger beneath you slowly rose up onto it’s legs, looking back at you to make sure you were on it’s back before prodding past the bewildered men and off in the direction of your room.

Jinu, Abby, Romance, Baby and Mystery were left to watch as the tiger disappeared from their sight yet again, no longer filled with panic or worry but instead an overwhelming sense of confusion at your lack of reaction, but also a feeling of calm as their identities were safe for now and that you would probably think of the weirdly blue tiger as a figment of your imagination. Their alibi was solid should you ever tell them such the next morning when you were fresh of mind.

Yet there was one thing on their minds.

‘Jinu?’ Abby asked.

‘Yeah?’ Jinu replied.

‘How does the tiger know where (name)‘s room is to take them there?’ Romance adds, crossing his arms over his chest as Baby, Abby and Mystery also look to him for a response.

‘Probably by scent.’ Jinu lamely answers.

The boys weren’t convinced by that at all.

[shotosjupiter]

GET ON THE TRAIN, BABY! — S. GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — when satoru boards the wrong train, he meets you and is immediately smitten. little does he know, you're running away from your father and are being tracked down when he's suddenly been roped into your problems. what can he do now other than stay on your side and find a way to help you and him escape?

𖤐 word count — 7.7k

𖤐 genre/tags— chennai express!au, gojo has commitment issues and is a wee emotional avoidant, toxic family members, arranged marriage (reader escapes from), fluff, wee bit of angst, smut (just a lil, def skippable), takes place in 2000s india!

𖤐 author's note — this fic took my whole soul and i don't think it's my best work... i apologize. was thinking rahul’s character fit gojo and it went all down from there :D

꒰masterlist꒱

THE URN was heavier than he expected it to be. Maybe physically, it wasn’t like he had held one before, but also emotionally. This was his grandfather he held in his hands, a life that had gone out. He wasn’t used to the heavy set of emotions that had hit him square in his chest. The deep sentiment that felt anchored down to the heels of his feet. 

He didn’t do emotions. Not the deep, sentimental kind, the kind that brought you down on your knees, completely choked up. But even so, he couldn’t ignore the weird ache in his chest as he stood in the middle of Mumbai Central, dressed far too well for the occasion, clutching a shining bronze container that held the ashes of the only family member who’d ever truly stood by his side.

His grandfather’s dying wish had been simple: “Take me to Rameswaram.”

Gojo’s first instinct had been to roll his eyes. A trip to the other half of the country just to scatter some ashes? He had places to be. And yet. And yet, there he was. The force of the trains passing by pushing wind through his white hair, designer sunglasses tucked behind his ear and lost within a sea of other passengers hurrying to find their train while waving goodbye to their loved ones. 

Sighing, he brings himself to trudge closer to his platform and clamber onto the train when he sees you.

At first, it was just a slight movement in the crowd. The glint of a gold bangle, the shine of silk fabric in the sun, and then your face. It was the look on your face that had pulled him in. Determined, sharp-eyed, lips pressed in a line of urgency, you were clearly in a hurry, rush and panic dictating your movements. It gave you the look of a runaway princess. 

Almost like you really were fleeing away from something. Or someone. 

He would like to say that he wasn’t a meddler, he didn’t involve himself in stuff that wasn't necessary but he could almost hear Nanami’s cries of rebuttal against that statement. He was always where he shouldn’t be. Always in some unpredictable situation that he always managed to scrape by and get out of. Unpredictability called to him, really. So, naturally, when he saw the frantic way you were glancing over your shoulder and the slight shake in your hand as you clutched your bag, he couldn’t help but have his eyes follow you. 

You moved like someone who had just taken the biggest risk of their life, someone who had rebellion in their eyes, who had cut all their losses but didn’t know the forthcoming step. 

And then, somehow, fate intervened.

A porter bumped into you and in that moment, he made the split-decision to loosen his grip on the urn to rush forward and catch you from falling. You collide into the soft cotton of his shirt as his hands scramble to reach around your waist to steady you. Maybe time slowed or maybe the look in your eyes had simply captivated him from that moment on because as he stared at you, awkward and fumbling, he swore he felt the thrum of his rapid heartbeat rushing in his ears. You looked at him, the expression on your face furious and panicked, clearly eager to get away. 

“Watch it,” you snapped, though it came out in a weird breathless manner that made all the intimidation the words could’ve carried dissipate. 

Your eyes were furious. Alive. And absolutely captivating.

He raised a brow. “Last time I checked, you were the one who knocked into me.”

You didn’t respond. Maybe you didn’t hear him or maybe you just didn’t care to respond. He watched as you turned and ran, straight toward the train that was beginning to creak forward, warning whistles echoing through the station.

He stood there, watching you navigate yourself through the heavy crowd, pushes and shoves becoming a natural language of the rushing crowd. He was just making sure you got to your train safely, that was all. Nothing else. He could be a silent protector, he didn’t have to be one to intervene. Besides, he had places to be. Places like Rameswaram. 

But when he heard the guards start shouting, three large men in traditional kurtas, with the kind of faces that looked built for intimidation, he hesitated. Then he saw the way you glanced back, eyes wide and unmistakably alarmed, and he moved without thinking. 

With one smooth stride, he stepped onto the footboard, the train’s wheels slowly moving roughly under his feet, the urn nearly tipped again. Behind him he heard one of the guards yell, “Someone, stop that train!”

Gojo grinned and made direct eye contact with one of the men before offering him a taunting wave, relishing in the astonished look they carried as they kept running till the station platform ended. 

He turned around only to find you right behind him, peering from the openness of the train to see the state of the men that were chasing you. Ensuring that they were gone, you looked at him and he looked at you, the silence stretching between the two of you. Then, as if nothing occurred, you turn around and find your way to a random seat to plop down in, with Gojo following behind you like a lost puppy. 

You were halfway to nowhere when you finally broke the silence. “You didn’t have to follow me, y’know. They might come after you too.” 

He didn’t bother looking up. “Didn’t say I followed you,” He paused there, looking up to assess you up and down, before waving his hand at you in a general gesture to your panicked frame. “I just happen to enjoy spontaneous train rides with strangers who have clear emotional baggage.”

You shrunk further into your seat before giving him a light scowl. “You don’t know anything about me.”

In contrast to your worried posture, he leaned back in his seat across from you, the picture of relaxed. “Well we can change that then, pretty.”

You don’t respond to him, just take to looking out the window as greenery speeds by on the railroad. Silence fell between the two of you, thick and tense. But not uncomfortable. Not for him, anyway.

Gojo studied you from the corner of his eye. You sat rigid, arms crossed, expression carved from granite. You were trying to be invisible, but failing spectacularly (he attributed it to your beauty, but who asked him, really.)

After a moment, you asked, tentatively, “What’re you on the train for?”

He hummed, debating giving a flyaway response but still he responded sincerely, tapping the top of the bronze urn. “For my family.”

 “Where’s your family?”

He shrugged, before gesturing to the urn in his hands, “Burned and boxed. You?”

“Alive and overbearing.” Your voice broke on the word overbearing.

Silence stretched again, making the quiet between the two of you a weird tense moment where awkwardness was settling in. Still, he wanted to get to know you more. “So,” he said after a beat. “You got a name, runaway girl?”

You hesitated. “You first.”

“Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow lifted at him. “You’re not from here.”

“Does it show?”

“You dress like an ad for cologne.”

“Flattered,” he said, smirking. “Now you.”

You stared at him, puzzled by the enigma he was. Then, quietly, you murmured your name. He repeated the name, letting the letters settle within his mouth, the name pretty and elegant. It was a name he wanted to keep on the tip of his tongue. 

By the time the train curved toward the Ghats, the sun dipped low enough to pour gold through the window slats. Gojo leaned back, letting his head rest against the vibrating metal wall. He felt the weight of the urn against his thigh, and the strange pull you had beside him. Someone who hadn’t smiled once during the (very short) duration he knew you but somehow you made the space feel less hollow despite it. 

He didn’t know where you came from or what - or who - you were running from. But he knew he wasn’t going to be getting off this train alone.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

The train rocked gently, the clatter of steel on steel becoming a rhythm that dulled the noise in his mind. You had fallen into a restless kind of quiet, eyes alert, posture guarded, but fingers no longer gripping your bag like a lifeline.

Gojo’s gaze drifted to the urn again, twisting it round and round in his hands. He hadn’t planned to honor the old man’s wish. At first, he’d even laughed when the lawyer read it aloud. “Take my ashes to Rameswaram. Scatter them into the sea. No shortcuts.”

Typical of him, he thought. Always dramatic. Always spiritual. A man who believed in signs and omens, who read too much into dreams and always bought two lottery tickets in case the universe was in a generous mood. But now, with the train rattling toward the southern coast and sitting in front of you, a stranger carrying an avalanche of secrets, he wondered if the old man had known something he didn’t. 

He remembered the way his grandfather’s eyes had softened at Gojo’s protests against going to Rameswaram. The way his voice crooned out, “Go for me. See it for yourself. Walk into the waves and let go.”

Gojo swallowed. “You always make everything sound like a goddamn fable.”

“And you make everything sound like it can be solved with sarcasm,” the old man shot back, coughing into his knuckles.

Then, more gently: “Go, Satoru. Don’t wait too long to start living the parts that matter.”

Back in the present, Gojo blinked slowly and exhaled through his nose. His jaw tightened. Noticing his tenseness, you turned slightly to face him better. “You okay?”

Your voice was quieter now. Less combative.

He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head toward the window, watching the blur of trees and rooftops race by like a movie reel he hadn’t paid to see. “I’m fine,” he said eventually. “Just… thinking.”

A pause.

“The box?” you asked, nodding toward the urn now tucked safely into his duffel. He looked at you. Not sharply. Just thoughtfully.

“My grandfather,” he said simply.

Your eyes widened, not expecting that answer, before shifting to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Gojo gave a soft shrug. “He’d have liked you. He liked people who didn’t put up with my shit.” That earned a ghost of a smile. Barely there. But he saw it.

“Must’ve been smart,” you teased, knocking his knee with yours. A feather-light touch but still carried reassurance with it regardless. 

“The smartest,” he said, softer this time.

The train roared on, cutting through dusk, silence, and two lives in free fall. 

Hours later, the engine screeched to halt at a dusty village station just past dusk. The stop wasn’t on the itinerary Gojo remembered, but then again, he hadn’t exactly memorized the schedule. All he knew was that it felt... off. Too short. Too quiet. No loud announcements or pushing crowds. Just the low hum of cicadas and a few shadowy silhouettes outside the window. He was going to brush it off when he saw them.

Three men. The same three from the station. Broad-shouldered and eyes struck with unnerving intent and walking straight toward the compartment where the two of you sat. He clicked his tongue, shifting his legs wider out to knock his leg against yours. “Friends of yours?”

At the sight of the men your body tensed as if someone had poured cold water all the way down your back. Gojo felt your hand twist to clutch at his wrist, as if you needed something to ground you from the presence of the men. “They’re my uncles,” you whispered. “I didn’t think they’d catch up so fast.”

“Uncles? Like the kind that bring you birthday presents or…” He tilted his head slightly in question as he looked at you but something in him knew what the true answer to his question was. 

You hit his shoulder, now frantic, “No! The kind that are hunting me down to go marry this random guy, so help me, Gojo!”

“Satoru.”

“Huh?”

He tucked his index finger under your chin to bring your face closer to his before he pulled you over to his side of the train bench, sidling you up to his side. He leaned his face close towards, tucked the smallest strand of hair behind your ear. “If you want this act to work, call me Satoru.”

You blinked at him. “What-”

The door slammed open before you could finish your sentence and  in walked three men built like they’d been born angry. Gojo forced his body to relax and brushed imaginary lint from his shirt like he had all the time in the world. But the men was already moving, making their way right to your compartment. The tallest one stepped forward, ignoring Gojo to look directly at you. “Your father is worried. Come with us.”

Gojo uncrossed his legs to look at them, waving his hand in their faces. “Hellooo, are you just going to ignore me? The handsome, beautiful man sitting right in front of you?”

He heard you let out a snort next to him and he bit back a grin at the sound. He made you laugh. 

All three heads turned toward him. Their expressions didn’t change, but the tension in the room spiked like a dropped match near gasoline.

“Who are you?” the second man growled.

He threw an arm around your shoulders with casual nonchalance before he dropped the words. “Her fiancé.”

Silence. 

He heard you choking on nothing. “What-”

He gave you a pointed look. Play along.

You didn’t move. So he leaned in, voice light but edged with a certain pleading, begging for you to play along with his plan. “Do you want to get dragged back or not?”

You swallowed hard and then, like someone flipped a switch, you grabbed Gojo’s arm and cuddled against it, the picture of horribly in love. “Yes, we are engaged. I love my Satoru so much, don't I?” You cooed, booping his nose. 

Your eldest uncle had a look of horror on his face at your act before the tallest uncle narrowed his eyes at Gojo. “That’s not possible. Her wedding was scheduled for next week.”

Gojo clicked his tongue and shrugged at them like he couldn’t care less.“Plans change when you’re in love, right, pretty?”

“Love?” one of them echoed, unconvinced.

He turned his most dramatic gaze on you, the kind that mimicked desire and love. “Of course. We met at that one cafe and I thought I would die if I didn’t take you out on a date. She’s too pretty for me, of course, but I’m glad she’s by my side.”

“You’re lying,” the uncle snapped. “She doesn’t even have a phone!”

Gojo reached into his pocket and produced his own.

“We share everything, we’re super connected like that. She can check my messages whenever she wants, ” he said smoothly. 

This time your laughter was loud enough to travel out the compartment and you quickly masked it into a hacking cough, praying it didn’t seem too suspicious. The eldest uncle looked at you up and down. “This is shameful. You left your father’s house like a thief, and now you lie to our faces with this man?”

Gojo’s grin disappeared.

“I wouldn’t call it lying,” he said evenly. “She made a choice. And I’m not about to let anyone undo it.”

The air turned sharp. A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, the tallest uncle turned to the others. “We’ll speak to her father.”

“You do that,” Gojo said, still smiling oh-so sweetly, but his voice had dropped just a little too low to be playful.

The men turned and left, muttering something  that Gojo didn’t catch. He felt you melt into your seat next to him, letting out a deep sigh of relief. 

Silence.

And then:

“You are insane.”

“Never underestimate the power of the strongest.”

“Do you really think they believed you?” you asked after a pause.

“Of course not. I’m too good-looking to be believable.”

You rolled your eyes at him nudging his side in response. “But,” he added, more seriously, “I think it’ll buy you time. Maybe even enough to disappear at the next station. That is what you want, right?”

You hesitated.

He watched you quietly, in thought. 

“You don’t know me,” you said softly.

“No,” he admitted. “But I’m a damn good judge of character. And your family gives off more red flags than a communist parade.”

That got a smile out of you. A real one. Brief, fleeting, but there. You have a pretty smile, he thought. The corners of your lips quirked up in such a perfect manner, the apple of your cheeks rising at the bare smile. He knew you were pretty from the moment he saw you, but this, the barest of smiles, led to a rush in his heart he wasn’t used to. 

For the first time since the two of you met, your body relaxed against his and he couldn’t help but feel relieved in turn. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

That night, you slept in the same compartment. Not together. Not really. You were curled up on the lower bunk, arms wrapped around your bag like a shield while Gojo claimed the top, stretched out like a cat, staring at the shaking ceiling above them.

He heard you turn over three times before he sat up and peered down at you. “You’re still awake?”

“Obviously,” you mumbled.

A pause.

“You snore?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good. I bite.”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He caught it, grinning. “If you want, you can sleep with me. I’ll try not to bite.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You didn’t reply and he thought perhaps that was your answer before he heard shuffling from the lower bunk and suddenly you were laying next to him. There weren’t any words exchanged but he felt the warmth of your body as you curled next to him in the too-small mattress and he felt a surge of warmth blooming in his chest. 

He watched you until your breathing slowed, until the silence became softer somehow.

He had places to be and yet as he lay next to you, he couldn't help feeling like this is what home should feel like. Warm and safe and soft. Rameswaram could wait a little longer. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

The next morning, Gojo woke to the sharp jolt of brakes and the flicker of a bright orange sunrise bleeding through the compartment windows. It was too early, too abrupt, and entirely too bright. He sat up slowly, stretching until his spine cracked, and glanced down to find you already awake. You were sitting on the edge of the bunk, lacing your shoes with deliberate, intended focus.

“I’m getting off here,” you said before he could ask.

Gojo blinked. “Here? You’re sure?”

“It’s a small station. Remote. No cameras. They’ll expect me to head south, but if I change course inland, through the hills, I’ll lose them.”

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I’ve had practice.”

That should’ve made sense, but something about the way you said it, resigned and tired, made his chest tighten. Gojo nodded slowly and hopped down from the top bunk, grabbing his duffel and the urn.

“You’re coming?” you asked, already halfway to the door, surprised that he was still tagging around despite the baggage that you were carrying on your shoulders. He hesitated for a moment but he saw the hopeful look in your eyes and it felt like the sealing stamp on a letter. 

He slung the bag over his shoulder and grinned his bright grin at you. “Lead the way, pretty.”

Clambering onto the station was rather uneventful as it was settled into a sleepy little town that made for a rather deserted train station where there was only one chai vendor hanging around and a rather bored and frail looking goat bleating its welcomes. 

“Where to now, runaway expert?” Gojo asked, shielding his eyes from the rising sun.

You rewarded him with a cutting glare at his words before pointing to a dirt path that was flanked by jungle. “We hike to the village three kilometers up. I know someone who might lend us a ride. If not, we keep going until we hit the highway.”

“Romantic.”

“You could always leave, you know,” you muttered, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes at him but the words held no bite in them. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

You didn’t answer.

Gojo grinned. “Didn’t think so.”

Just like that, the hike commenced through dense greenery for hours, shoes coated in red dust and the air thick with birdsong and humidity. Gojo, for all his worth, kept talking on and on like he was being paid word per minute. Personally, he thought he was quite the entertainment for such a somber walk, after all, he such a catch and-

“If you keep talking, I will push you into the ravine.”

He held up both hands. “Okay, okay. Noted. No more ravine banter.”

But you didn’t tell him to leave. You didn’t try to ditch him, hadn’t pushed him away even once since the station. Maybe you did want him there. Even if you refused to say it.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

You reached the village before noon. It was barely more than ten houses and a rusted temple bell, but the people were kind, and Gojo’s smile worked faster than money. Within minutes, you had a lead on an old motorbike owned by a retired schoolteacher who didn’t ask too many questions.

“I’ll return it in one piece,” Gojo promised, handing over the last of his money.

“Are we going to?” you muttered, eyeing the bike like it might explode.

He swung a leg over and held out a helmet to you, silent (for once) but inviting. Tentatively you climbed on behind him, arms hesitant at first and then slowly wrapping around his waist. Tight and firm. The feeling of your chest pressed to his back made the warmth in his heart spread throughout his chest and he cleared his throat, trying to slow his accelerating heart rate.

He kickstarted the motorcycle and suddenly you were cutting through winding roads, through pine-fringed switchbacks and turns where the sky melted into blue and green. The bike wasn’t fast, but it felt liberating in a way that scraped the noise from his brain. You rested your chin on his shoulder gently, your hands clasping the other as you held onto him tight. 

He didn’t dare look back.

By dusk, you reached a clearing near the edge of a cliff overlooking a waterfall. Gojo parked the bike, hands aching from the ride, and exhaled loudly.

“Not bad for a runaway plan.”

You stretched, hair windswept, eyes bright from the road. “Is this your bar for fun, Satoru?”

He swallowed at the sound of his name on your tongue. Stepping forward he reached out to tuck a few strands of stray hair behind your ear. “The chance to fake-fiancé my way into the wild with a runaway girl and zero cell signal is a dream, wouldn’t you say so, pretty?”

He can feel the warmth on your cheek when you get flustered at his proximity. He can see the rising smile on your face before you push away his hand and say, “Help me find some firewood.”

He nods before backing away. Maybe he was getting too close to you, maybe he needed to maintain his distance. All of that to say, he continued to prod and ask you questions about your past. “Why did you run?”

It was silent but he still heard the small shuffles of your footsteps as you looked for firewood alongside him. So he waited and then you spoke, “The marriage was a business deal. Property, inheritance, politics. I was just an asset.”

He nodded slowly.

“They chose the groom to ‘keep me in line.’ And my dad doesn’t care as long as the money stays clean.”

Gojo felt his jaw clench. The two of you stood in silence for a while, listening to the water below, clutching the firewood like they were the anchors in this heavy conversation. 

“My grandfather used to say everyone needs one moment in life that’s entirely their own. No orders. No obligations. Just... choice.”

You looked at him again with those soft eyes. There were slight crinkles on the side of your eyes as you gave him a gentle smile, a reaching for hope.  “What was yours?”

He smiled, faintly. “This might be it.”

Later that night, after a small fire and a packet of chips split in awkward silence, the two of you sat under the stars, only a foot apart and yet thick with this weird tension of wanting to touch and not.

You hugged your knees close to your chest while he lay on his back, one arm under his head. “Tomorrow,” you said quietly, “you can go to Rameswaram.”

“I could,” he agreed. “But I won’t.”

“Why not?”

He turned his head toward you, voice low. “Because my moment of choice brought me here. And I’m not done choosing you.”

You said nothing, trying not to raise any hopes within yourself. Bracing yourself for anything else wrong that may happen. But still, you reached out, and when you reached for his hand, he didn’t let go.

It was deeper into the night with Gojo leading you with his hand in yours, insisting he couldn’t have his fiancé fall while he led you to a guesthouse he found tucked near the woods, saving you from a night in the woods. 

The guesthouse was barely more than a stone cottage hidden at the edge of a pepper field. A weathered woman with silver hair and kind eyes opened the door before he could even knock. She didn’t ask questions, just offered some clean water, a modest dinner, and a single key.

“One room only,” she said. “Storm’s coming. You’ll be safe here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he took the key before anything you could say in retaliation was let out. “We’ll manage,” he said smoothly. “Thank you, auntie.”

The woman smiled and disappeared behind a curtain, leaving them in a narrow hallway lit by one flickering bulb. You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”

He gave you his most innocent expression. “Me? I’m just a gentleman doing what’s best for my fiancée.” 

He could see the beginnings of a smile lifting the edges of your mouth but all he could really focus on was the way your eyes were lingering on his lips before turning away. 

The room was small, quiet, and built of stone that breathed cool air into the walls. There was one window, half-cracked open, and of course, one bed. A silence that thickened with every glance was slowly filling the room but nonetheless Gojo dropped his duffel onto the floor and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ll take the floor if you want the bed.”

“No need,” you said, your eyes flitting away from the sliver of skin that showed when he raised his arms. “We’re both adults. And tired.”

Gojo shrugged off his shirt and dropped onto the mattress in a loose sprawl. He left his undershirt on—barely—but kept his sunglasses off. 

You changed in the corner with your back to him, quietly, carefully. When you turned, your eyes immediately found his and he couldn’t find it in himself to look away, just roamed his eyes on your gentle form, taking you in like a work of art.

Later, the two of you were laying side by side in a silence so loud it became its own layer. Neither of you were asleep and yet neither of you were speaking.

The storm began just past midnight. A distant crack of thunder. A flicker of lightning across the stone walls. Then rain—soft at first, then heavier. It drummed on the roof like a heartbeat with nowhere to go.

Gojo opened one eye, turning his body closer to face you, “Are you still awake?”

Hearing his shuffling, you also turn on your side to face. Your voice was soft when you said, “Yeah.” Another pause. Then, “I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

He didn’t expect it. Gojo blinked slowly, letting the words settle. His voice seemed almost dull, “Thanks,” he said. “He would’ve liked you.”

“That’s what you said on the train.”

“It’s still true.”

A beat. 

Your voice dipped just the slightest bit lower. “And... what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you like me?”

It felt like an almost childish question. It wasn’t necessarily flirtatious. It sounded almost vulnerable, someone asking gently like they weren’t allowed to before. Like they never had to before. Gojo’s throat felt dry.

“I have a feeling I shouldn’t,” he said.

“But you do.”

He turned to face you, nose inches from yours in the dark. “Yeah,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I do.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just searched his face like you were trying to memorize him, sealing him in like you couldn’t bear to forget this moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, you leaned in. He felt your mouth gently brush his and that, that was enough to send a jolt through him. Just enough to change everything.

You pulled back, eyes fluttering, “This is a bad idea.”

He stared at you, voice low. “So stop me.”

You didn’t. The room was still, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked stone and jasmine drifting in from the trees outside. The storm murmured in the background, rain tapping steadily against the glass, as if reminding the both of you that time hadn’t stopped. Or maybe it had, Gojo couldn’t tell when every cell of his body was focused on the proximity of your body near his. He could feel the tension strung tight, humming like a live wire. Every breath, every shift in the mattress, only made it stronger.

He should’ve said something clever—he always did. But he couldn’t seem to speak around the quiet ache in his chest.

You moved first. Not far. Just enough to close the last inch. Your hand rested lightly on his chest, barely touching the thin fabric of his shirt. His heart jumped beneath your fingers. You looked at him, half-shy and half-defiant. “You’re warm,” you murmured, brushing his lips again, almost surprised.

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching. “You’re cold.”

Your eyes softened, and something cracked open in him, something that had been sealed shut by years of flippant detachment, of keeping feelings at arm’s length. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the curve of your cheek.

“I like you a lot,” he said quietly.

You didn’t smile but you didn’t need to. He could feel your response from the way your chest heaved in want, your pupils blown with adoration. Your gaze held him, grounded him. And then you kissed him.

Not with urgency. Not with heat. It was slow. Thoughtful. A question wrapped in warmth, answered instantly by the way his hand slid around the back of your neck to draw you in closer. Gojo had kissed plenty of women in his life. For fun. For distraction. For amusement. But not like this. Not like you.

You shifted closer, pressing your body to his, and he inhaled sharply at the feel of your thighs brushing his. Your skin was cool against his, your touch feather-light but unmistakably real. He kissed you harder, deeper, until you gasped into his mouth, and the sound made his stomach flip.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt and slid beneath it. Your fingers explored the lines and ridges of his torso, tentative yet certain, as if you wanted to memorize every inch of him by feel alone. He shivered. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and roughened at the edges.

You nodded, eyes searching his. “I’m not running from this.”

And that was all he really needed.

He pulled you beneath him gently, reverently, like you were something fragile even though he knew you weren’t. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in like you didn’t care if the world ended, so long as it ended with him right here.

Clothes disappeared with quiet urgency. Touch by touch, glance by glance, until there was nothing but breath and need. He kissed down your collarbone, trailing soft heat across your skin. Your hands threaded through his silver-white hair, back arching into him with a whispered exhale that made his pulse spike.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t want fast. Not with you.

Gojo took his time, learning your reactions like a map—where you gasped, where you clung tighter, where your voice trembled into his name. Every response was a gift he hadn’t known how much he craved.

It was slow. Anchored. An ache of something deep and dizzying and unfamiliar. The two of you moved together like you had always known each other, like all the running, all the fear, had led you right here. To this moment. To each other.

Your hands framed his face as he thrust into you, not hard, but deep. Steady. Your gaze never left his, even when your lips parted and your breath caught in her throat.

“Gojo,” you whispered, almost like a plea.

He stopped before looking down at you, his face almost stern. “Satoru,” he reminded. He placed a gentle kiss on your nose. “I’m Satoru to you, pretty.”

You clawed at his back before breathing out, “Satoru, please.”

He leaned down and kissed you again. “I’m here, darling.”

The rhythm built gradually, rising like a tide, slow and relentless until neither of you could pretend anymore. You clenched around him, gasping, and he buried his face in your neck, voice cracking with something close to awe.

The two of you came undone together, quietly, breathlessly, wrapped around the other like you were the only two people left in the world. And when it was over, when the storm had softened to a hush and heartbeats had calmed, he didn’t pull away. He stayed.

One arm draped around your waist, one hand in your hair, his forehead resting against yours. Neither of you spoke. There were no promises, no explanations. But your fingers brushed softly along the curve of his spine, and he held you like he finally understood what it meant to stop running.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

The storm had passed.

Morning slipped in like it was afraid to disturb the two of you. Pale gold light crept across the floor, softening the edges of the room, casting everything in a kind of hush that felt too perfect to last. 

Gojo opened his eyes slowly. You were still asleep, your face relaxed, one hand curled under your cheek, the other resting against his bare chest like that is how it was meant to be. You were tucked into his side like you’d been sleeping like this for years instead of hours.

He didn’t move, didn’t want to honestly. For a man who once believed silence meant something was missing, this one felt…complete. And yet, the quiet held a weight. The kind that meant real life was waiting just outside that cracked window.

He let out a slow breath, brushing a kiss to your hair before carefully slipping out of bed, making you stir but not awake. He dressed slowly, quietly. Jeans, shirt, sunglasses, his performance sliding back into place one layer at a time. Except this time, it felt heavier. The urn sat untouched in the corner of the room. Rameswaram was still calling. He could almost hear his grandfather’s voice, warm and amused.

You finally stopped moving. Now what?

Gojo closed his eyes. He didn’t have an answer.

You were awake when he returned from the small kitchen, two steel cups of chai in hand. Your hair was a mess and your shirt was sliding off one shoulder. You looked perfect.

“You left,” you said sleepily, rubbing your eyes of sleep. 

“Barely. I bribed auntie with compliments in exchange for some tea.”

You sat up, crossing your legs under the sheet. You took the cup, eyes lingering on him longer than necessary. “Are you okay?” you asked.

Gojo hesitated. That was the thing about you. You didn’t ask often, but when you did, it cut through all the cleverness and made him feel seen. He looked away from you, unsure of what to say. 

You drank your tea in silence, steam curling between them while silence settled within the gaps. Then, “What happens now?”

He looked at you for a long time. He could lie. Say he’d figure it out. Say you keep going, just the two of you, wild and untethered. But reality was already waiting at the next stop. “You need to keep running,” he said quietly. “And I need to finish what I came to do.”

Your mouth pressed into a line, eyes hardening. “So that’s it?”

He didn’t answer.

The two of you left the guesthouse before noon. The village was already buzzing, news traveled fast in places like this. Gojo caught a few sideways glances, a whispered name. He didn’t like it. Neither did you, it put you on edge for what was to come. 

Taking the motorbike, he cut down a different path through the hills, winding through quiet forests and empty roads. You held onto him tighter this time, like part of you already knew this stretch of the journey wouldn’t last.

You reached a small roadside temple just before dusk, a stone shrine at the edge of a cliff. You stood before it, wind in your hair, eyes unreadable. “I can disappear,” you said. “I know how to vanish.”

Gojo leaned against the bike. “But?”

You turned. “But I don’t want to disappear from you.”

He exhaled. Slow. Pained. “I don’t want to let you go,” he admitted.

“Then don’t.”

Neither of you heard the jeep until it was too close. Tires kicking up dust and doors slamming. Gojo spun around, instinct sharp, every muscle going tight. Your eyes widened as three men emerged, familiar faces. Your uncles and the man he assumed you were meant to marry. 

“Run,” Gojo said.

You didn’t.

“Not anymore,” you whispered.

The man stood in the center, smug and calm. “So. This is the man who stole what’s mine?”

Gojo stepped in front of you. “She’s not a thing. Try again.”

He chuckled. “You must think you’re brave.”

“No,” Gojo said. “I know I’m right.”

Tension crackled when the man started dragging you toward him by the wrist while you pleaded, “I’m not going back!”

“You don’t have a choice,” one of the uncles barked. Gojo’s hands clenched. Your voice cut through the noise. “Yes. I do. I choose him.”

And for the first time, Gojo saw the fear in their eyes, not of him, but of you. Because you weren't theirs anymore. You stopped being their pawn the second you chose yourself. And him. 

A standoff followed. Short and ugly but still Gojo exuded an energy that was cold and callous. He didn’t need to swing but he couldn’t help it when your betrothed was standing there smug and cocky. He felt the skin on the knuckles seize and pulse when they cracked as he beat the man. 

“You touch her again,” he said, as his fist swung back once more, calm and sharp as glass, “and I won’t be so polite next time.”

It worked. They backed off. Gojo backed away enough to let the man scuffle back, bleeding and bruised, before urging your uncles to move. The jeep pulled away with the dust swallowing them whole.

Gojo stood still for a long time after they left. You touched his hand, still cracked and bleeding. You rubbed small circles on his hand, trying to wipe away the beads of blood. You tear a piece of fabric from your kurta before gently wrapping it around his knuckles. “That was reckless, Satoru."

“Never underestimate the power of the strongest,” he grinned his boyish grin. “You should’ve figured that out by now, pretty.”

You smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand and laced your fingers with his. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

The road to Rameswaram was quieter than either of them expected. No more chases. No angry uncles. Just the hum of the motorbike and the occasional stretch of silence between them that somehow felt less like avoidance and more like understanding.

You rode with your arms around him again, but looser now, not out of fear, or need, but something closer to trust. And Gojo couldn’t stop thinking about the way your breath had caught when you said, I choose him.

You hadn’t said “love.” and neither had he. But something about the word choose made his chest ache. Because somewhere between the train and the storm and your fingers tangled in his shirt, he had chosen you too. Long before he said it out loud. Maybe even before he knew it himself.

You arrived at the southern tip by late afternoon, wind-chapped and salt-slick, the sea stretched out like an offering. Gojo stood barefoot in the sand, the urn in his hands, the sky melting into orange behind him. He could hear you breathing behind him, quiet, steady, present.

The last time he stood this still, he was thirteen, staring at his grandfather’s temple room wondering why grief didn’t feel like thunder. Now, it felt like a tide. Slow. Inevitable. Soft in a way that hurt more than sharp things did. He opened the urn, holding it out like a farewell. The wind caught the ashes. Not all at once. Some drifted. Some clung. He let them go anyway.

For a long time, he said nothing and neither did you. Then he felt your hand slip into his, warm and sure. “Thank you,” he whispered - not to you, or well, not just to you. Maybe to the man he’d lost, maybe to the moment itself.

You squeezed his hand like you understood, like you always did.

That night, the two of you found a quiet beach shack, something old and crooked and full of salt air, and laid side by side on a thin mattress with the sea murmuring just beyond the windows. You were curled around him again, body cold but still a comforting presence by his side. 

You turned toward him, head resting on your folded hands. “You’re going to leave eventually.”

Gojo blinked slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Probably.”

“Back to Tokyo?”

He nodded once. You bit at your lip nervously, “And what happens to this?”

He turned his head and met your eyes. “I don’t know. But I’ll remember this. You. Us. Every second.”

You didn’t answer right away. Then, “You’re kind of terrible at reassuring people, you know.”

Gojo reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, trailing kisses from your fingers, down your wrist, fluttering kisses pressed down onto your pulse point. “Yeah, but I’m great at meaning it when I say I don’t want to go.”

And he didn’t want to go but it still stood that he'd built a life far away from this place, from this version of himself. A life that didn’t include falling asleep beside someone who looked at him like he was something steady. Something worth choosing.

He wasn’t ready to ask you to leave everything behind and he wasn’t ready to stay.

The sea was still the next morning, as if it had settled just for him. Gojo stood barefoot at the edge of the tide, salt wind curling around his hair, watching the waves eat away the last of the footprints they’d made the night before. The urn was empty now. The promise kept and the goodbye done. But there was no relief in completion, only a hollow, shifting quiet. He should have felt lighter.

Instead, he felt untethered again, like he had before the train, before you. As if fulfilling his grandfather’s wish had cost him something else he hadn’t been ready to name.

You walked up behind him, silent as always when it mattered. You didn’t speak, just stood beside him, your shoulder brushing his. “You should go,” you said softly. “You’ve done what you came for.”

He didn’t answer.

“Your life’s somewhere else.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Someone’s waiting.”

“No,” he said, and turned to face you. “No one’s waiting for me but you.”

Your breath caught. “Then why do you look like you’re already leaving?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Gojo stepped closer. There was no breeze between the two of you now. No ocean. No distance.

“I’m scared,” he said, honestly. “Because staying feels more permanent than anything I’ve ever done. And I don’t know how to be permanent.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, gentle as ever. “You don’t have to know,” you said. “You just have to try.”

And somehow, that was enough.

He leaned in and kissed you, deep, slow, and grateful. Not because it was easy. Not because it was certain. But because it was real.

You didn’t talk about the “after” in exact terms. No five-year plan. No contracts. Just slow mornings and long walks and the quiet joy of choosing each other, again and again, even on the days it felt too heavy.

He got a place near the coast. A little rental with bright orange paint and a hammock he pretended not to fall out of twice. He bought groceries at the local market. Argued with the chai vendor. Laughed too loudly at everything.

You didn’t call it anything, but everyone else did.

One evening, months later, Gojo came home to find you sitting on his front steps, a bowl of mango slices in your lap and a smudge of ink on your cheek. He dropped his bag and kissed you like it was instinct (it was). 

“What?” you said, breathless, laughing.

“I love you,” he said, like it had been waiting to be spoken for years.

You didn’t blink, you just reached up and touched his chest where his heart beat too fast, and whispered, “Then stay.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I already did.”

[lazysoulwriter]

almost too late. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: angst + comfort, emotional vulnerability, soft confrontation, Pedro feeling insecure, reader accidentally distant, making up in the quietest way

---

Pedro knows what it feels like to be wanted. To be adored. To be held onto.

He’s not arrogant about it. He’s not that kind of man. But he knows the look in someone’s eyes when they see him. When they feel him.

And lately… you haven’t looked at him like that.

You’re still sweet. You still laugh at his jokes, still curl into his side when you sleep. Still text him on my way and want anything from the store? and thinking of you with little hearts like nothing’s changed.

But he feels it. In the pauses. In the quiet. In the way you sometimes smile and then look away too quickly. You haven’t kissed him just because in days. You haven’t touched him like you miss him in longer.

And that thought—she doesn’t miss me—starts to rot in his chest. He tries to fight it. Tries to reason. You’re busy. You’ve got a million things going on. But his mind still whispers, maybe you don’t need me like you used to.

—

It’s a Thursday night when he finally lets it crack. You’re folding laundry, calm and quiet, and he just blurts it out.

“You feel far away.”

You look up, blinking. “What?”

Pedro swallows. His voice is rough, a little hoarse. “I don’t know how else to say it. You’ve just… felt far.”

You stand there, holding a T-shirt that’s half-folded. Brows drawn. Like you’re trying to replay your own behavior in your head. “Oh,” you say softly. “Pedro, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he interrupts, and his voice shakes a little. “I know you didn’t. That’s why I didn’t bring it up. I kept telling myself I was imagining it. That it’s in my head.”

You move toward him, slowly. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t even realize.”

He exhales, looking away for a second. Then: “Do you still love me like before?” It’s quiet. So quiet. “Because I still love you like I’m afraid to blink and miss you.”

You don’t answer. You just walk straight into his arms. Your hands cup his face. Your forehead presses to his. And your voice breaks a little as you whisper, “I love you like I breathe. I’m just tired. I’ve been stretched thin and I didn’t even see how I was pulling away. I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just forgot how to let myself lean on you.”

Pedro lets out a breath like he’s been holding it all month. His arms wrap tight around your waist. “Lean on me. Please. I want to be your safe place, not just the guy you smile at when you have energy.”

You nod against his chest. “You are my safe place. I just… forgot how to land for a second.”

And for the rest of the night, you stay like that. Pressed together on the couch, wrapped in silence, letting your heart speak through the way your fingers braid into his, how your lips find his shoulder like they belong.

—

Later, he kisses your temple and whispers, “Don’t go too far away from me again.” And you promise, “Never again. Not when you’re home.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[jamiewrites-stuff]

Hypnotic

[002] [003]

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE😭 WHERE DID Y'ALL COME FROM- Thank you for enjoying my fic so far, I'm overwhelmed-

Anyways, here's another one. I'll try to make the chapters longer but no promises 😗✌

Please make sure to comment on what you think so far, I love reading the comments, it motivates me to write more💕💋

Btw, I gave them names to this- well, I didn't come up with the names. Credit goes to: @filijester (I think? Please correct me if I'm wrong) , I just picked these because it seems like the names a lot of people agree on, plus I think it fits them.

Abby Saja: Beomseok

Romance Saja: Jae-Hyun

Mystery Saja: Garam

Baby Saja: Daeun

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

They descended from the ground, their feet gently planting on the stone pavement.

Luckily no one was around to witness such a sight.

They didn't want to be bothered by the trouble of humans seeing them appear from the depths of Hell.

"This is.. much different from what I was expecting"

Beomseok muttered, letting out a small whistle as he looked around. It's been a while since he visited the human realm, its the same for all of them.

"What now boss?"

Jae-hyun asks in a teasing manner, leaning an arm against Jinu's shoulder.

The Leader of this little group stayed silent, eyes carefully observing the area around them.

The Tall buildings, the blinding lights, the loud noises. He was in unfamiliar territory.

He didn't want to admit it.

But he didn't expect to get this far.

He had a plan in order to defeat the hunters, but he didn't think far enough ahead on what they'll do in between.

"You'll need a place to sleep"

A familiar voice said, as the ground in front of them opened up a portal, a silhouette of a familiar woman made her appearance before them.

But she looked more solid.

More human.

She wore a Black suit along with a matching pencil skirt and heels, though some of the top buttons of her suit were open, revealing more of her cleavage.

Her eyes lingered at the group.

She did all that she could to improve their appearances, but she could tell that her work wasn't finished yet.

"What are you doing here?"

Jinu questioned, not expecting her to join them on the surface, especially in that outfit.

"I figured you needed a manager"

She smirked, making some eye glasses appear at just the flick of her wrists, calmly putting them on.

She had to look the part if they were gonna pull this off.

"And based on what I'm looking at, I'm right"

She stated, giving them one final glance before turning around, she snapped her fingers, gaining their attention as she walked on ahead.

"Come."

With one simple command, the group looked at each other hesitantly before following after her.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

They arrived at a Hotel, it seemed like it was the expensive kind based on the decoration.

They just walked right in, None of the guards didn't bother to question their identity and just allowed them entry.

Their appearances immediately caught the attention of nearly all of the people in the area, yet they paid them no mind.

Beomseok glanced over at a group of women gazing at him from the waiting area, he couldn't help but send them a little wink, causing one of them to dramatically faint into another's arms.

He smirked, getting the confidence to walk towards the counter.

"A room for 6, please"

He said, placing a hand on the marbled surface as he looked down at the person behind the reception counter.

She only gave him a look of unamusement, despite her coworkers practically drooling at the mouth at just the sight of him.

"Do you have a reservation sir?"

She questioned, moving her gaze down at her computer screen, typing away at the keyboard.

Beomseok's smirk faltered at her attitude towards him.

That wasn't right.

He couldn't understand.

Why wasn't she reacting like the rest.

He glanced at the others beside her, seeing that familiar desire in their eyes, before his gaze went back at the Woman, who looked at him with complete disinterest.

It took a toll on his growing ego.

But before he could say anything, he was pushed aside by their self proclaimed Manager.

He let out a small shriek at her rough push, making him stumble back until his group mates caught him just in time.

"Excuse him, he's new"

She chuckled, leaning her body against the marbled counter. Her voice definitely caught her attention as the Woman looked away from the screen to look at her.

The woman took in Y/n's appearance, how the suit hugged her figure perfectly, that seductive gaze, her hair perfectly in place, not a single flaw in sight. The receptionist's body tensed up a bit as a swell of sudden nervousness overwhelmed her.

"I apologize if we're drawing in unwanted attention.."

Y/n muttered, placing her chin against her palm, referring to the crowd that was beginning to form behind them.

"It was.. Never our intention to cause trouble.."

Her said, a soft smile appearing on her lips.

The woman's ears turned a light shade of pink, as she tried her best to keep her focus on her eyes and nowhere else that was deemed... inappropriate in the workplace.

She cleared her throat, fumbling a bit on the keyboard.

She couldn't afford to get distracted.

"That's.. Quite alright, but we still need a reservation Ma'am."

Y/n smirked, her hand reaching over to the computer, grazing her fingers lazily along the screens edge.

"Oh, I'm sure we do..."

She said, keeping the woman's attention purely on her, the computer screen glitching for split second before reverting back to normal.

Y/n smiled innocently, leaning back a bit as she tapped the monitor.

"Y/n L/n, care to type it in for me Doll?"

She instructed, sticking out her bottom lip just a bit in a slight pout, drawing the other woman's gaze for just a split second.

Before she grew stiff and awkwardly typed in the name.

As if by a miracle, her name appeared on the screen, assigning her and the group to the penthouse, located at the very top floors.

She cleared her throat, turning back to Y/n who was wearing a patient smile.

"Yes, I see that you have a room reserved"

She nodded, grabbing the room card and handed it to her. Ignoring how the moment their fingers brushed against each other, it sent shivers down her spine.

Y/n grinned, happily taking the room card key, while her little demons leaned closer to her to get a good look at the key.

"Thank you so much"

She smiled, subtly bumping her elbow against Jinu's stomach.

He stammers, glancing at their manager then at the receptionist, quickly catching on.

"Yes, thank you"

Jinu said, politely bowing at them with the rest of the group mimicking his actions.

Y/n glanced at him with a hum, it was good that he caught on fast, but not fast enough.

That needed work.

With that thought in mind she walked on ahead, the boys swiftly following close, stepping inside one of the Elevators.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Once they were inside, Y/n lift herself off the ground and went to the couch, a large cloud of history formed around her body for a split second.

Changing her clothes into something more comfortable.

Jinu watches Y/n drift down on the plush mattress, now wearing a Bathrobe that loosely hung on her body.

He took off his shoes, placing them in the shoe compartment near the door before stepping further inside, the rest followed his actions, just purely by instinct.

"Why are you helping us?"

He couldn't help but ask, that question has been ringing in his ears for a while.

Why did she agree to help him?

He would've left the topic alone, if it weren't for the fact that she's here with them on the surface, instead of falling back into a deep sleep.

Actually going out of her way to become their manager.

Y/n flicked her wrist, letting a glass of red wine appear in her hand, she didn't answer his question right away.

She let's his thought linger, she lifted the glass to her lips and carefully drank from the glass, her body melting against the couch in utter relaxation.

"Ease up Jinu"

Jae-hyun said, patting their leaders shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, the others were already making them selves at home.

Daeun and Beomseok were raiding the kitchen for something to eat.

Garam quietly made his way to the couch, casually sitting down beside Her, staying perfectly silent as usual.

"You'll get wrinkles from thinking too hard"

Jae teased, placing a finger on the others forehead, pretending to smooth out the imaginary wrinkles.

Jinu scoffs, lightly slapping his hand away with a small glare, Jae chuckles before walking away to go join the other two in the kitchen.

Y/n sighed, still feeling the man's gaze linger at her for some sort of answer.

"I told you didn't I?"

She says with a playful smirk

"I needed some good entertainment"

She chuckled to herself, her eyes hiding a mystery to them that Jinu couldn't seem to solve, at least not yet.

Her eyes flickered to the side, flickering with amusement as she pointed the glass at the spot beside him, where a familiar Tiger with quite a derpy expression made his appearance.

On top of his head sat another familiar face of a bird wearing a cute Gat.

"I was also interested in that little cub of yours"

She says, cooing when the Tiger slowly made his way towards her.

"Sweetest baby"

She whispers, letting the large Tiger practically lay himself on top of her, he let's out soft purrs nuzzling his head against her chin.

The bird cawed at his companion, flying over to sit on the backrest of the couch.

His eyes glaring at the Tiger, silently judging him for being so oblivious to the obvious danger, who was currently smothering him with scratches.

Jinu raised an eyebrow at the sight, not knowing how to feel about his large cat getting swept away so easily. So much for loyalty.

Garam slowly turned his head to the side, watching how Y/n smothered the Tiger with pets and small forehead kisses, unintentionally covering his blue furr with red lip marks.

His lips twitched a bit.

She didn't even notice how he slowly scooted closer to her on the couch.

"You're just the sweetest little thing, yes you are~"

She praised, finding a spot underneath his chin that made his purrs grow louder. Oblivious to the fact that the Saja next to her was quietly trying to get her attention as well.

Jinu shakes his head, letting out a deep sigh before turning around

Quite possibly to find a room where he could plan more clearly without any distractions.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Taglist💋: @gremlinartstudio @nisarelle @enerofairy @ajunoiseee @whodis-26

[indecisive-gm]

Jaren awoke with a start. Sitting up, they quickly looked around. The room looked like some kind of study, with scrolls and books filling the shelves along the walls. The paper walls seemed week enough; maybe they could escape from--whatever this place was--before their captors noticed.

Captors. They must be fairies, right? The last thing Jaren could remember before waking up here was going out into the forest to gather herbs and hearing a muffled voice as the forest around them faded to black. It wasn't a drug--that would have been recognizable with Jaren's experience as a healer. The darkness had been some kind of illusion magic like that which the fair folk use. They must have chosen Jaren as their next victim, having seen them come to the forest so regularly. If Jaren had been kidnapped by fairies, they would need to keep their wits about them to avoid falling further into their traps.

Tearing through the wall, Jaren was ready to make a run for it, but had to quickly stop themself from falling off a cliff. This couldn't be right, the fair folk never stray far from the forests. If her captors had taken her up into the mountains, then they couldn't be fairies. But then, who--

"It would be rather rude to run off so soon."

Jaren turned around. The building was farther back than it should have been, and a robed figure now stood only a few paces behind them. This was the person who had kidnapped them? Jaren readied a spell, hoping the old man wouldn't recognize it for the harmless show that it was. "Stay back! I've studied the magical arts well. I don't want either of us to get hurt, so don't move, and don't try to follow me."

The figure shrugged. "Alright. I'll stay right here. Though I would appreciate if you would stay and talk over coffee."

The man's words meant nothing. Even if he actually had such a rare plant as coffee, it seemed like too convenient an excuse to drug Jaren into being an easy captive to be ransomed off to the nearest magic university or to be sold to some warlord who was looking for a new mage. They backed their way to the cliffside, then jumped. They had never really wanted to go adventuring or fight in wars, so they never actually studied any flight spells or spells to soften a landing, but hopefully strenthening their bones would hold them together well enough after hitting the ground to mend the damage from the fall.

Thud. Fortunately, the pain of the fall was somewhat masked by having all the wind knocked out of them. The plan had worked, but as Jaren looked up, they saw that they were in the same place as before, with the man and the tower standing before them as if to mock them.

The man shook his head. "That was a rather clever use of your healing magic, though if I may ask, why didn't you simply fly away?"

"None of your business." New strategy. This time, Jaren strengthened the muscles in their legs before jumping as far as they could. Being lost in the forest wouldn't be ideal, but it would be better than being someone's prisoner to be used for money or as a weapon. As they were about to hit the ground, Jaren closed their eyes and braced for impact.

Again, they had landed back next to the tower in the mountains. "As impressive as your skills are," the old man said, "you're just going to tire yourself out like this."

Jaren was learning to hate this guy. "Let me leave, or I'll kill you!", they shouted.

The man simply stepped forward towards them. "I think we both know you won't." Jaren was stunned. "I've been looking for an apprentice for some time. Coffee does it's wonders, but eternal youth isn't one of them. And you." The man pointed a finger at Jaren's chest. "I've been very satisfied with the care you show in your magic."

"Apprentice? Who do you think you--"

"The world needs witchknights, after all." Witchknights. Jaren had taken them to just be stories for children. Masters of the magical and martial arts, some of whom had supposedly conquered vast lands or worked as advisors to powerful rulers, while others had fought against the powerful to give back to those with nothing or even abandoned the world altogether.

The man sighed. "Fine. I see you need proof." Suddenly, there was a sword stuck through Jaren's leg. The bone was still strong enough from their spell before to not be cut through, but the pain was horrible. Before they even had time to scream, a portal opened beneath them, and they fell through what must have been a layer of the underworld before landing in the open top room of the tower with various animated suits of armor pointing swords and pikes at them.

The suits of armor walked to their displays by the stairs, and the witchknight came to Jaren to help them up. Jaren was about to cast a spell to heal their leg, but felt the familiar feeling of a healing spell already taking effect on it. "You know," said the old man, "dispite the stories I'm sure you know, violence is actually a small part of being a witchknight. Now, about that coffee."

--

Finishing the mug of coffee, Jaren spoke. "So to make sure I'm understanding this, witchknights exist, and you've basically kidnapped me to get me to preserve your ancient form of the magical and martial arts?"

"That sounds about right," the man responded. "Though I would like to say, I didn't have much choice in the matter. If I were to try to teach some other mage, how do you think that would go? So many of them nowadays are too absorbed by power and where that can take them. It would be next to impossible for me to teach them, and there would be a serious risk of having a new story like those about witchknight conquerers abusing their power and ignoring the world around them."

Jaren still felt wronged by the whole situation, but this old witchknight was right about that much: A lot of Jaren's former classmates probably would have learned what they could and run off to use their abilities for power for themselves. Still, there were always calmer ones. Jaren didn't know any others who were completely pacifist, but surely the witchhunter wasn't that strained of options.

At that moment, there was a flash of light from down the stairs and the sound of someone approaching. Jaren started to get up, but the witchknight just gestured for them to remain seated. "Mjorgan! Mjorgan you bastard, where are you!", a voice called as footsteps came up the wooden steps. A tall, slender man in a suit and cape reached the top of the stairs and turned to the witchknight. "Mjorgan! There you are! I-- who is this?"

"Excellent question, Archsage!" The witchnight--Mjorgan, apparently--glanced towards Jaren. "My friend, would you like to introduce yourself?"

First a mythical witchnight, now the archsage was here? "I'm Jaren, sir... I'm Mjorgan's new apprentice." The room was silent for a moment. Moreso than when Jaren and Mjorgan had been drinking their coffee.

After a few seconds, the archsage spoke. "Well, I suppose it's about time you picked an apprentice, but why now? I've come here several times before to try to convince you to take any of the brightest mages our universities have to offer, but you choose now of all times?"

"I believe I chose the right time to do so, Alfred," Mjorgan responded. "Now, what business did you have with me? I'd like to get to lessons for my student sometime today."

"Ah, yes." The archsage gave a curt nod, showing some annoyance at his treatment by Mjorgan. "I came here to ask if you would join my advisory council for..." A glance in Jaren's direction told them not to get involved. "...necessary audience."

"It must be serious if you're coming to bother me."

"It's about her."

Mjorgan suddenly looked incredibly serious. "...Alright. I'll meet with you tomorrow morning to discuss this further." He waved his hand, and the Archsage disappeared in a puff of smoke.

With how the archsage spoke and Mjorgan's response, Jaren could tell that this was probably something very bad. "Should I know what that was about?"

The witchknight looked up at them. "No. Maybe some other time, but for the time being, it's best that you not get involved in this. Besides," he stood up and headed towards the stairs, "we need to start your training."

OK,

I didn't realize I was going to be writing so much (good prompt), but I'm probably going to need to stop here for now and hope that I can get myself to continue this story later.

witchknights are unmatched in magical and martial arts. Unlike the rest of your peers you wanted to study healing magic and medicine not war and violence. So when the witchknight chose you everyone was confused, Even the archsage himself.

[viviansturns]

𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚!𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔

a/n- to make up for that horrendous angst yesterday... (here)

cw: aftercare, angst, embarrassment, fluff fluff sm fluff!!!!

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝑼

holding chris

Chris is sitting beside you on the couch.

Not close, though — not the way he usually is, with his thigh pressed to yours and his arm slung over your shoulder.

Tonight, there’s space. Just a few inches. But it feels like a canyon.

He’s got a hoodie on, hood up, sleeves pulled over his hands. Every few seconds, he fidgets — tugs at the hem, shifts like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. His eyes are on the TV, but he hasn’t laughed once at the dumb movie playing. That’s how you know something’s wrong.

You glance at him.

He doesn’t look back.

“Chris,” you say gently. “You okay?”

He nods too fast. “Yeah. Fine.”

You pause the movie.

That gets his attention — just barely. His eyes flick to the screen, then to you. Wide. A little startled. Like he didn’t think you’d notice.

“You’re not fine,” you say, quiet and certain.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shrugs like it’ll hide how tense his shoulders are. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just tired.”

You watch him. Really watch him.

He’s curled into himself — not in a relaxed way, but like he’s bracing. Like every part of him wants to lean into you but something inside is screaming don’t. His knee bounces. His hands are clenched in his sleeves. And worst of all, his face is carefully blank — like he can't let anything slip.

You scoot closer.

He stiffens, just barely.

“Chris,” you say again, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

He exhales shakily. Doesn’t look at you. “I dunno. I just feel… off.”

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it, but his fingers twitch nervously in yours.

“I’m sitting right here,” you whisper. “feels like you’re ten feet away.”

His jaw clenches.

You squeeze his hand. “can i be closer?”

His breath hitches — so small, but there. He shrinks even more, hoodie swallowing him.

“I—yeah. I do. I just… I feel stupid.”

That cracks something open in your chest.

You turn toward him, pulling his hand fully into your lap. “Why do you feel stupid?”

He swallows hard. “I don’t know. I just—I want to be held. Like, bad. But saying it out loud makes me feel like I’m five.”

You slide your hand to his cheek. His eyes flutter shut, leaning into your touch almost immediately.

“That doesn’t make you five,” you say. “Makes you human.”

He exhales, shaky and fragile. “It makes me feel like I’m too much.”

You shift closer. Wrap your arms around him slowly, deliberately, until he’s flush against your side.

“You’re not too much,” you murmur, kissing his temple. “You’re mine. And I want you like this — needy, quiet, even when you don’t have the words.”

Chris lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours. Then he folds into you — arms tight around your waist, nose tucked against your collarbone, hoodie soft against your skin.

You kiss the top of his head. Again and again.

He doesn’t say anything else. But the way his fingers cling to your shirt, the way his breathing starts to even out, the way his whole body melts into yours, you know he's feeling better

teasing chris

You're just wearing shorts. Not even new ones — just soft, comfy ones that barely reached far enough, paired with an oversized tee you stole from him months ago.

But Chris is not okay.

You walk in like it’s nothing, hair messy, bare legs out, looking like summer and beauty and softness all rolled into one, and he feels everything in his body stop.

He was mid-sentence, talking to Matt about something dumb — and he forgets. Just… full stop, brain empty, jaw loose.

Matt notices. Raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

Chris blinks. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I’m—” He clears his throat. “I’m chill.”

He watches you move around the kitchen, bending slightly to grab something from a drawer, and he almost groans. His jaw clenches. His hands twitch in his lap. His eyes are locked into you

The shorts ride up just a bit when you stretch — not even on purpose — and that’s when Chris has to look away.

Because if he doesn’t, he’s gonna start sweating. Or blushing. Or saying something really stupid and filthy that will immediately get him bullied into oblivion by Matt and Nick.

In the back of his mind he wants to drop to his knees and rest his cheek against your thigh. He wants to wrap his arms around your waist and stay there forever.

He wants you to grab him by the hair and say, “You like the view?”

But instead, he sits stiffly on the couch, fists clenched, eyes glued to the floor like they might save him.

And you notice.

Because of course you do. You’re smart. And maybe just a bit mean.

You wander over, casual, sipping your drink. Then you stand directly in front of him, one hip cocked, and lean in like you’re whispering a secret.

“You’ve been staring at my legs for ten minutes,” you murmur. “Something you wanna say, baby?”

Chris looks up at you — cheeks flushed, lips parted, wide-eyed like he’s been caught in a daydream.

“I—uh—n-nope,” he says quickly, voice cracking just enough to betray him.

You smirk. Run your fingers through his hair as he looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

“Didn’t think you’d fold over shorts,” you tease.

“I didn’t fold,” he lies.

Your hand slides to his jaw. Tilts his face up.

“No?” you ask sweetly. “Why you blushing, baby?”

Chris swallows hard. You can feel the way his body is vibrating with restraint.

You grin.

“I’ll wear ‘em again tomorrow,” you say, and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Maybe sit in your lap next time.”

Then you walk away.

Chris is left on the couch, half-hard, overstimulated by imagination alone, and absolutely ruined by a $12 pair of cotton shorts.

aftercare when he gets self-conscious

The room is warm, dark, and quiet except for the sound of your breathing.

Chris is still beneath you, sprawled out on the bed like he’s been struck by lightning, hair messy and damp with sweat. His chest is heaving. His lips are parted. He’s blinking too much, like he can’t quite focus.

He looks wrecked.

You watch the way he swallows, trying to catch his breath, trying so hard not to look at you. His cheeks are flushed deep red, his hands twitching in the sheets like he doesn’t know where to put them.

“Chris,” you murmur.

He flinches just a little at the sound of your voice.

“Look at me.”

He doesn’t. Instead he turns his face into the pillow, muffling something like a whimper.

Your heart clenches. You move slowly, carefully, shifting off of him. You grab a warm, damp cloth from the side table—something you’d thought ahead to keep close.

You start cleaning him up, gentle and patient.

Chris shudders. Tries to squirm away.

“Stop,” he mumbles, voice wrecked.

But he doesn’t move far.

In fact—his hands grip your wrist softly, not to push you away but to keep you there.

He’s red-faced and mumbling, “'m fine,” but clings to you the whole time.

You smile softly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You did so well,” you whisper, wiping him down with slow, deliberate strokes. “So good for me. So perfect.”

He makes a choked noise. His eyes squeeze shut, lashes wet, breath catching like he might cry from how overwhelmed he is.

“Shhh,” you soothe, setting the cloth aside and cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushes over his hot, flushed skin. “I’ve got you.”

Chris exhales shakily. His fingers tighten around your wrist, grounding himself.

You lean in, pressing your forehead to his. Your other hand slides into his hair, massaging gently at his scalp.

His breathing slows. A tiny, broken sound leaves him—a pathetic little exhale of relief.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” you tell him softly. “I like seeing you like this. Love taking care of you.”

He whines again, but this time it’s softer. Looser. His hands let go of your wrist just to wrap around your waist instead, dragging you closer until he can bury his face in your neck.

You keep stroking his hair, humming under your breath.

“Good boy,” you whisper. “My good boy.”

He shivers, holds you tighter, breathes you in like he needs you to stay alive.

And when he finally goes quiet—relaxed, breathing even, face hidden against you—you know he’s okay.

And that he knows he’s safe with you now.

AWWW MY CUTIESS. so does this make up for it or whatttt.

anyways what if i made em break up for fun

whaaaat who said that?? must've been the wind...

[cameronsbabydoll]

BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER TEN

WARNINGS — Yelling, implied physical fight, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, intense angst, references to sexual content, 18+ only.

The air in your dad’s office feels like it’s made of knives. Every breath you take cuts, sharp and cold, as you stand in the doorway, clutching a stack of requisition forms you were supposed to deliver ten minutes ago. You’re late because you were washing Rafe’s taste out of your mouth in the bathroom, scrubbing your lips until they were raw, trying to erase the evidence of the storage shed. Your sundress is wrinkled, your hair still damp from splashing water on your face, and you’re trembling, because you know why your dad called you here. You know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.

He’s behind his desk, his uniform crisp, his captain’s bars glinting like they’re mocking you. His hands are flat on the desk, fingers splayed, like he’s holding himself back from breaking something. Rafe’s standing across from him, rigid, his jaw tight, his dog tags still under his t-shirt. He’s not in uniform—just cargo pants and a black tee, like he was dragged in from a workout or a smoke break. His eyes are dark, unreadable, and for the first time since you met him, he doesn’t look at you when you walk in.

“Close the door,” your dad says, his voice low, controlled, but shaking with something you’ve never heard before. Not anger, not exactly. Something worse. Betrayal.

You do as he says, the door clicking shut behind you, and the sound feels final, like a guillotine dropping. You set the forms on the edge of the desk, your hands shaking so hard the papers rustle, and step back, pressing yourself against the wall. You want to disappear, to melt into the concrete, because you know what’s coming.

“Staff Sergeant Cameron,” your dad says, his voice rising now, sharp and cutting. “You’ve got some nerve, standing there like you didn’t fuck up your entire career.”

Rafe doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders squared, but there’s no smirk, no defiance, no trace of the cocky playboy who dared your dad in the hallway last week. He’s just… still. Like he’s waiting for the axe to fall.

Your dad stands, his chair scraping loud against the floor, and slams his fist on the desk. The sound makes you jump, your heart lurching into your throat. “You think you can waltz around my base, messing with my daughter, and I won’t notice?” he shouts, his face red, veins bulging in his neck. “You think I’m blind? You think I don’t hear the whispers? The hickey on her neck? The way you’ve been sniffing around her like a goddamn dog?”

You want to die. You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your hand flies to your neck, even though the bruise is faded now, hidden under concealer and your hair. Your dad’s eyes flick to you, and the look in them—disappointment, disgust—makes your stomach churn.

“Dad,” you start, your voice small, pleading, but he cuts you off with a glare.

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t you dare defend him. You’re my daughter. You’re supposed to be better than this.”

Rafe shifts, just slightly, his jaw clenching, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t fight back. It’s not like him, and it scares you, because you’ve seen him go toe-to-toe with your dad before, seen him smirk in the face of authority. But now? He’s just taking it, and you don’t know why.

“I’m reassigning you,” your dad says, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “You’re done here, Cameron. I’m putting in the paperwork today. You’ll be on a transport to a new post by the end of the week. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere you can’t touch her.”

Your breath catches, and you feel something crack inside you, sharp and painful. Rafe leaving. Rafe gone. You should want that, should want him away from you, away from your dad’s wrath, away from the mess you’ve made. But you don’t. The thought of him gone—his voice, his hands, his eyes—makes you feel like you’re drowning.

“Dad, please,” you say, stepping forward, your voice breaking. “It’s not his fault. It’s—”

“Enough!” he roars, and you flinch, stepping back against the wall again. He turns to Rafe, his eyes blazing. “You’ve got nothing to say for yourself? No smartass comeback? You think you can screw my daughter and just stand there like a coward?”

Rafe’s eyes flick up then, and for the first time, they meet yours. There’s something raw in them, something you’ve never seen before—not anger, not defiance, but pain. It’s gone in a second, replaced by that hard, unreadable mask, but you saw it, and it cuts you deeper than anything your dad’s said.

“I’m not a coward,” Rafe says, his voice low, steady, but there’s a tremor in it, a crack you can barely hear. “But I’m not gonna stand here and lie to you, sir. You want to reassign me, do it. I’ll take the hit.”

Your dad laughs, a harsh, bitter sound that makes your skin crawl. “Oh, you’ll take more than a hit, Cameron. You’ll be lucky if I don’t have you court-martialed for fraternization. You’re a disgrace to the uniform.”

Rafe’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and for a second, you think he’s going to swing. You can see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles whiten, the way his eyes flash with something dangerous. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, taking it, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.

“Get out,” your dad says, pointing at the door. “Pack your shit. You’re confined to quarters until I say otherwise.”

Rafe nods, sharp and mechanical, and turns to leave. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word, just brushes past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The contact is fleeting, but it burns, and you feel tears prick your eyes as the door swings shut behind him.

Your dad turns to you, his face still red, his hands shaking. “You,” he says, voice low and venomous. “You’re grounded. No more running around this base. No more files, no more errands. You stay in your room unless I say otherwise. You understand?”

You nod, tears spilling over now, because you’re not crying for him, not for his anger, but for Rafe, for the way he didn’t fight back, for the way he looked at you like he was breaking. “Yes, sir,” you whisper, because that’s what he wants to hear, because that’s what you’ve always done.

He sits back down, rubbing his temples, and you slip out, your sandals silent on the floor, your heart pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs.

You don’t go to your room. You can’t. Instead, you find yourself outside the barracks, the night air thick and humid, the stars hidden behind clouds. Rafe’s quarters are at the end of the row, the curtain drawn, but you can see a sliver of light through the gap. You shouldn’t be here. You know you shouldn’t. But you knock anyway, soft and hesitant, your knuckles barely brushing the doorframe.

It opens almost instantly, and he’s there, shirtless, his dog tags swinging against his chest, his hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes are wild, not angry but something worse—desperate, broken, like he’s been pacing, waiting for something to snap.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice rough, and it’s not a greeting, it’s a warning. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” you say, stepping inside anyway, your hands twisting together. “But I had to. I… I’m sorry, Rafe. This is my fault. If I hadn’t—”

“Stop,” he cuts you off, shutting the curtain behind you, his hand lingering on the fabric like he’s anchoring himself. “This ain’t your fault. It’s mine. I knew what I was doing. I knew what I was risking.”

You shake your head, tears streaming now, and step closer, your hands reaching for him, but you stop short, afraid he’ll pull away. “He’s sending you away,” you say, voice breaking. “He’s taking you from me.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, and he looks away, his hands on his hips, his chest heaving. “Yeah,” he says, quiet, almost defeated. “He is.”

You’ve never heard him like this, never seen him like this—not cocky, not defiant, just… raw. It scares you, because Rafe’s always been untouchable, unstoppable, but now he’s here, breaking in front of you, and you don’t know how to fix it.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper, and it’s the truth, raw and ugly, because you’re in too deep, because he’s ruined you, just like he said he would, and you don’t care anymore. You just want him.

He turns then, and his eyes meet yours, and there’s something fierce in them, something that makes your breath catch. He steps closer, so close you can feel the heat of him, the anger, the need. “You think I want to leave you?” he says, voice low and intense, almost a growl. “You think I want to walk away from this? From you?”

He grabs your face, his hands rough, calloused, but gentle, and pulls you closer, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re mine, sunshine,” he says, and it’s not just possessive, it’s desperate, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “I don’t give a fuck about your dad, or the military, or any of it. I don’t want to let you go. I can’t.”

You’re crying now, full sobs, because you’ve never heard him like this, never seen him so open, so vulnerable. “Then don’t,” you say, your hands fisting his dog tags, pulling him closer. “Don’t go, Rafe. Stay. For me.”

He laughs, a broken, bitter sound, and pulls back just enough to look at you. “You don’t get it, do you?” he says, voice shaking. “I don’t have a choice. He’s my CO. He says jump, I jump. He says leave, I’m gone. That’s how this works.”

You shake your head, desperate, clinging to him like he’s slipping away already. “You could fight,” you say. “You could talk to him, tell him—”

“Tell him what?” Rafe snaps, his voice rising, and you flinch, because he’s never yelled at you before. “That I’m fucking his daughter? That I’ve got her sneaking around, sucking me off in sheds, coming apart in my bunk? You think that’s gonna make him change his mind?”

You freeze, your cheeks burning, because he’s right, and you hate it. You hate that you’ve made this mess, that you’ve dragged him into it, that you’re both drowning now. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice small, your hands dropping from his tags.

He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair, and steps back, pacing like a caged animal. “Don’t do that,” he says, softer now, but still angry. “Don’t apologize. This ain’t on you. I wanted you. I still want you. I’d burn this whole fucking base down for you, and that’s the problem.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just stand there, tears streaming, your heart breaking, because he’s Rafe, and he’s yours, and you’re losing him. He stops pacing, turns to you, and grabs your face again, his thumbs brushing your tears away.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and intense, his eyes burning into yours. “You’re mine, okay? No matter where they send me, no matter what happens. You’re in my head, in my fucking blood. I’m not letting you go, not even if I’m halfway across the world. You hear me?”

You nod, sobbing, and he kisses you, hard and desperate, like he’s trying to pour everything he’s feeling into it—anger, need, fear, love. You kiss him back, your hands clutching his shirt, because it’s all you have left.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “Go back to your room,” he says, voice rough but gentle. “Before he comes looking.”

You don’t want to leave, but you know he’s right, so you nod, stepping back, your hands shaking as you wipe your face. You slip out, the night air hitting you like a slap, and you don’t look back, because you know he’s watching, and you know it’ll break you.

You don’t sleep that night. You lie in bed, staring at your notebook, the pages still blank from last night, because you can’t write this. You can’t put Rafe’s pain into words, can’t make sense of the way he looked at you, like you were his world and he was losing it.

You don’t know what happens next, but you know one thing.

You’re his.

And he’s yours.

Even if it destroys you both.

[tyunningism]

Campus Sweetheart (2)

── .✦ pairing: c.yj + k.th

After getting caught up with Soobin at Yeonjun’s party you’re the talk of the town !! Everyone’s dying to get a piece of you (or peace of mind away from you), nevertheless Yeonjun can’t help but want his share too!! And so does a certain someone who’s had his eyes on you since ><

╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead... haven’t read part 1? Visit here !!

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 5.5k words

mentions!! and warnings!! - Smut , alcohol consumption + partying but no drunk sex etc., hard!dom taehyun and dom!yeonjun, threesome, dacryphilia, extreme exhibitionism, daddy kink, nipple play, voyeurism, spit roasting, food play, spanking + hair grabbing + spitting, degrading names, blow job, filming, unprotected sex, breeding etc.

tyunningism’s note: been putting this on hold for a bit but the people wanted the threesome so here it is 😼, not proofread !!

Dynamics between you and your roommates have always been out of the ordinary, and by that you mean you’ve never met someone else whose roommate offers to do all of their laundry regardless of their protests, is always walking back in to the apartment with at least one bag of clothing a teeny bit too tight for them, or even offer to eat them out after a bad day- so maybe you really hit the jackpot with Soobin.

Pinks, browns and beiges that littered your closet were now packed straight to the edge with a new set of short strapless dresses, red silk two-pieces and miniskirts riding so far up your thigh they were basically non-existent.

The frequency of these parties that the frats held every week or two meant that you’d constantly have to whip up a new dress completely in contrast to your usual sweet girl look, but Soob has no problem paying for the dresses- as long as you let him pick them out <33

“This one looks sweet on you don’t you think bunny?” He flashes two dresses on their hangers still interchangeably against your chest, his dimple pops out as he thinks long and hard about what would suit you best for Mark’s party, and as much as he adores you and your frilly mid-skirts, he really wants to push you a bit further this time; eyes locked on the maroon open-back dress in his right hand.

Woven out of thin silk he reckons it would rip within seconds if he even used the tiniest bit of force on you, which is exactly why he chooses it.

“Soobin..I think- I think we should try a different dress..” You propose timidly behind the curtain of the changing room, the dress he picked out for you was way too tight at the waist, practically cinching in to your skin and felt so stretched at the chest it would’ve ripped straight down the middle if you moved too much.

“Awh, why so? I thought it was a lovely dress.”

“No no it is lovely !! It runs a bit small that’s all.”

A slender hand tugs gently at the curtain, “It zips up doesn’t it? Let me see, bunny.”

You shy away behind the curtain as you slowly slide it across and it’s so teasing, you don’t even realise it cause fuck, you look so small beneath him, so tempting in that dress he chose for you, eyes so hopeful for praise you nearly knock a straight boner in to him.

“It’s perfect, promise you it fits you great, now will you wear it to the function?” He cocks you a wide smile you can’t say no to as he leads you through aisles and shelves of the store with a warm hand, comical in the sense that it could cover your whole face if he tried.

An empty spot in the queue lands you and Soobin at the till, the taller male fishing in his pockets for what you assumed was going to be his wallet ends up being..a laced set of panties?

Discarded right on top of the rest of the clothing you give Soobin a questioning look and a tug on the sleeve of his shirt- what else could he mean by this ?!!

“Don’t like the gift?” You shake your head and avoid eye contact with the cashier in the hopes that she doesn’t remember you ever again in case you ever thought about shopping here again, but you can sense it in your veins the judging and instigating look that’s headed straight your way. Really Choi Soobin?

beep!-

”Back so soon?” Taehyun turns his head around to welcome you from the couch before laying back down with his arms behind his head, mindlessly scrolling on his feed with boredom racking his head.

Recently Taehyun’s been harder to get close to :(( Despite being roommates for quite a while now there’s still this barrier of unease between you whenever you’re together that neither of you can quite put your finger on, an unease that only started to grow since you first put on a whole show dry humping Soobin in front of him; he’s been purposely ignoring your attempts to make small talk to try break the ice between you ever since. You don’t know what you did that was so terribly bad to upset him :(

It’s a hard swallow every time you see him hanging around with his usual crowd, laughing at a couple of his guy friends’ jokes while a new girl clung to his arm every time he briefly greeted you on campus,

So why can’t he be so friendly with you like he is to everyone else?

What about you puts him off so much?!

But heavens is Taehyun grateful for your brain that runs at 3 thoughts per hour, because if you could read minds you’d be able to see the dirty image he’s envisioning as Soobin pulls out the dress he bought for you to show it off. Barely a dress, more like meagre strands of thread compiled together with how thin it is. Thinks about the way you’d mewl at him as he pinches your perked nipples through the sheen fabric; squirming and trembling as his finger spreads your folds apart in a scissoring motion beneath you, it’s so vivid in his mind he can practically hear your wanton moans in his head already:

‘Hurry s-stop teasing mmh!’

‘O-oh fuck, feels s’ good Taehyunnie please!~’

And who can judge him? (Certainly not Soobin who’s sharing the exact same predatory thoughts as you stretch your back against the counter.)

He can’t pinpoint when it started, when he first got his first wet dream starring you like some prepubescent teen after watching porn for the first time, when he started envisioning you as the girls he was fucking and dumping on the get go to relieve the stress within him.

Maybe it was when his eyes wandered to check if there was anyone eyeing Stacy before he entertained her but settled on observing the way you rocked you hips so clumsily against Soobin at Yeonjun’s party a couple weeks ago. Definitely thought he would’ve taught you way better than Soobin ever can, he’d teach you how to move your hips right so you could get the most friction out of rubbing your swollen clit over his bulge, he’d teach you where to place your hands that would turn on a guy the most. Perhaps it’s just jealousy as he watched Soobin litter all kinds of kisses down your collarbone.

Yeah, that’s exactly what it is, jealousy.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧

“What’s up?” Fwap-

“Yeonjun! You comin’ to Mark’s on Saturday? He’s hired some private dancers so Kai can get his dick wet., it’s gonna be sweet.”

Fwap- “Fuck- Nah i’ll sit this one out.”

“Come onn, everyone’s gassed about how this is the biggest party of the year man! That guy’s blown his wallet off even trying to get Mina from Architecture there!”

Not like he can take a proper phone call right now with a sticky hand weakly holding up his phone to his ear, only letting out a couple grunts barely different in pitch to show his approval or not.

“Dude..are you jerking off right now?”

Yeah, yeah he absolutely is jerking off right now with his head plump against his pillow, tip so red it stings from how long he’s been edging himself over the last hour, a thumb pressed right against his slit every single time he felt too close to paradise.

He’s been non-stop jerking off to some photos on Instagram, your photos on Instagram. Especially the one where you’re laid on your back on a beach towel with tanning oil all over you in your pink flowery bikini..featuring Soobin’s hand which rests over your stomach rubbing it in- God that drives him crazy. It’s a playful photo, he knows you don’t see it as anything major in that tiny little head of yours but anyone else seeing it would’ve thought you were dating with how touchy Soobin is with you- it annoys him so much sometimes he loses the will to actually cum just thinking about his smug grin.

But today he’s extra fixated on the plush of your thighs, soft and so fuckable like his own perfect little fleshlight. He’s going brain dumb by the minute as he quickens his pace- thrusting his hand along his cock at record speed and squeezing as tight as he can until his knuckles bore different shades of white with a string of whimpers dissipating from the curve of his lips.

“Gross..I’m never calling you again fuck. Well..that cute chick with Soobin at your party last time is coming too I heard, Heeseung wants a taste of her real bad.”

And just like that he’s lost the urge to cum again, not even needing his thumb’s interference, simply feeling pissed hearing another fiend’s name.

“Nevermind. I’ll be there.”

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧

Saturday night rolls by in a blink of an eye but no worries because Giselle’s stormed by your apartment, a blunt rolled between her lips and ashing on to the floor of your bedroom. It’s mainly self affirmation that she whispers to you as she ties a necklace around your neck, a couple pecks and girly giggles as she admires her work on your hair again.

“Don’t hotbox the damn apartment.” Taehyun reveals himself after eavesdropping on the conversation, leaning against the door frame not really knowing what watching you get ready would serve a benefit to but he’s tempted by the v-line cut dress which props up your tits so prettily, the sheer fabric exactly how he imagined: tight, vulnerable.

“I can see you staring at her tits you loser, nothing gets past me.” Giselle retorts slyly, you couldn’t even pick up on the fact he was eyeing you so intently but now that you do embarrassment starts to creep on your face.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“At least try to sort out the problem down there before you talk back, I know my darling’s hot but it’s really off putting seeing that thang in front of us-“

Shit- when did he get hard??!!

A quick cough and a ‘bathroom break’ is all that time has to offer you both as you squeeze in to Taehyun’s car. Unfortunately, Soob’s down with a diseased cold and coughing up phlegm every three seconds like some unfortunate Victorian, bed-ridden and numb in the limbs so he leaves you in Taehyun’s care, all the better for you to try and resolve the iffy status your relationship with him is in!

The car ride is amped up with Giselle’s playlist; a combination of Japanese rock and rap she’s developed a taste for for years- screaming her heart out in the back seat loud enough to reach the next city. “You guys are no funnn!! My shit is on !!”

“Y/N, did she have something to drink before the party because I’m starting to think I’ve got a whole psychiatric unit in my car.”

You attempt to stifle a laugh in case Giselle heard and was preparing a pinch straight to your arm, “A couple back at the dorms, she usually does whenever she’s going to a party her ex is also at.”

“I see. Don’t drink too much tonight, Mark’s place is a dangerous area.” Taehyun grips the steering wheel at the mention before pulling in to a small drive way with music booming through open windows, a couple drunks limp over the fences and the smell of alcohol starts to overwhelm your senses.

“Wasn’t planning on it, my head hurt super bad last time gosh..”

But Taehyun doesn’t carry on the conversation further apart from lending out a hand to pull you by his side before you could even get both feet out of the car, a strong hand glues to your waist as he strides up the stairs where the music was truly concentrated, poor Gigi was still trying to stumble her way up to follow after you ><

You’ve gotten used to the crave of booming sound blasting in your ear but not quite to the numerous stares you always get whenever you walk through, usually either in an attempt to rate you suitable enough for Taehyun and Soobin or in an attempt to oggle shamelessly at your ass with all the tight dresses Soobin swears he lives by.

“Tae! Y/N come over!” Yeonjun hollers from a far distance dressed in a loose sports jersey at an empty pool table with a couple others gathered around it, most likely for a drinking game. He’s beaming like he’s been waiting eons to see you again and it’s proven right when he snatches you out of Taehyun’s hold and in to his lap.

“Oh my bad, there’s only a seat for Taehyun left~ I guess we’ll just have to share one together okay sweetheart?”

Anyone paying attention can blatantly see the stack of chairs behind him that were unused but your tunnel vision only focuses on Yeonjun’s roaming hand which rubs along your side down to the crevice of your inner thigh, touching too dangerously close than you’d expect >< And if the glare on Heeseung’s face at the opposite end of the cleared pool table wasn’t speaking volumes to you then Taehyun’s intense stare for sure did.

“What’s up Hee? You don’t look so good.” His voice drips like honey in a condescending tone.

“Didn’t take you to be such a clingy guy, I’ll gladly give up my seat for her.” The other male responds, attempting to keep the tension level, but the vein popping out of his forehead from strain says other wise as he pours himself a shot off the girl next to him.

“Likewise, Minho told me a little something the other day.”

“That fucker..”

The music pulsed through the dimly lit room as people clustered in groups, swaying with drinks in hand, laughter mixing with the bass of shitty house music as they shoved in and out of the area around the pool table.

It wasn’t obvious, but the tension in the room started to bend between the two men and everyone was waiting for the moment it would break.

Yeonjun laughs obnoxiously enough to pass off as sarcastic, mimicking wiping tears from his eyes as he claps his hands in entertainment at Heeseung.

“You’re funny Hee, honestly,” he pats down on your thigh again before slithering his hand up to your neck to play with the dainty gold necklace which accentuated your sun-kissed skin, “you’re just so desirable aren’t you, baby?”

Confused, you just had to look right up at him with those sparkling eyes didn’t you? One more second of eye contact and Yeonjun thinks he’ll explode quite literally; he needs to blow off some steam (most likely at Heeseung) before he blows a load without even being touched in front of his drinking buddies at parties he’s had since starting uni. That’s when he spots it, a subtle glint in his eye no one else catches except Taehyun who’s boringly swirling the liquid in his cup leaning all his weight on to one shoulder.

“You trust me don’t you sweetheart? I’m gonna pull a little stunt for everyone over here, you’ll be a good girl for me and show them right?” Yeonjun whispers so sultrily it’s like your entranced by everything he does, the finger he’s dropped from your necklace that slides between and down the seams at your chest, looking back down at you once he stops his finger between the mounds of flesh only to cock his head to the side as if he wanted something.

And whatever he wanted with your chest you gave him. Instantly, he’s propping you up all prettily on to the pool table which makes Heeseung kiss his teeth because he can basically predict what kind of stunt the manwhore Choi Yeonjun is capable of, he doesn’t give two shits about what people think about him- not when the girls lined around the table are begging to get a piece of him too.

What was once a drink in Taehyun’s hand is now snatched off him by Yeonjun who observes the contents, fruit juice, that’s cute- he thinks, Taehyun’s probably assigned to the steering wheel tonight.

Staring straight in to his eyes it’s like you’re lost in a trance while he tilts your chin upwards towards him gently, the cold of his finger tips from holding the iced cup started to nip barely at your skin, and for a moment the noise fades- replaced by the sound of your pulse threatening to come out of the cavity of your chest any moment now as he holds your mouth still.

Sweet. Something sweet and fruity trickles down your throat delectably- a contrast to the usual alcohol Soobin would plead you in to trying every time. He pours the red liquid down your throat which is unable to keep up with the pace of the down pour and instead starts to diverge down your chin and drip down between the crevice of your chest which heaves up and down at him.

There’s a couple or ‘ohhh’s and ‘ahhh’s that the show you put on gained from the rest of the pool table, clapping and cheering for you to chug it ‘faster’ and ‘swallow it all” as you gulp down the last few drops of the juice, cold and sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the burn of his gaze which sparked something different, something electric.

“Good girl.” are the last words you hear before you’re pushed back against the hard wood of the pool table padded with splotches of red juice among the forest green as your hair spreads across the surface messily. A quick tug is all that Yeonjun needs to rip the seams of the maroon dress Soobin had bought you, earning him a gasp and frantic tapping to his shoulder in panic of how expensive the dress was.

“Relax, baby, I’ll buy you a new one jus’ let me show them.”

Your tits are spilling out of the dress as the thread snaps one after the other after being restricted by a bra that Yeonjun unclasps with expertise, the flat of his tongue is desperate to suck at the sticky remnants of juice between the mounds of flesh, licking his lips at the taste of watermelon. “No turning back after this baby, are you sure?” He whispers loud enough for only you to hear among the loud funk of music blasting all throughout but the only thing that clouds your mind is the drag of his tongue against your nipples which perk up under the reveal of colder again, so you nod your head gently, letting him swirl his tongue over the nub of your nipples, pinching them between his teeth lightly and sucking off of them with a lewd pop!-

From the end of the pool table Heeseung spins Yeonjun a light metal can which he bites the lid off; white whipped cream dollops on top of your tits which sensibly has his mouth panting like a bitch in heat as the older male dives back in to latch on to the heat of your nipples, squeezing the other boob with his giant hand which only erupts a bubble of moans out of your throat.

Everyone here is watching you intently, at the way Yeonjun’s eating off your tits like a starved man, the way your chest sits so prettily for him to enjoy and in jealousy of both of you at the pornographic sight. Apart from Taehyun who’s digging his nails in to his thigh so hard he’s probably drawing blood.

He doesn’t like it one bit, that Yeonjun’s showing you off to a whole audience of lustful men cheering and jostling over to get a better view- he hates it more than anything that Yeonjun’s got a taste of you before he did, so he does something completely irresponsible to his best friend.

“What the fuck? Hah!” A new completely drenched Yeonjun detaches himself from marking all sorts of pink and purple bruises on your chest which makes you whine at the loss of contact, looking straight towards the culprit- Taehyun who’s squeezing a now empty water bottle with a cold discerning eye.

“Pack it up fucker, let her go.” Taehyun hisses and tosses the empty plastic lazily behind him, grabbing your wrists and pulling you upright against his chest which stirs a bunch of uproar around the table. The party lights dim further the more Yeonjun stays silent; combing a hand through his dripping hair and cussing under his breath.

“Oh yeah? Guess Soobin’s been telling you how heavenly she tastes down there too huh? Bet she feels a fucking lot like it too, because the moment it’s my turn everyone wants a taste now too hm?” He sends an indirect hint towards Heeseung who’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat in an attempt to hide the growing erection in his sweatpants, eyeing the way the two men were fighting over you.

But you don’t want to have Taehyun and Yeonjun fighting like this over who gets to have you :(( You’d hate to get Taehyun all hot and bothered because you haven’t paid him any attention since you arrived.

You tug gently on Taehyun’s shirt and speak in a meek voice, “B-both of you..can share?”

Yeonjun smiles fondly at your suggestion, he never really thought about ‘sharing’ but your eagerness turns him on so fucking much and it’s sending shockwaves straight to his throbbing cock.

“You sure princess? Everyone’s going to be watching.” Taehyun’s whisper melts in your ear, but you couldn’t care less about what others saw of you today, not when you can feel the imprint of Taehyun’s boner prodding at you through his jeans, giddy over the fact that he doesn’t dislike you as much as you thought he did with the way he’s practically fucking your ass already with how hard he is.

More rallying fills your ear as Taehyun lifts you up off the pool table and on to the nearby coffee table in one swift motion, a stealthy audience following straight behind as Yeonjun places a small cushion where your knees rested, guiding your hands to press on to the cold metal of the table while Taehyun settles behind you. “been waiting for this for month princess you don’t even know.” The low vibrato of Taehyun’s confessions shoot straight to your core and clasps your thighs together in anticipation.

Taehyun doesn’t want to break you, oh not quite yet, so he hitches up the fabric of your dress just below your tits to give him space to hook your black laced panties to the side with one finger, a whole litre of slick pulsing out of your pussy wildly. He scoops it up to show the clear liquid staining his fingers to Yeonjun who moans at the sight,

“Fuck baby you’re so drenched already? Shit that’s so hot, didn’t know you liked being slutted out to us so badly~”

“Shut up and fuck her mouth already.”

Duh, he was obviously going to with the way his hand itched to pull down the fly of his zipper to pull out his fully erect cock, lean and prettily curved at the base, tapping teasingly against the flat of his stomach as he presses his flushed tip against your pursed lips. The taste of precum make you wince at the saltiness but you give puppy licks to it anyway, savouring every last drop.

“O-oh don’t do that baby I’m sensitive there.” He really will cum singlehandedly if you continue to give gentle lips at his reddened cockhead, you’d think he was joking if he wasn’t profusely sweating and laughing nervously.

In the mean time, Taehyun’s fisting his cock with his spit-covered hand, each vein that rang along it pulsing and twitching as he watched your weak attempt at sucking Yeonjun off.

“Go on. I won’t fuck you until you start sucking like a proper bitch.” He spits. An unoccupied hand reaches to grab a tussle of your hair to guide your mouth towards Yeonjun who’s desperate to feel the warmth of your mouth and he’s not disappointed at all!!

Your hand works at twisting at the base all the way up towards where your lips met his tip, sucking ludicrously through your clumsy hand work, globs of saliva dripping down your chin and on to his balls as he tried to hold himself back from bucking in to your face and fucking it directly instead. The sounds of you gagging around his cock drives him insane from the extra stimulation from the vibrations of moans gargling down your throat.

“S-so obedient for me, such a good slut aren’t you? Can see why Soobin’s so eager to a-ah, fuck, to eat you out every time hm? I won’t be that easy on you baby, I’m only getting started.” A mantra of moans falls from Yeonjun’s open mouth as he throws his head back in gruelling pleasure, the combination of the warmth of your mouth and the fat tears threatening to fall from your eyes is heavenly, so pornographic he’ll come apart the moment he locks eyes with you.

“You can go deeper than that you whore, I know you’ve taken more with Soobin.”

Slap!-

Taehyun strikes a hand against the globe of your ass which stings causing you to yelp and lurch further forward on Yeonjun’s throbbing cock, cheeks glowing red even under dim lighting, the hand print starting to swell only ticks the built up anger in Taehyun further as he pushes through his saliva-lubed cockhead between your folds finally.

The feeling of your gummy walls clamping down right on to the foreign feeling of being dicked down for the first time like a vice drives him insane, Taehyun’s head leans forward to the point that his hair is covering his eyes, staying still for a moment so he doesn’t cum straight away because he’s embarrassingly close already.

“Fuck this slutty pussy’s so tight, if you don’t relax princess you’re gonna snap my dick off-“

But Taehyun doesn’t wait for you to get used to the size of him, he doesn’t hesitate in pounding you right in to the table, the prodding of his cockhead against your cervix so deep you could feel it in your gut!! <33 He’s relentless with it too, each thrust harsher and deeper than the last, hitting so rough you were on cloud 9!!

“You like that don’t you bitch? Want everyone to see how big of a whore you are for your roommate and his best friend huh?” Taehyun mutters from his lips, screwed shut and biting them hard enough to draw blood.

“T-that’s it baby shit shit shit keep sucking me like that, god.” Yeonjun holds on to your bobbing head to keep in place as he picks up the pace, thrusting his thick cock down past the uvula of your throat to chase his high, his balls slapping against your chin at a chasing rhythm. The feeling of being filled up so deliciously in both of your dripping holes starts to become unbearable as you choke on Yeonjun’s dick, causing him to pull out and lightly tap his cock against your face before cooing at you,

“what’s wrong baby? Too much for you?” You look back up at him, still whimpering from Taehyun starting to ruin your soaked cunt from behind and talking in broken sentences,

“can- ngh! Can feel you all the way h-here mmh fuck, Tyun!” You grin dumbly at him, pointing towards the middle of your throat so cock dumb and fucked out, and the sight of it all sends Yeonjun on edge, he can’t cum yet- he needs to hold it in a bit longer but all he can focus on is the dirty image replaying over and over in his head like an x-rated movie scene, the way your tongue is slightly lolling out from pleasure with the way Taehyun’s trying to fuck a baby in to you at the rate he’s going, a hand plush against your tit to engineer him to his release quicker, the harsh grip on it is bound to leave you sore tomorrow.

Slap!-

”No one told you to fucking stop slut. Go on, show Yeonjun how desperate of a whore you are to make him cum hm?” Taehyun’s hips are starting to stutter as his thrusts become sloppier, his thighs are starting to buckle in the more your cunt clenches and sucks him in further making him groan in pleasure as he manhandles the fat of your ass.

“Should’ve fucked you earlier y-yeah?”

Another slap lands on your ass which makes you moan around Yeonjun’s reentering cock, creating bliss for him as he picks up the pace to chase after his release, your hips wiggle back to feel Taehyun’s thrusts harder and closer, each stroke of his cock deliciously abrasive against the inside of your walls.

“Probably was planning on taking us both like this anyways with how often you walk around with- ugh shit, those flimsy shorts in. Just a whore pleading to be dicked down constantly aren’t you? ‘ Can feel you clenching down on me fuck- you like it when I call you those nasty words don’t you? Bet Soobin never fucks you this good, bet his cock’s never reached this deep inside you.”

Taehyun lifts your hips slightly higher at angle which makes you feel everything, the singular bulge of the large vein running along his dick makes your eyes roll back as you feel the knot building up in your stomach start to come undone, feeling waves of overwhelming pleasure flood over you while Yeonjun simultaneously pulls his dick out of your mouth again, nearing his own high as he gives his dick a couple more strokes towards your face.

“You’ll let me record this won’t you? Wanna show Soobin how good you’re being for us hm?”

“A-ah!~ Yes just please jjunie, give it to me!” The sticking out of your tongue ready to swallow his cum in to your mouth makes him reel in all sorts of lewd images as he presses the red ‘record’ button, he’s jerking off his cock until it hurts like a bitch before spurting out thick ropes of white that paints your tongue, swallowing it before sticking it out again to show how obediently you’re following his instructions as Taehyun still plows in to you from behind.

“Tch. Always so incompetent, couldn’t even last a second in her mouth can you?” Taehyun’s comment irks Yeonjun further; he grabs you by the chin to twist your head back towards the camera, focusing on the tear stains that ran through your makeup and the drool still leaking out of your chin.

You feel the way Taehyun hits a particular sensitive spot which makes you squeal, “Fuck ! Taehyun fuck me harder please I’m so close!!~” Your voice is whinier than ever before,

“Gonna cum for daddy? That’s right slut, bet that’s all that’s running through that little head of yours.” You unravel on his dick, cumming all over him as he follows not too quickly behind, filling you up with his gloopy seed and pressing in to you just a little longer to savour the moment.

“Fuck you bastard you came in her.” Heeseung groans with his dick in his hand, the whole table is filled with phones recording and girls eyeing your blissed out state in jealousy, thinking of whatever dirty rumour you had to prepare for next.

“You’ll live, she started birth control since she started messing about with Soobin anyway.” He laughs as he reaches out a finger to spread your hole wider, watching your puffy cunt attempts to push out his cum, only for it to end in futile effort as he forces it back in. At the same time Yeonjun presses a chaste kiss to your forehead,

“You’re so good baby, might have to keep you for myself.” He winks before wiping off the remaining mixture of cum and drool off your chest, instead looking over towards the crowd.

“Jealous? I can see you’re seething right now Heeseung it’s hilarious, bet you can’t cum without the feeling of her can you?” Laughing and throwing up a middle finger towards the infuriated receiver, Taehyun cleans you up amidst cheers from his friends and dirty comments about ‘how hot that was’ , he leans over to whisper in your ear.

“You did well for me today princess, handled it like a good girl hm? Does it hurt anywhere?”

You shake your head and blink rapidly, tugging on his shirt again to make him lean down further in to your scent, “No, I liked it, you make me feel good Taehyun.”

He understands it now, heck everyone sat near the coffee table understands it, how you’ve earned the title of ‘Campus Sweetheart’ because it’s disgusting how desirable you are when your holes are being absolutely ruined by two men, something to keep their minds going for weeks.

And Soobin who’s back at the apartment and groggily rubbing his eyes to see the attachment Yeonjun sent him can see it too, specifically on the thumbnail which gives him the clearest view of just how dirty you are!! <3

tyunningism 's work !! 2025

do not steal, copy or repost.

taglist: @chocomoas @sunsetpossum (for those who req a yeonjun part !!)

[quinnsdesk]

caught off guard

tim bradford x inexperienced!reader

requested by: my lovely @sleepymissy an: yet another amazing req from my lovely Missy. this is a longer one and also not proofread, sorry but the ideas were just flowing! (join the taglist)

cw: mdni, age gap, mentions of sex work, mentions of violence, masturbation (m), hand jobs, fingering, virginity loss, p in v.

wc: 7.4k

You felt amazing. It was amazing. You were finally P2. For the longest time, it felt like your time as a rookie would never end, but finally, you'd made it. Thank goodness Grey had paired you with one of the kindest and most good-hearted men you knew. John Nolan.

John was everything you could’ve asked for in a training officer. He was patient, gentle when needed, tough when necessary, and always willing to listen. He guided you through your toughest calls and celebrated your wins like they were his own. His group of friends welcomed you easily, all warm smiles and helpful advice.

Well, all except one.

Tim Bradford.

He was stoic. Intense. Controlled. Tim was quiet in that unnerving way that made you wonder what he was thinking. His eyes, a piercing ocean blue, always seemed to be working something out that he never let anyone in on. He wasn't even part of patrol anymore. He was working metro, and yet he was always around.

At first, you didn’t understand why. He was in metro, a tight knit group who wouldn't really hang out with those outside their clique, especially not with Nolan and his easygoing friends. But Lucy had explained it one day, a little awkwardly. They used to be something. More than just partners. Because a superior dating a subordinate could put both their careers at risk, Tim had transferred to metro to make things easier. So, there was history.

And for a while, it had worked. Things between them seemed good. Solid even. But eventually, it fell apart. Lucy moved on. She went back to Chris, saying she needed something more grounded. Something stable.

"Look at you! P2." Lucy grinned as you walked into the station. She stood beside Tim, who, as always, remained composed.

"Congrats, Boot. Didn’t think you’d make it this far." His tone was dry, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. The word Boot was meant to be a jab, something to get under your skin, yet coming from him, it rolled off you like water off a duck's back.

"Thanks, sir." You smiled sweetly, catching the faint flush that crept up his neck.

Tim would be lying if he said he didn’t notice you. You were younger. Confident. Attractive. And the way you called him sir, even now that you didn’t have to, did things to him he didn’t want to admit. Maybe it was the tone you used, teasing and respectful all at once. Maybe it was the way your eyes lingered on him a second too long. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to you. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

___________

“So, any celebration plans now that you're a P2?” Aaron asks, his hands steady on the wheel as he cruises down the road, eyes flicking between the traffic and you.

You shrug, watching the city pass by through the passenger window. “Hm, not really. I mean… is it really that big of a deal?”

Aaron scoffs. “Uh, yeah! Most rookies wash out before they even get to this point. But you didn’t. That means something.”

You hum in reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you need, I know the best caviar place."

You turn to him with a smirk, but before you can fire back, a rapid pop-pop-pop shatters the rhythm of the moment. Gunshots. Close.

Aaron’s posture snaps straight, and your hand instinctively drops to your holster.

“Did you hear that?” you ask, eyes scanning the buildings, already flipping your body around in the seat.

“Yeah. That was automatic.” He flicks on the lights and sirens, making a sharp turn onto the next street.

You both move fast. No hesitation. Radios crackle as you key up. “7-Adam-19, we’ve got shots fired near 5th and Valencia. Requesting backup and an airship. Possible active shooter.”

The tires screech as you roll up to a narrow alley choked with shadow. A black SUV is parked half-on, half-off the curb, the driver’s side door still swinging open. Shell casings glitter on the pavement like cursed confetti.

“Shit,” Aaron mutters, parking at an angle for cover. “You see anyone?”

You shake your head, already stepping out, weapon drawn, scanning.

“Clear right,” you whisper, and he answers, “Clear left.”

The two of you move together, backs tight, eyes sharp. Halfway down, a steel door slams shut at the far end of the alley, and a shadow flits behind a dumpster.

Aaron lifts his radio again. “We have movement. Possible suspect fleeing eastbound. Need Metro support. Now.”

Crackling static fills the radio before Tim’s voice cuts through. “Metro en route. ETA three minutes. Hold position if you can.”

Your grip tightens on your gun at the sound of his voice. Not because you're nervous—no, because lately things between you and Tim have felt... off. Since you made P2, he’s been distant. Guarded. You don’t know what shifted, but it lingers in every interaction like smoke in the air.

You and Aaron hold the position, watching the far end of the alley until Metro arrives. Tim’s team pours in with practiced precision, clearing the buildings, chasing the trail. But the shooter’s already fled.

When the adrenaline fades, you're left staring down at the glittering casings and the bloodstain near the SUV’s tire. A reminder of how close chaos always is.

Tim finds you shortly after. He says nothing at first, just walks over, scanning you for injuries, for damage. His eyes are sharp, unreadable.

“You good?” he finally asks.

You nod. “Yeah. We held perimeter until Metro showed. Suspect’s gone.”

He studies you for a second longer than necessary. “You did good.”

It should feel like praise. It should feel like validation. But instead, it lands heavy, like there’s something he’s not saying.

"Thanks." Aaron chirps in to cut the thick air, it was meant to come out as a joke, but he only earned a smirk from you, Tim remained his usual grumpy self. Tim nods in goodbye before joining his metro buddies. "Damn, I didn't think Tim could be grumpier than he already is." Aaron turns around with you, greeting Nyla and Angela as they walk onto the scene. "Hm, I noticed that too, I mean he's always been a bit of an ass but lately he's been a huge dick." You whispered not wanting anyone to hear your conversation.

Suddenly you went quiet, it was pathetic honestly. The image of Tim flooded your mind, his cock in hand, his heavy blue eyes on you, and only you. "Hey? You good?" Aaron opens the passenger door for you to enter, being the usual gentleman he is. "Hm? Yeah, just thinking about celebration plans." You lied.

The drive back to the station was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled not from lack of things to say, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. The adrenaline was still ebbing in your bloodstream, leaving behind the telltale ache in your limbs and the faint thud in your temples. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in amber streaks of streetlight, but your mind wasn’t on the buildings or the traffic.

It was on him.

You tried not to think about it, about him, but the moment kept replaying behind your eyes like some slow-motion loop you couldn’t shake. Tim, storming into the alley with Metro, taking command like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bulletproof vest snug against his chest, sculpting his torso like a second skin. You knew the man was fit, had seen him train, seen him in uniform day in and day out, but something about him in that moment hit different.

Maybe it was the way he moved, fluid and sure, eyes scanning, body tensed for danger. Or maybe it was the way his biceps strained beneath the sleeves of his black tactical shirt, the fabric clinging and flexing with each movement like it could barely contain the power underneath. It looked like the seams were moments away from surrendering, and you hated how easily your eyes had locked there.

And his jaw, God, his jaw. Clenched in that firm, focused way, like he was holding back an entire storm of emotion, pushing it all down so he could stay sharp. Professional. In control. The muscle ticked as he gave orders, his voice calm but edged in steel, and the way he held his weapon? You’d trained for that. Practiced that. But when he did it, it wasn’t just muscle memory. It was precision, dominance, command.

You remembered the veins on his forearms, too, what a ridiculous detail to get stuck on, but they stood out, thick and pronounced as he moved with purpose. They pulsed beneath the skin, mapping a trail that had your stomach tightening in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. It was... distracting. Maddening.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly as if you could dislodge the image. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that, especially not after an active shooter scene. But the image lingered. Branded into your thoughts like heat against cold metal.

Next to you, Aaron drove in silence. Maybe he was lost in his own thoughts too, maybe he was giving you space. Either way, you were grateful. The last thing you needed right now was to talk. Especially not about what had just happened, or who had just happened to show up like a real-life action hero.

You rubbed your fingers against your thigh, trying to ground yourself, but it didn’t help much.

Because despite the calm in the car, your thoughts were anything but. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on what came next, paperwork, statements, the debrief, all you could think about was Tim Bradford. Clenched jaw. Veined forearms. Gun in hand.

___________

“Hey, I heard about the shooting. You okay?” Lucy’s voice cut through the low buzz of the station, her concern evident as she approached you and Aaron. Her brows were pulled together, eyes scanning your face for any sign of strain.

“Yeah,” Aaron replied quickly, before you could even open your mouth. “Perp got away just as Tim and his team made it to the scene.”

Lucy winced. “Shit,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting toward Grey’s office. Tim was already inside, standing tall, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he gave his debrief. His expression was unreadable, locked down and professional, but you could see the muscle twitch in his jaw as he spoke. Always in control. Always wound just a little too tight.

You were about to excuse yourself to change out of your tac gear when Grey’s voice rang out across the bullpen.

“Can I see you in my office?”

You froze for a beat, then nodded quickly, wiping your palms on your pants before crossing the floor and stepping into the office.

Tim barely looked at you as you entered, though you could feel the heat of his stare lingering just beneath the surface. He stood beside Grey, who didn’t waste time.

“We think the shooter was tipped off,” Grey began, his tone clipped and direct. “The plates on the vehicle match one of Elijah Stone’s known associates.”

You swallowed hard. That name wasn’t just any name, it carried weight. Violence. Power.

“We need someone on the inside,” Grey continued. “Someone new. Unconnected.”

Tim finally looked at you. Really looked.

“Ever worked UC, Boot?”

Your stomach tightened. Grey’s brows twitched slightly at the nickname, but he didn’t comment. Tim didn’t apologize either.

“Uh… n-no, sir.” Your voice hitched embarrassingly under their dual scrutiny. Both men stared at you like they were weighing something, like this moment mattered more than you realized.

“Chen will brief you. Get ready. Wheels up in 30,” Grey said, voice firm. Then he added, without looking up, “Unless you think you’re not ready.”

You didn’t miss the way Tim’s gaze bore into you—sharp, questioning, challenging. Like he wanted to see if you’d flinch.

“No,” you said, straighter now. Stronger. “I’m ready, sir.”

You didn’t know then what that really meant.

It hit you like a slap once you saw the outfit.

The wardrobe Lucy laid out for you was, well, it was a lot. You were being posed as a hooker.

The low-cut black tank top was tight across your chest, just barely appropriate enough to conceal the small wire and mic strapped beneath it. Over it, a cheap faux-fur jacket that reeked of desperation and stale perfume. The mini skirt was metallic gold, short enough to reveal everything with one wrong move. Paired with thigh-high black stockings that clung to your legs like a second skin, and silver platform heels that looked like they belonged on a stripper pole.

Lucy had gone full out with your hair and makeup, your ponytail was teased to high heaven, your lips glossed a sticky cherry red, and your eyes smoked out with so much liner you barely recognized your own face. The gold hoops in your ears caught the overhead lights like a beacon.

You looked… older. Edgier. Dangerous.

And, okay, hot. You couldn’t deny that. You looked like a problem.

When you stepped out of the locker room, the reaction was immediate.

Aaron let out a slow, impressed breath, shaking his head. “Damn. If the undercover gig doesn’t pan out, you could start charging entry to walk into a room like that.”

Lucy grinned with pride, arms folded like a fashion designer watching her muse strut the runway. “I told you,” she said to Angela, “this girl has range.”

Angela gave you a once-over, clearly impressed. “Lucy, you need to dress me up for date night with Wesley,” she joked, before fist-bumping Nyla.

You, on the other hand, tugged at your skirt in a useless attempt to cover more skin. “This feels like it’s… too much,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

Your hands instinctively went to your thighs, trying to smooth the fabric, but all you succeeded in doing was drawing more attention to your legs—especially the toned lines of your quads and calves, made even more pronounced by the heels.

Tim was standing off to the side, silent. You looked up at him, and that was when it hit.

He wasn’t just quiet. He was avoiding looking at you.

His jaw was tight again. His eyes flicked to you once, briefly, before darting away like your body might physically burn him if he stared too long.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s focus,” he said, but his voice was slightly hoarse, betraying him. You swore his ears had turned red. You stood a little straighter after that. Maybe the outfit was too much. But from the way Tim couldn’t meet your gaze or maybe it was just enough.

"Looking good," Grey said with a small, almost reluctant smile as he walked into the bullpen, his eyes flicking over the outfit you were reluctantly wearing.

"Thank you, sir." You gave a nod, awkwardly tugging at your tank top in a half-hearted attempt to cover a bit more cleavage. It didn’t help. The outfit was designed to draw attention, and unfortunately, it was doing exactly that. You felt the subtle stares, the quiet shift in energy from every nearby officer.

The group made their way into roll call. As the chatter died down and everyone took their seats, you remained standing near Grey at the front.

He cleared his throat. "Tonight, one of our own will be going undercover as Candy Simmons. She’s a low-level prostitute working the corner our suspect, our shooter, Luke Graham, is known to frequent."

The room tensed. The atmosphere changed in an instant, eyes sharpened, jaws set. Protective instincts quietly stirred.

“If you see her on the street, you treat her like any other working girl. Cuff her. Book her. Say it’s for solicitation. Stay in character. No exceptions,” Grey instructed firmly.

Nods went around the room, some hesitant, others grim. Lucy shot you a quick look, half support, half concern, while Lopez folded her arms with an unreadable expression, clearly not thrilled.

Tim stood up near the back and stepped forward, voice cutting clean through the quiet. “Let’s be clear. Catching Graham is the mission. But no suspect is worth losing one of our own. Her safety comes first."

His eyes flicked toward you for half a second, something unreadable behind them, controlled, but heavy.

“If she calls for backup, you respond. Immediately. And if anything starts going sideways, we pull her out. No discussion.” He barks.

You swallowed, nodding once. You weren’t a stranger to danger, but this was different. This wasn’t a vest and a badge, it was heels, makeup, and vulnerability. You were walking into this as bait.

“Understood?” Grey asked, scanning the room.

A chorus of affirmatives followed.

As roll call ended and officers filtered out, Tim caught up with you just outside the door, lowering his voice.

“You sure about this?” His tone was calm, but his eyes searched yours, clearly looking for any hint of hesitation.

You forced a confident smirk. “Candy Simmons doesn’t scare easy.”

He didn’t smile back, but you can tell he's holding one on the inside. He just gave a curt nod and walked off, shoulders tight, fists lightly clenched at his sides.

___________

"New girl! This is my corner."

The voice rang out sharp and territorial. You turned to see her, she had a short blond bob, fishnet stockings hugging long legs, and a skin-tight, hot pink dress that shimmered under the dull yellow streetlight. She looked like trouble. The kind that earned her turf.

"Plenty space for all of us," you replied, your voice dipped in a deliberately cheap Boston accent. You gave a casual smile, pulling a cigarette from the pack in your bra and handing it to her. "Candy."

She gave you a once-over, eyeing the cigarette, then you, then the cigarette again. She took it. Truce.

"Candy, huh? Bit cliché, don’t you think?" she said as she lit up.

You gave a shrug. "It sticks."

"Peach," she introduced, smoke curling from her lips. "That’s Felicity—" she nodded to a girl with dark curls and hollow eyes, "—and Nina’s the one in the silver heels."

Felicity stepped closer, arms crossed. "Where you from, Candy? You look familiar."

You blinked, maintaining your cool. “I get that a lot,” you replied with a small laugh. “Boston. Just moved down. My old man said I’d make better bag here.”

"Uh-huh," Felicity muttered, still squinting, not entirely convinced, but not ready to push either.

A car rolled up with black, tinted windows, and the window slid down with an electric hum. The man inside leaned over. “Hey, baby, wanna have a good night?”

Peach strutted forward in practiced rhythm, leaning against the car door with ease. “You’re lucky,” she cooed. “Tonight, you got options.” She winked back at you before climbing in, the door shutting with a low thump.

This was all too surreal. You shifted on your heels, cold breeze dancing up your barely-there skirt. You kept your body loose, expression indifferent. Candy Simmons might be fake, but the environment wasn’t.

You were about to reposition yourself further down the sidewalk when you felt it, a presence.

A man. Tall, wiry, with greasy hair pulled back into a thin ponytail. His clothes hung loose on his frame, and he reeked of alcohol and something more chemical. He staggered forward, eyes locked on you like you were a meal.

"Don’t think I’ve seen you around here," he slurred, stepping too close. “Fresh meat, huh?”

You forced a laugh, taking a step back, trying to remain in character. “Just workin’, baby.”

But he didn’t back off. Instead, his fingers reached out, brushing your arm, then gripping it.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” he snapped, voice low and menacing. “This corner ain’t charity. You pay to be here.”

You froze for just a second. Not from fear—you had backup close—but the sudden shift in his demeanor. He wasn’t just posturing. He meant to hurt you.

"Yo!"

The voice sliced through the night.

You turned your head to see Tim, he wore a filthy flannel, with dark jeans and his crisp white t-shirt underneath, something he obviously threw together no more than 5 minutes ago. He was storming towards the two of you.

"The hell you think you’re doin’ with my girl?" Tim barked, squaring up to the man. His voice was rough, laced with threat, and dripping with territorial menace. He was completely in character. Your so-called pimp.

The man raised his hands, backing up a step. “Hey, man, chill, didn’t know she was spoken for—”

“She’s mine,” Tim growled, shoving his way between you and the creep, now nose to nose with him. “You touch her again, I’ll bury you in a goddamn alley.”

The man stumbled back, hands shaking, and then bolted down the sidewalk like a rat scurrying into a sewer.

Tim turned, his expression still hard. He grabbed your arm—not too tight, but enough for the role—and hissed just loud enough for the mics to catch it: “You good?”

You nodded once, quick.

His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before letting go. He looked you over and muttered under his breath, "You need to sell the act, but don’t forget what’s real. I’m right here." Was Tim being genuine and caring?

Then, louder, his voice changing back to his in-character bark, he snapped, “Get your ass back on the sidewalk. You’re not here to flirt, you’re here to work.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, flipping your hair. “Whatever, baby.”

As you returned to your post, the adrenaline still buzzed under your skin. The mission was still on, but so was something else. Something hot and tense that simmered beneath the roleplay.

And you had a feeling the night wasn’t done testing you.

You watched as Tim walked away, a heavy feeling lodged deep in your chest. He didn’t look back. Not even once. You told yourself to shake it off, to focus, to stay in character. You didn’t have time to fall apart, not when the target was walking right toward you.

Graham stumbled out from the alleyway, reeking of cheap whiskey and bad decisions. His brunette hair was unkempt, eyes bloodshot, and a toothpick dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth. He scanned the sidewalk, eyes eventually landing on you like you were just another item to collect. You were playing bait, and he was taking it.

"You new?" he asked, voice slurred, eyes trailing your figure as he took a slow, cocky step closer.

"I am," you purred, smiling sweetly. "But I’m also unforgettable." You placed a flirty hand on his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his jacket.

He chuckled lowly, leaning in with a disgusting grin. "Mmm, I like that."

"Yeah?" You tilted your head.

Quick as a whip, your hand closed around his wrist while your other slammed into his chest. He staggered, caught off guard, and you used the momentum to body slam him into the hood of his car. He grunted loudly, face mashed against the dirty metal.

"LAPD," you growled, yanking his arm behind his back. "You're under arrest, Graham."

But he wasn’t going down easy.

His elbow rammed back, catching you in the ribs, making you stumble. You regained your footing just in time to dodge a wild punch. "You bitch!" he snarled.

He swung again, this time grabbing at your shirt. The fabric tore at the collar as you twisted away, but you didn’t let go. You landed a solid knee to his thigh and grabbed his hair, yanking him forward and off balance.

You slammed him into the pavement with a grunt, cuffing one wrist as he thrashed beneath you. "Stay the hell down!" you snapped, breath hot with adrenaline.

He kicked out, but Nyla arrived just then, gun drawn. "Graham, don't be stupid."

Seeing backup, Graham finally stilled. You locked the second cuff into place with a loud click, panting hard, shirt torn and sticking to your skin.

“Good work,” Nyla said, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him up. “You good?”

"Peachy," you muttered, brushing hair from your face, trying not to notice the cool air hitting your now-exposed bra as your torn shirt shifted.

You turned—just in time to see Tim approaching, eyes scanning over the scene.

But then his gaze landed on you.

He froze for a second, eyes darkening as he took in the ripped fabric across your chest, the pale strap of your bra peeking through. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and moved toward you.

"Here," he said quietly, draping it over your shoulders in one swift, protective motion before anyone else could get a good look. His fingers lingered just a second too long at the collar, eyes meeting yours, filled with concern. "You okay?"

You swallowed, nodding as you tugged the jacket tighter around yourself. It was warm, and it smelled like him.

"Yeah. Just... need a minute."

"Take it," he said, his voice gentler now. "I’ve got the scene."

And just like that, he stood between you and the rest of the world—shielding you without saying a word.

___________

As you walked back into the station, you felt every eye lock onto you like lasers. The usual buzz of the bullpen evaporated into a weighted silence. No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound echoing off the polished floors was the sharp clink of your heels.

Tim's jacket clung tightly to your chest, shielding the torn remnants of your shirt underneath. It was far too big on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, but it felt like armor, thick, warm, and safe. You kept your gaze forward, refusing to let them see the rawness in your expression.

"Back to work!" Grey barked, snapping the room out of its daze. Conversations resumed in hushed tones, but their eyes still followed you.

He stepped toward you then, placing a broad, reassuring hand on your shoulder. His touch was firm, grounding.

"How you feeling?" he asked, his voice lower now, more personal.

You gave him a tired smile, reaching up and gently touching the bandage taped just above your brow, courtesy of Graham’s flailing elbow. The area throbbed dully, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded only an hour earlier.

"Like I need a drink... or ten," you muttered dryly, earning the faintest tug of a smile from Grey.

He nodded, the concern in his eyes briefly eclipsing the usual stoic facade. "Get changed then go home. Rest—you need it," he said in that fatherly tone of his, the kind that brokered no argument but carried care underneath.

"Yes, sir," you replied softly, your voice laced with exhaustion.

You turned and walked toward the locker rooms. Your muscles were already beginning to stiffen, the ache settling in like an unwelcome guest. The bruises hadn’t fully bloomed yet, but you could feel them forming beneath your skin like slow fire. You’d be sore tomorrow, no doubt about it.

After changing back into your jeans and a soft, worn-in t-shirt, you stuffed the ruined blouse into your gym bag and zipped it shut. You paused for a moment, running your fingers down the heavy fabric of Tim’s metro jacket. It still smelled like him, faint hints of cologne, clean sweat, and the worn leather of the car seat he practically lived in. You slipped it over your arm.

Then, you headed toward his office.

As you walked down the hallway, your boots clicking softly against the tile floor, you heard faint mumbles coming from ahead. At first, they were indistinct, just low, almost rhythmic sounds, the kind your brain tries to dismiss as nothing more than background noise. But then, in the spaces between footsteps, you caught something more specific. Your name.

You stopped dead in your tracks, brows furrowed. 'Did I hear that right?' The station was quiet, unusually so. It was after hours, and most people had gone home. You’d stayed behind to finish paperwork, but now curiosity itched beneath your skin. It was probably nothing, you reasoned. Maybe you were tired, hearing things after an already stressful night.

Still, something pulled you forward, an invisible thread tugging at your gut.

As you approached Tim’s office, the muffled murmurs grew clearer, layered with something else now. Moans. Quiet, ragged moans. Your breath hitched as you stood frozen just outside his door. No way. Your heart began to pound in your chest. A dozen rational explanations raced through your mind, maybe he’d clicked on a bad ad while researching a case, or maybe some video started playing unexpectedly. Maybe he was listening to something with headphones, not realizing how loud it was.

But when you leaned in, just slightly, just enough to press your ear gently against the doorframe, you heard it again.

"Fuck… yes, baby..."

The voice was deep, raw, strained with pleasure. You recognized it instantly. Tim.

Your hand, without thought, drifted to the doorknob. Not turning it. Just resting there. Your mouth had gone dry, and you blinked hard, trying to process what the hell was happening.

It was probably a video; you told yourself again. It has to be a video. Or maybe a phone call. Maybe he’s not even alone in there.

And then you heard it. Your name. Not once. Twice. Moaned like a prayer, broken and desperate.

Every theory you had disintegrated in that moment.

You flinched back as if burned. The thought of knocking had completely slipped your mind, replaced with the dull roar of blood in your ears. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, a brutal rhythm of disbelief and something else. Something darker. Hotter.

Your name. He said your name.

You should leave. You should walk away, forget you ever heard anything, pretend none of this happened. That would be the smart thing to do. The respectful thing.

But your feet stayed planted.

Slowly, cautiously, your hand turned the knob. You didn’t even realize you were opening the door until it gave way with a soft click and swung inward just a few inches.

Enough to see.

Tim sat behind his desk, slouched back in his chair, his head tilted against the headrest. One hand gripped the armrest in a white-knuckled hold. The other disappeared beneath the edge of his desk, rhythmically moving.

You couldn’t see everything. Just enough.

His eyes were shut, brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched tight as if he were holding back groans that threatened to spill over. His chest rose and fell in staggered breaths.

"God..."

Then he said it again. Clear. Intense. Like he meant it.

You sucked in a breath and instinctively stepped back, heart thundering.

The soft scuff of your shoe must’ve been louder than you thought.

Tim’s eyes flew open.

For a second, maybe even less, you both just stared. He looked startled, flushed, pupils blown wide with shock. And then his face twisted in panic and embarrassment as he registered what was happening. His hand shot away, grabbing at his desk, a clumsy attempt at covering what couldn’t be unseen.

“Shit!” he barked, scrambling upright. “I- what the hell—why are you-?”

“I- I didn’t mean to-” you stammered, your eyes darting toward the floor, heat blooming across your cheeks. “I heard, something, I thought you needed help-” You watched as he quickly stuffed himself back into his jeans.

“You heard something?” he snapped, standing up fully now, still clearly rattled, trying desperately to regain composure. “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t l-look. I swear, oh my God I'm so sorry!" You threw your palms over your eyes as he sat back down and sighed, his hands running over his clenched jaw. "Tim... say something please..." Your throat was tight, your plea coming out softer than planned. "Get over here." He ordered. Your mouth went dry. "W-what?" You stumbled towards him, his two hands on each of his muscular thighs, you could see his hard cock straining beneath his jeans.

It was almost as if he could tell from your facial expressions that you weren't used to this, not just with him but with anyone.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked again, not out of mockery or dominance, but curiosity, laced with something softer. Something deeper. He was reading your face like a case file, dissecting your reactions, watching the way you flinched, not with shame, but with exposure.

You hesitated, then gave the smallest of nods.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, fingers curling slightly against the polished surface, heart thundering in your chest. The air between you was thick, as if time itself had paused, stretching each second out like molasses.

And yet, his eyes didn’t waver.

A flicker passed through his expression. Something primal, restrained. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move toward you. If anything, he stayed grounded, seated, steady.

“Such a sweet, innocent girl,” he murmured, voice roughened with want, but low, measured. “No one’s ever taken their time with you, have they?”

You could barely speak. The world felt like it had shrunk to just the space between you, the weight of his gaze, and the heat building low in your stomach. You weren’t used to being looked at like this. Not with hunger, but reverence. Like you were something valuable. Worth unraveling.

His eyes dropped, trailing down your legs and back up with a purpose that made your skin flush.

You swallowed thickly. “W-what were you thinking about?”

Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how unsure it sounded. But you needed to know. You needed to understand what it was about you that had pulled this version of Tim to the surface, unguarded, raw, wanting.

He didn’t flinch.

“You,” he said. “And those perfect legs. The way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. The way you always act like you’ve got something to prove, like you’re afraid no one’s ever going to see how brilliant you are unless you burn yourself out trying.”

You weren’t sure if it was adrenaline or something else, but your hands trembled. Not from fear, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in your body right now. Just anticipation. An ache you didn’t know you’d been carrying.

His thumb traced the seam of his jeans absently as he leaned back in his chair, still watching you like you were the center of gravity in the room. And for him? You probably were.

“I shouldn’t be saying any of this,” he admitted. “You're were a rookie not too long ago."

He stood slowly, running a hand through his hair, trying to release the tension that had coiled tightly in his shoulders.

“And yet…” he looked at you, voice barely audible. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

There was silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was thick with unsaid things. The kind of silence that hums in your chest, waiting for someone to make the next move.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. You were overwhelmed, your body, your thoughts, your heart all screaming different things.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted quietly. “With any of this.”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I’m going to teach you every step of the way. And make you feel so good, if that's what you want?" He brushes a strand of hair to exposed more your neck and collarbone. "Yes... please." You whined as he sat back down on his chair. He patted on his lap for you to sit down before unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock.

You gulped nervously as he stroked himself a few times, taking a deep breath and inhaling your scent. You slowly take his cock in your hand and stroke him. "Hmm.. doing s'good baby." He hums before closing his eyes, releasing a deep breath. "You can go a bit faster if you want." His one hand gripping the armrest while the other is rubbing your back. You sped up earning a groan from Tim. "L-like this?" You peep, watching as his smirks. "Fuckin' perfect." He throws his head back.

You unintentionally let out a whine as Tim pulled your hand away, fixing himself up before making you sit on his desk. "Relax baby, I don't wanna cum just yet. Gotta savor the moment." He helped you pull your jeans down before spreading your legs.

"Tim!" You gasped as he slowly pushed one of his large digits into your soaked cunt. "That's it sweetheart." He cooed watching your big, beautiful eyes grow from pain and pleasure. You arched your back as he rubbed is thumb on your clit, you almost saw stars. Tim placed a hasty kiss on your lips as he grinned, watching your chest rise a fall from the stimulation.

You felt a coil form in your lower belly, but you hadn't recognized it, "Gonna cum baby?" He looks up at you as a little bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You nod, realizing you were approaching your orgasm.

"Hey!" You yelped as he removed his fingers, unbuckling his belt for the third time before pushing your legs back apart. "I need to be in you." He groans, gripping his desk before aligning his cock with your folds. Your eyes grew at his size, surely there was no way he was going to fit without a fight.

"We'll take it slow, okay?" He looked deep into your eyes, "We'll stop at any time." You nodded again, wrapping your legs around his lower torso. He slowly pushed himself into you, a loud whine leaving your lips as Tim stretched you out. "Shhh baby, you're bein' so loud." He placed his large palm over your mouth before continuing with his painfully slow thrust.

"God, baby yes." He groaned into the nape of your neck as he finally reached your hilt, your hymen now torn. "Thank you so much, sweetheart." He slowly pulled back out before thrusting back in, making sure to maintain a slow pace to help you adjust to his size. "Tim.." You moaned as you felt him filling you up. "Yes, c'mon, just like that." His hands were planted on his desk on the either side of you, as you held onto his shoulders and your legs maintained their grip around his torso.

"Cum baby." He panted, his head in the crook of your neck. You moved one hand to grip the back of his head, as your involuntarily clenched around him. "Tim!" You whined cumming all over him and arching your back as you felt his heavy cock pulse inside of you. "Pull ou-" You panted as Tim's thrusts got sloppier and lazier. "What?" His voice was high pitched, you swore you almost heard a voice crack. "Pull out, Sir!" You moaned a little too loud, you felt him pull out - almost too late and cum all over your lower belly and thighs.

"Shit." His body went limp on top of yours, your muscles were on fire. Hell, your whole body was on fire. "Here." He used his spare shirt to wipe you up, the gesture being more sensual than Tim had intended it to be. "Tim... you don't have to." You were still sitting on the edge of his desk; he was now kneeling in front of you. "I want to." He gently padded the swollen and painful area, feeling back every time you winced before handing you your jeans.

“Can I walk you out?” Tim asked quietly as you slung your gym bag over your shoulder, the soft hum of the nearly empty precinct wrapping around you like a late-night secret.

You glanced up, catching the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, and smiled warmly. “Of course.” You locked your phone in your bag and slipped your arm through the strap. Together, you stepped out of the bullpen, the lights dimmed to just a few overhead bulbs casting long shadows down the hall.

The station was nearly deserted now, only the night shift remaining, their murmurs and shuffles barely audible. The usual clatter and buzz of daytime activity had faded, replaced by a calm hush that seemed to hold its breath.

Tim walked beside you, his steps steady and easy, but there was a tension to him you hadn’t noticed before, something in his jaw tightening, in the way he kept his gaze low. Finally, as you reached the row of cars outside, he sighed, the sound heavy and a little vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

“For?” You looked up at him, unlocking your car doors and balancing your bag on the roof.

Tim swallowed, hesitating before he looked you in the eye. “I didn’t—well, I didn’t want your first time to be in… there.” He gestured vaguely back toward the station.

You smirked, leaning forward to place a deliberately innocent kiss on his cheek. The warmth of your lips made him shift under your touch, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“Are you kidding? I don’t regret it at all.” Your smile deepened, the playful glint in your eyes promising a little mischief.

He chuckled softly, the sound rough but genuine, and leaned casually against your car. “If you let me buy you dinner tomorrow night… maybe we can spend most of the night in my bed. I still have a few more things to teach you after all.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest as you studied him with amused disbelief. “Who are you? And what have you done with the real Tim?”

His grin widened, and he playfully punched your shoulder. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken desire and the thrill of possibilities yet to come.

You turned back to him, a mischievous smile curling your lips. “So… what you were doing in your office earlier, is that a regular occurrence?”

Tim’s face flushed a deep shade of red, his eyes darting away for a moment. “N-no, God no. Not at the office.” His voice was hurried, almost defensive.

You cocked your brow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a knowing smile. So it was a regular occurrence… just not at work.

He cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed but also a bit cocky now. “But seeing you tonight, dressed like that, the way you owned that op, the way you called me ‘baby’…” He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper. “I couldn’t wait to get home. It was only a blessing that you walked in and made my fantasy a reality.”

The confession made your heart skip. Tim, usually so controlled and composed, was nakedly honest in a way that made you want to reach out and pull him closer.

You moved toward him, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “Good,” you breathed. “I’m just getting started.” He grinned.

His eyes darkened, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Yeah?” you teased, voice thick with promise. “What else you got planned?”

He smirked, “Dinner first. Then… well, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Tim chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose. “I don’t mind waiting. As long as you’re by my side.” You smiled.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the distant sound of traffic on the street. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

You leaned your forehead against his, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your skin. “Thanks for walking me out.”

“Anytime,” he murmured. “Hell, I’ll walk you anywhere.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your smile softening into something more sincere. “Then don’t be a stranger tomorrow night.”

“I won’t,” Tim promised, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll text you the time.”

As you slid into your car, he gave you one last look, equal parts tenderness and hunger, and you knew this was only the beginning. Not just of something new, but something worth fighting for, worth savoring.

Driving away, your mind replayed the night, the feel of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered. And with a smile, you knew one thing for sure:

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

tags: @jessewesmitchellfan @w1ldf1owers @mrsmaugic @jaded222 @cosavuoi-me @winchestersbgirl @bradleybeachbabe @whatasadlittlelife @thesupersecretboyband22 @vinos-things

[syrecjh]

You’ve always had a habit of teasing him.

Not the kind that pokes at wounds or bruises his pride—no, you know better than to cross the thin, invisible wires strung between Katsuki Bakugo’s temper and his heart. But you do like to joke. To catch him off guard. To press your thumb against his scowl and make it curl into a smile, even if it comes with an eye roll and a muttered, “Dumbass.”

You’ve been together long enough to earn that right—to be silly in his space and still be safe. You’re the chaos to his order, the tickle in his throat that sometimes makes him laugh, sometimes makes him explode.

So this morning, when the sunlight filters through the windows just right and he’s sleep-tousled and bare-chested in your kitchen—grumbling about burnt toast and the “damn jam lid being too tight again”—you decide to prank him.

A small, stupid little thing. Just to see how he’d react.

“Katsuki,” you say, too gently, cradling your mug with the seriousness of someone delivering news.

He raises an eyebrow. “What.”

“I think… I think we should break up.”

There’s a beat of silence. Just one. Short. Sharp.

And then he blinks. Once. Twice. And everything in him freezes—like the switch inside of him flicked off, the usual heat in his eyes replaced with something unreadable. Cold, almost.

“…What?” he says. Voice low. Careful. Too careful.

You expect the outburst. The curse. The sarcastic bark of laughter. Maybe even a “Yeah right, try again.”

But what you get is something far worse.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. His shoulders stiffen, jaw locking like he’s trying not to react at all.

“You’re not serious,” he mutters finally, but it isn’t a question. It’s a plea. A warning.

You falter, smile dying on your lips.

“It’s—It’s a joke, Katsuki. I’m messing with you.”

But he doesn’t relax.

Instead, he looks at you—really looks at you—with that same expression he wore the night you got hurt on patrol. As if you’ve said something fatal and he’s waiting to see if the wound is real.

“You don’t fuckin’ joke about that,” he says finally. His voice is low, raw, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Katsuki…”

His eyes drop, lashes casting shadows over the high ridges of his cheekbones. He exhales through his nose, steadying himself. Then he scoffs—not in amusement, but to mask something softer. More breakable.

“You wanna mess with me, fine,” he mutters. “Hide my damn protein powder. Swap my shampoo with glitter. Say I can’t cook when you know I make the best fuckin’ curry. But that?” His voice cracks, just a fraction. “Don’t joke like you’d ever leave. That shit’s not funny.”

You stare at him—this boy made of fire and walls and a heart he never wanted to give away—and realize you’ve touched something sacred. A fear so buried even he didn’t know it lived there until you brushed it.

You step closer, guilt washing over your grin. You reach out, fingertips finding his hand. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “That was stupid.”

“Damn right it was.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes finally flick back to yours—softened, wet around the edges, but still burning.

“…Good,” he mutters, voice husky, tugging you into his chest with a little more force than necessary. His arms wrap around you, rough and tight and safe.

Because Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t say please don’t leave.

He just holds on like he never wants to let go.

[notsodelirious]

By the seashore

synopsis: you and Dick get curious about each other

notes: NSFW MDNI, also unrealistic sex, like super unrealistic (like last time, if you’re fucking a monster, you deserve a little elasticity) and no gender mentioned but the reader has a cunt, so do with that what you will

tags: ambiguous relationship, p in v, mermaid sex, small moment of dubcon, oviposition, mer!Dick Grayson, wc: 2.5k words

@whistle1whistle (I know it’s been over two months, but just in case you were still interested <3)

I have nothing to say for myself just enjoy

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

 “Do mers have sex?” Dick looked up from the beads he was threading. He was lying on the rocky shore, halfway pulled out of the water, fins and tails still submerged in the clear tide pool. 

The sun shone behind you, warm against your back and shoulders, keeping the water a comfortable temperature. It was midday but the tide pool was roughly a dozen miles away from the public beach so it was deserted, not a soul around aside from the two of you.

“Umm, yes?”

“Huh,” you offered him more beads as you uncrossed your legs, dipping them into the water. 

“You sound surprised.”

“I mean I guess I just expected you to reproduce like fish, you know?”

“Should I be offended?” Dick snorted as he handed you a particularly beautiful pearl—you accepted it gratefully. 

“You said I looked like a horse when we first met.”

 It had been a while since you’d first met—back when you’d first started surfing, one miscalculation had you drowning in a riptide. 

To this day you knew that you wouldn’t be here without him. 

It had been easy to keep your mouth shut about how you’d survived—mysteriously washed up in a cove just a couple of miles from the main beach, people chalked it up to luck. 

Luck had a funny tail and pretty eyes. 

 “I still think you look like a horse.”

“Well I think you look like a dick.”

“Oh haha,” you ducked as his tail flicked up, spraying you with ocean water, “You’re so funny. You could even say you’re horsing around.”

You froze. 

Glared at him. 

You kicked water in his direction, but he just laughed, showing off sharp pearly white teeth. 

“I actually hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Dick slid over to you, abandoning the waistbeads he was threading, resting his arms on your lap instead. His hands were so careful as they held onto your thighs, carefully not to let sharp claws sink into soft malleable skin. 

You shivered at the feeling of wet skin pressed against your own. 

“You know,” he said softly, “I could show you.”

“Show me?” you echoed as you ran your hand through his hair—it looked unfairly luscious and dark for somebody who spent most of his time in salt water. 

“How mers have sex.”

“It’s not like sharks is it?” you teased, but the curiosity was still there—mers weren’t mammalian creatures but they weren’t fish either. 

They were an odd in-between that had never been studied. 

And you never wanted to study them—but that didn’t mean it didn’t leave you wondering.

“Nothing like that,” he laughed as he moved his hands to push himself out of the pool, his face hovering just inches away from yours—water cascaded down his form, leaving his tan skin glistening softly in the sun. “It can’t be that different from humans, right?”

“Well I couldn’t tell you,” you said softly as you cupped his face, brushing your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as they parted softly for you. “I’ve never had sex with a mer.”

“Never had sex with a human either,” he breathed against your thumb. You hummed, pulling your thumb away just enough to see the entirety of his pretty face again.  

You gently guided him away from you, just enough so you’d have the space to pull your shirt or shorts off and part your thighs for him. 

You heard him inhale softly. 

“Why is it so far back?” he asked after a moment and a surprised laugh slipped from your mouth. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s just-” You moaned softly as cold fingers brushed against your folds, pet them carefully, parted them to reveal your opening. “It’s like, right under you.”

“Yeah, it is,” you laughed again, softer this time—given a little more time to process his confusion, it became endearing. He sounded almost concerned. “Do you like it?”

“Can I taste it?” he asked as he looked up at you through dark wet lashes while he sank back down into the water, between your knees. “Would that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed as you parted your legs further, “You can taste. Just… watch the teeth?”

Dick chuckled softly as he grabbed your thighs, pushing them open a little further to lay his eyes on his food. 

“I won’t bite,” he promised. He gently grazed his teeth along the inside of your thigh, making you shiver, but he held strong as you flinched. 

Oh fuck.

You were well and truly at his mercy. 

 You leaned back on your hands as you watched him sit between your thighs. He tugged you a little closer to the edge before licking a long stripe up your slit. 

“Mmh!” Your head dropped forward as he continued to softly lap at you, curious and searching. 

His tongue was so mobile it made your toes curl. You were panting before you realised it, half-aborted motions to roll your hips against his tongue. 

He devoured you as you grew wet, just as eager as he was exploratory. His tongue prodded your entrance, making you moan softly, muffling the rest of your sounds in your hand as he pushed it further. 

Your eyes rolled back and you keened as you were stretched out slowly on his tongue, with nowhere to run but further onto his tongue. 

“Dick,” you moaned, “So close, so-”

He pulled back, just enough to suck and lick at your clit. In retrospect you were glad your little corner of the beach was empty for the way you screamed, clutching Dick’s hair until you finally came all over his face, soaking him in your pleasure. 

He pulled away from you, recognising your trembling for the overstimulation that it had become. 

“You taste good,” he said before licking his lips and holy shit, that had been inside of you.

You don’t think you had ever really acknowledged how disproportionately long and thin it had been. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he reached up to cup your face. You recovered, shaking your head before leaning your cheek into his palm. 

“Yes,” you smiled, “Fine. Great in fact, thank you.”

Dick huffed as he brushed his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“Didn’t realise humans got so wet,” he teased as he looked down between your legs. 

“Do mers not get wet?” the question sounded idiotic as soon as you said but thankfully Dick didn’t actually comment. 

“Less so,” he hummed as he let his hand fall away before gently helping you a little further down closer to the water. “More like…”

He grabbed your hand, guiding it down to the soft underside of his tail. You could feel where the skin softened just the slightest bit, where there was a little give. 

Trailing your fingers over the spot had Dick panting, pressing his head against your shoulder. You gasped when your finger accidentally slipped into his slit, warm and sticky as Dick squirmed. 

You watched his body, watched the slow roll of his hips as he urged your fingers to explore just a little further. 

“Does this hurt?” you asked softly, watching him shake his head as you dragged your fingers across the opening, that most definitely wasn’t there before. 

“No,” he shook his head, shaking droplets from his wet hair. “Here, just-”

He guided your fingers, keeping your movements slow until you were kindly coaxing his cock out from his slit. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed as you loosely fisted him, watching the way he shivered and moaned. It was so warm, so unlike his skin which was cold to the touch. 

It didn’t look human in the slightest, in fact you’d be concerned if somebody’s cock pulled towards the same shade of blue as Dick’s did—it tapered towards the tip too, which fascinated you.

He caught your wrist, looking up at you with wide, teary eyes.

“Give me a second,” he pleaded, and you released him almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m just sensitive-”

“No, it’s okay,” you said, “You’re really pretty—it just surprised me. Sorry, I don’t know where I expected it to be.” 

“Where else would it go?” Dick chuckled as he brushed his nose along your jaw, kissing tender skin softly. 

“I dunno,” you mumbled, feeling a little warm from embarrassment and lust, “Humans just have it… like, out.”

“Always?” You nodded as you looked down, gaze flicking between him and his dick. “You can touch me now if you want.”

“Do all mers self-lubricate?” Your fingers brushed against his tip, gauging his reaction before properly wrapping your hand around him. 

“Yeah,” he swallowed as he nodded, his breathing deepening slightly as you began to move again. 

“Generous.”

Dick laughed and pulled you a little closer to the water, until your hips were level, “I’m more concerned about the fact that humans just always have their dicks out—what if somebody attacks them?”

“I-” you blinked at him in disbelief before falling into a fit of giggles. 

“Or it gets caught on something?”

“We wear clothes!”

“Still sounds terrifying.”

“Rest assured, most people have intact dick and balls.”

“Human balls are external too?”

You lost your grip as you laughed into his shoulder, letting an absolutely distraught merman hold you. 

“How are you not extinct?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled, cupping his face with your clean hand, bringing the other to your lips—you licked it clean, slowly, savouring Dick’s arousal. “Just fuck me?”

His eyes followed your tongue as you licked yourself clean and a grin etched across his face. 

“Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

 The water was nice around your legs as you were slowly lowered closer to Dick. 

He dragged his cock through your folds, making you instinctively buck your hips in return—he kissed your temple, wrapped his arms around your body. 

“Ready?”

You nodded, burying your face in his neck as he finally pushed into your wet pussy. 

You moaned softly, cunt gently spasming around his large cock, struggling to accept his morphology—it was thicker, longer, more intrusive than anything your poor fuckhole was meant to handle—it tickled against your cervix, making you moan and tremble, as his cock squirmed in you, determined to push his thin tip into your tight opening.

“Okay?”

“You’re so much bigger than you look,” you mumbled between breaths. You eventually pulled away a little to look up at him. “Okay, I’m good.”

The beginnings of movement were slow at first, like he was taking his time discovering your body too, petting your thighs, his eyes focused on your glistening pussy, fascinated.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled softly as he undulated his hips, water softly sweeping across your body as he rocked into you, thrusting his cock in and out of you over and over again, stretching you out, carving a space out for himself. He brushed his fingers along the bump in your belly, fascinated every time he made it return, ignoring how you moaned and babbled for him.

“Are you all so soft?”

You looked up at him, slightly dazed and flustered.

“I’m-” you panted as you tried to find words, but he shifted his hips, just enough for you to reach heaven for moment, “Dick… fuck, you’re-”

Your eyes rolled back slightly as he increased his pace, the sound of wet skin on scales echoing as he bounced you on his cock, smearing fluids everywhere. You reached down to touch your own clit, moaning his name loudly, rocking back against him as his dick bullied itself deeper and deeper into you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Dick mumbled as he gripped your waist, petting your sides, cold hands dimpling your skin—hesitantly, he replaced your fingers on your clit with his own, making you keen and whine like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you breathed as he rubbed your clit, his hips slamming into you faster and faster until you were squirting all over him, drenching his scales in your cum, making him gasp in elated surprise.

He didn’t stop fucking you as he reached his fingers up to taste them, long tongue slipping between sharp teeth to lick your slick off his skin before he was shoving his tongue down your throat instead, forcing your now limp, overworked body to accept his throbbing cock.

In the back of your mind, you wondered if it had been a mistake, underestimating how long he could actually fuck you for. Until you passed out? Your body twitched softly in his grasp, quickly working its way back to an orgasm, his cock squirming like it had a mind of its own, swelling and throbbing.

“Dick,” you mumbled as you panted, flustered and exhausted, staring up at him as he stared where your body connected.

“I’m here, love, right here.”

He slammed into your hips a couple more times before he buried himself as deep into your pussy as possible, the narrow tip of his cock nestled past your cervix, just in the opening of your womb—it was wildly uncomfortable but not yet painfully.

 You simply breathed as you waited for Dick, to finish, pull away, call it a day and disappear back into the ocean, when you felt it—his cock swelled a little more before a viscous liquid pearled from his cock to be deposited into your bare womb, like thick syrup. You heard him grunt before his cock swelled again and the facts finally slotted into place.

Eggs.

He was laying clutches of eggs in your warm body, slowly stuffing your body with tiny mer eggs, no bigger than a pearl no doubt. The small bulge in your tummy grew, until it was firm and near painful, your body stuffed full of hundreds of little eggs—you ran your fingers across your skin, feeling the little bumps when you pressed down.

“Feel so full,” you mumbled as you dropped your head but Dick caught it before kissing your face kindly, your nose, cheeks, lids—he was so soft in his affection, you almost teared up. He treated you as if you had been his lifelong love, his cherished lover, like you were the moon and the stars and the entire night sky and he couldn’t love you any more. He cradled you against his cold body but by that point, you had stopped shivering, the sex still lingering, tingling and warm in your limbs.

“Shh, you did great. You were perfect.”

“Are they… are they gonna grow?” you mumbled as you tucked your face against his neck, staring down at your stuffed belly. You felt him shake his head, small droplets scattering across your shoulders.

“Can’t fertilise them,” he said, almost dejectedly, as if mad his own body couldn’t fulfil more than what it had grown to do. Part of you wondered what that truly meant, the other, bigger part of you simply too tired to care at that point, full and satiated and on the brink of sleep. “You can’t fall asleep here.”

Dick shook your shoulder gently, laughing as you grumbled and glared at him. 

“At least get back on the rocks so you can dry off properly.”

You grumbled more but agreed, slipping off his cock and letting him help you out of the pool, sinking onto the sun-warm rocks. 

“Wake me up when the sun starts to set.”

“Sure thing, love,” a cool hand brushed over your forehead, “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

 (“So, it wasn’t that different, right?”

“The eggs were definitely a surprise.”

“Oops—probably should have figured.”)

 •─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

I think mers are ovoviviparous, but one party lays eggs into a second party, and then a third fertilises them—why did I come up with such a complex system? Because I get to make the rules to my silly little fantasy world—anyway, that’s what’s happening here

Hope you enjoyed this nonsense, here’s Jason’s monsterfucker fic (werewolf) and here’s my masterlist along with my wips list <3 (requests are currently closed as I work through my current projects)

[slightly-knot-insane]

HIIIII OMLL BUT LIKE IMAGINE merman × Fem reader where the merman washed up to the sea and reader takes care of him at her home and studies him bc she's never seen a merman before then during that reader touches a part of his tail and he thinks she's initiating sex and you can do whatever you want with that 🫶

Dehydrated

[ m!merman x fem!reader ]

content: nsfw, praise, blowjob, p in v, squirting

Walking by the sea has always calmed you down. Especially far away from the hot tourist spots, when the sun sets and the shadows grow long. You are a local, so you know many hidden beaches. But you never expected to find one of the merfolk unconscious on one of them! You heard legends of them, but you never believed any of those fairy tales. But even after rubbing your eyes, there was a pretty merman in front of you. And he seemed unwell. Maybe he laid on the beach in the sun for too long.

He is also unexpectedly tiny, barely the length of your forearm. But his physique isn’t childlike. He simply looked like a small adult man - a doll-sized merfolk. 

"Are you okay?" you ask him, but he doesn't respond, his face and scales alarmingly pale and flaky.

With no one around to help you, you pick him up like a sleeping child and start walking toward the sea. You put him in the shallow water and splash him several times. Nothing, still out cold. He seems a bit heavier, though.

You aren’t sure what else he could need, but you are also scared of going back home so late at night - your phone battery is also almost empty. So you decide to take him home immediately, while there is still some light left.

Once you're in your apartment, you place him in your bathtub, because that seems the most logical action. You run to your kitchen to get some sea salt and mix it with the tap water, filling your bathtub. The merman is still out cold, but his lips quickly regain some colour, which is good news. You let your bathtub fill up to his face, making sure he doesn't — drown? Can merfolk drown? Are they more like fish or marine mammals? In any case, you need to change out of your wet clothes.

Once you return to the bathroom, you scream. Instead of a doll-sized person, now there is a huge merman lying in your bathtub, his tail too long to fit the bathtub, and his elbows almost touching the floor tiles. Did he grow? How so? How so fast? But at least he looks so much healthier. He is still asleep, though. You can't hear him breathing, but you can see his gills moving slightly. He looks content.

You approach him to admire his iridescent scales. They are so beautiful, so shiny. You glide your finger across his side to feel their texture, and you explore their edges and curves. And then you find... a slit, of sorts. It is also covered by scales, but in a different pattern. You try to see what is underneath it, and touch a fleshier kind of body part. Suddenly, a webbed hand wraps around your wrist. A wide-awake merman looks at you and smiles with a rather toothy grin.

"I'm s-sorry...", you utter in shock.

"That's okay," he replies as he pulls you onto him. "You saved me and you are curious. Let me introduce myself."

He turns your head toward his not-so-empty-anymore slit. An eel-like phallus, far more flexible than any dick you've ever seen, emerges and bends toward you. You were curious, but not that curious. Or maybe... But you weren't given a lot of time to think - the merman pushes your mouth on his cock.

"I will teach you..." he huffs as his wriggling cock explores your mouth, "everything... you want... about merfolk... Just... aahhh..." He shivers as you actively start sucking him off. "Such a good human... yes... good girl... I will teach you everything to be a good merfolk fucktoy."

Soon, you end up naked in your bathtub, intertwined with a merman you rescued only hours ago. He fucks your mouth, your tits, your thighs. Once he reaches your pussy, he fucks it so good, so hard, you squirt all over him. He is utterly shocked.

"Oh fuck... oh, I'm sorry... it was just so good," you apologize, shaking from your orgasm.

The merman takes you by your hips and, with dark mirth in his eyes, growls: "Again. Beautiful human liquid. I want it more. I was just getting dehydrated again."

Your new roommate stays with you for several days. He quickly learns how to make you squirt. Hard and long. He enjoys it far too much to ever let you leave his embrace without getting him all wet. Even after he recovers and returns to the sea, he insists that you regularly visit him so that he can exit the water to fuck you on the beach and see you climax. And, after your every passionate beach date, you both make sure to rehydrate.

[ashthesalamipiece]

Breathe

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Eijirou Kirishima x Katsuki Bakugo (poly)

Genre: Angst/Comfort, Postpartum Trauma, Deep Emotional Intimacy

Warnings: Graphic birth aftermath (blood, pain, vomiting, panic), medical trauma (non-clinical), intense exhaustion, depersonalization, deep emotional overwhelm, but with strong comfort and grounding love.

Word Count: ~2,400

A/n, cried a little while making this🥲

---

The sound of rushing water was gone.

Now there was only stillness. Heavy, thick, almost suffocating.

The inflatable birthing pool still cradled your body, but it felt like it was cradling a corpse. You were slumped backward, head tipped over the plastic rim, your mouth parted in rapid, shallow breaths as your body trembled uncontrollably. Your skin was clammy. Your legs—numb. Your stomach—empty. Too empty.

“Babe?” Kirishima’s voice was close. Gentle. Scared.

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move. The warmth of the water had turned unpleasant, like you were submerged in something sour and wrong. It smelled faintly of iron and sweat. Of birth and afterbirth.

Your throat burned.

The nausea had been building through the final stretch, crawling up from your gut into your chest. And now, with the adrenaline crashing down and your body trying to process what had just happened, it hit you all at once.

You lurched forward just in time, retching hard over the side of the tub. Bile and water splattered onto a towel that Kirishima—always one step ahead—had already placed there.

“There you go, I got you,” he whispered, one hand on your back, the other holding your hair gently out of your face.

You coughed, retched again. Nothing left. Just dry, heaving sobs wrapped in nausea.

“Fuck,” you gasped, spitting weakly. “I can’t—I can’t do this—”

“You already did,” said another voice. Deeper. Grit rough. Bakugo. His hands were on your arms in an instant, strong and grounding. “You did it. They’re here. You fucking did it.”

“I didn’t see them,” you croaked. “I didn’t—I don’t—” Your body folded in again, shoulders shaking. “I’m so scared to look at them. I don’t even know if I want to. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Kirishima whispered. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“I’m so tired,” you choked. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

“You won’t forever,” Bakugo said, kneeling in front of the tub, his forehead pressing softly to your wet knee. “Just get through this part. Just this minute. That’s all you need to do.”

You couldn’t look at them. You couldn’t look at yourself. Your body didn’t feel like yours. You felt… peeled open. Hollowed out.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” Kirishima said firmly, brushing sweat off your brow. “You’re in shock. But we’ve got you.”

You registered the voice of the midwife somewhere behind you, quietly confirming the placenta had delivered, that the bleeding was within expected range. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to think.

Just as you started to slip into that awful, dizzy space—where the edge of consciousness curled—you felt two hands on either side of your face.

Bakugo’s.

“Look at me,” he said. “Look. At. Me.”

You opened your eyes slowly.

His eyes were red-rimmed. Furious. Scared. But here.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay. You did something incredible. You’re allowed to feel wrecked. You just went through a goddamn war. But you didn’t lose. You’re here.”

You couldn’t stop crying.

“I don’t want to hold them yet,” you whispered.

“That’s okay,” Kirishima said from behind you. “They’re warm. Clean. With the midwife. No rush.”

“Can I see them from far away?” you asked, barely audible.

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. He stood, walked a few feet over, and gently took one twin from the midwife—your daughter. He turned and knelt again, holding her swaddled body close but not pushing her toward you.

“Just look,” he said softly.

You didn’t want to. But your head turned on instinct, like gravity was pulling it there.

She was so small.

So small and pink and alive.

Your breath hitched again, but it wasn’t panic. It was something else. Something terrifying and holy. Something real.

“Oh,” you whispered.

“I know,” Bakugo said, his voice raw. “I know.”

Kirishima finally helped lift you out of the tub, wrapping you in a thick towel and setting you gently on the couch layered in soft, clean blankets. You were trembling, body utterly spent, eyes blurry, but your head now rested against Kirishima’s bare chest, and his heartbeat was steady. Strong.

Safe.

Bakugo brought your son now. Just close enough.

He looked even tinier. His little nose was red from crying. His fist clenched like he was ready to fight the world.

“I made them?” you whispered.

“You grew them,” Kirishima murmured. “You gave them breath.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

“You didn’t,” Bakugo said. “You lived. For them.”

You cried again.

But this time, it wasn’t out of fear.

It was grief. For the pain. For the fear. For the version of you who had thought she wouldn’t make it. Who had screamed and begged and wept through every impossible push. You mourned her. You held her. And you let her go.

Kirishima nudged gently. “Do you want to try now? Holding them?”

You hesitated. Your arms felt like water. Your chest was too tight. But your heart said yes.

So you nodded.

They placed your daughter into your arms first—light, soft, real. Her tiny mouth opened in a yawn. Then Bakugo laid your son beside her, tucked beneath your other arm.

It was too much. And not enough.

“I don’t know how to be a mom,” you whispered.

“We’ll figure it out,” Kirishima said.

“You won’t be alone,” Bakugo promised.

You looked down at the two tiny humans lying against your chest.

And you believed them.

[81pastrys]

Unplanned

Part 3 / 5

Summary— Once married they decide to go about life as if they planned this all and end up in Monaco before the birth of their baby.

Warnings— Sensitive reader..? ; pregnancy ; mood swings ish ; birth mentioned but not explicit ; couples bath

A/N— While re reading through I realized I made Carlos seem a bit more mature for like a stupid young adult but then I realized it’s Carlos and that he’s literally driving a death machine.

Series List

Main Masterlist

It was all happening too fast. The least their parents would settle for was being there when they signed the papers. So both sets of parents planned out to be there to witness the marriage. Nothing big, nothing fancy. Two young adults signing a sheet of paper deeming them married, husband and wife.

“You may kiss the bride.” The officiant said. They kissed, but there was no specialty to it, just a show for their parents.

Carlos set out to buy her a dainty ring— per her request— and picked his own band out. She was ridden with morning sickness and didn’t want to leave her flat while sick. It all seemed surreal.

He left the jewelers and went back to her place, ready for the ring to be rejected. Instead he was met with tears of joy and gratitude that he cared enough to even get her one.

The next race was coming up and she had finished school, so he asked her to join him. She agreed but was hesitant. They had talked and talked about anything and everything, getting to know each other. It seemed almost destined that they ended up in this situation but the circumstances that pulled them together was unfortunate.

So far the only argument was on where to live. “I worked to get this place! I won’t just get rid of it like that to move into your rich boy flat in Monaco!” She yelled.

“Cariño, you aren’t listening to me.” He was trying to hold himself back from yelling but he was close to it. “You don’t have to give it up, I’m saying we stay at my apartment in Monaco.” He explained, again.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” She asked. She worked hard to get the apartment she wanted, specifically the area and the intricacies of the floor plan.

“We can stay here right now, but Monaco is closer to all of my friends.” He heard the selfishness as he said it. “It would be easier if we had help a few doors away is all I’m saying.”

“Okay? I have family and friends here too what’s the difference?” She understood his point, but they had the same— if not more— at the location in London.

“We all live in the same apartment building cariño, if we need the help, we’ll have lots of it.” He said. “I trust them all.” He said as if that would sell her completely. She barely even knew him.

“So while I’m pregnant you want to move me out of my apartment and into a foreign town? What happened to keeping me comfortable and taking care of me?” She spat. That hit him. He did say he wanted to take care of her all the while she was pregnant.

“Let’s take a while to think about this, I don’t want you to be stressed.” He said. She went to argue but he stopped her and she sighed angrily. “I know, if we moved to Monaco now that’s stressful, we don’t have to, I just wanted to ask.” He hugged her and she stood still, she didn’t want to argue about where they would live.

She started crying in his arms and he adjusted his hold on her to look at her face. “I’m sorry- I just- the hormones make me emotional and you have a good point but I love this place so much.” He pulled her back in for a hug that she now reciprocated.

“It’s okay cariño, we can come back to it, for now we’ll stay here.” He assured her. “I do want to see the paperwork for it though, you shouldn’t have to worry about the payments.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Her voice cracked. “I have enough saved up I can use.” Yeah. That wasn’t happening. They’re married and he makes enough for her not to have to worry about that. “I don’t want pity money.” With that she began crying harder at the fact she didn’t have enough money to accommodate a baby.

“Cariño, we’re married now, and I want to pay for the apartment.” He said. “It’s not a hold of power I promise.” He has no clue why he said that but it felt right to be said. “Let’s go lay down and take a minute to calm down, hm?” He rubbed her back and she nodded.

When he brought the conversation back to light, it was easier to navigate and explain since he took the time to think it all out strategically instead of spontaneously. She agreed to A. Let him pay the rent and B. That they would stay in Monaco when the baby is born.

She went to the rest of the races for the season, pregnant and all. She actually loved them. Now it was a hassle with media about who she was and how she just came out of nowhere married to Carlos, but he handled it quite well.

“Hey! How are you feeling today?” Max greeted her. “Baby Sainz being nice in there?” He gave her belly a poke and she giggled at him.

“Baby Sainz is being nice today surprisingly.” She said. “Where did Carlos run off to?” She asked, her brows furrowing. It was free practices today so he couldn’t have gone far.

“Meeting I think, his car was acting up on track.” Max said, also confused on Carlos’s whereabouts. “I’m sure he’s in the garage.” Max mentioned. She liked Max, he was a stereotypical 18 year old. New to being his own person and an adult for once. Not that she was far off from his age but hey- he just acted more on the age part of it all.

“Lo siento Mi amor.” (I’m sorry my love) Carlos said out of breath on his way over. “Meetings and car talk.” He smiled and kissed her. He leaned down and gave her belly a kiss as well, cooing to the baby.

“It’s alright, anything good from your car?” She asked. She didn’t really bother to know much more than the dangerous speeds of the car so he didn’t force it on her.

“Yeah, just a tiny issue that can be fixed for tomorrow.” He smiled. They went to the cafeteria and ate food before heading back to the hotel for the night. “Do you want to take a bath, cariño?” He asked when they did end up back.

“Sure, why do you ask?” She was curious, he never really made much effort to go out of his way for her. Well not in private as much as public that is.

“Just feel like we should relax in another way, and that tub is really nice.” He says. She smiles and kisses him. He runs the bath and lit some candles.

“Ohh this is nice mi amor.” She said. He chuckled softly and kissed her. He pulled her in for a hug and felt her shoulders tense and her body lock up a little.

“I feel your tension, amor.” He whispered. “You’re supposed to relax.” She looked up at him with hesitant eyes and he caught the look immediately. “If you aren’t comfortable we don’t have to.”

She mulled it over and agreed to it, her worries still lingering but not as strong as before. “The last time we were naked for this long was months ago, that’s all.” She mumbled. He assured her he wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

He sat in the water first then helped her sit in front of him, the bubbles covering the top layer of water. The temperature was perfect, not too hot, not too cold. She carefully sat in between his legs comfortably and sighed. Her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder, and his hands lightly moving over her body. He focused on her belly, drawing little shapes and easing her mind.

“Thank you for this.” She said softly after a few minutes of silence. He kissed her temple and hummed in a ‘you’re welcome’ kind of way.

“We have to think of names for La bebe.” He said softly to not disturb the calm air. “If it’s a chiquito, he should be named after me.” He smiled.

“Hmm, okay.” She agreed. “What about if it’s una chiquita?” Her Spanish wasn’t great but she knew a little.

“That’s the hard part, mi amor.” He chuckled lightly. “I like Rosa, or Isabella.” He said questioningly. She thought for a minute before responding.

“Those are nice, what about Aurelia or Adelia or Maya?” She asked. “Aurelia Rosa Vázquez?” She tested the name and it rolled off her tongue.

“Rosa Maya Vázquez?” He tested. “Maya Isabella Vázquez?” He put the names together and she hummed as he did. Until, “Rosa Adelia Vázquez?”

“Rosa Adelia Vázquez.” She hummed. “I love it.” They didn’t know whether it was a boy or girl. She wanted to wait until the birth and what she wanted was what he wanted, so they were kept unaware. “Or if it’s a chiquito, Carlos Sainz Vásquez the third.” She giggled.

“El tercero, amor. Carlos Sainz Vázquez el tercero.” He chuckled with her. He kissed her head and he felt a little kick from her belly. “Ay bebe, deja que Mami se relaje.” (Baby, let Mami relax) He cooed to the unborn baby.

“They probably don’t like it when I laugh, all my muscles squeeze them.” She said laughing. More kicks followed and she was done laughing. “That’s enough little one.” She cooed calmly, running her own hand over her belly.

When she got really close to her due date, they returned to Monaco. Racing ended a few weeks prior so they had enough time to really settle down and not stress over everything.

They had gotten to understand each other more and work around flaws they saw in each other to make the relationship work for the little one, falling in love wasn’t on the agenda but it did happen.

“Time to wake up amor.” Carlos whispered softly to her. She groaned and opened her eyes to see him crouching on her side of the bed, caressing her hair lovingly as he smiled at her.

“Why can’t I just sleep amor?” She groaned. “I’m not due for another week.” He insisted she gain a better sleep schedule and she agreed, only to realize that meant being in bed by 9:30 and waking up at 8:30. She hated it.

“It’s 9, I let you sleep in a little.” He teased. She glared at him and let him help her sit up. “Careful now.” He mumbled. He always helped her when he could. Most race mornings were chaotic and unorganized, but at home they were peaceful and slow.

“Gracias amor, but I’ve got it seriously.” She said, looking up to the tall man as he stood. He gave her a look and he held out his hands. She sighed but did need the help that he provided to get her up from the bed. Only to find out that it was enough to send her into labor.

“Amor? What’s wrong?” He asked when her face fell and she looked down. He thought she just had an accident but by the reaction she had it wasn’t that.

“My water just broke.” She said. No emotion, no tears, just shock. They had a hospital bag packed, a car seat in the car, a nursery too, they just weren’t expecting it to be so soon. They thought they had another week. He scanned her face and then pulled her in for a hug.

“Ok, let’s get you back on the bed for now, I’m going to get everything ready for the hospital.” He said a bit frantic and panicky. He did as he said, bringing the hospital bag to the car, starting the car, then returning to his wife in labor. “Everything is ready, did you want to change before we leave amor?”

He didn’t realize right away that when he left she started crying. She looked up at him with scared eyes. She nodded and he got her new pajamas, the soft ones she liked most. He helped her get changed and then just held her for a minute.

“Everything will be alright, you’re okay amor.” He whispered. “Let’s get you to the hospital and situated sí?” She nodded again, now calmed down enough.

They make it to the hospital and she gets put in a room for labor and delivery. The nurses were super sweet and amazing. She got situated in the room and Carlos stayed by her side the entire time.

Once everything was said and done, they had time to just relax. Rosa was born with a full head of his dark hair and her beautiful hazel eyes. At the moment Carlos is holding her tiny body to his bare chest and his wife is sound asleep on the hospital bed.

“Mi corazon, mírate.” (My love, look at you.) Carlos cooed to the little one. His attention was moved to his wife who stirred on the bed. “Mami se despertó, eh?” (Mommy woke up huh?)

She huffed a breath and rolled over, now facing away from him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, she was just severely uncomfortable and seeing him comfortable made her upset. She’s got needles poking out of her, wires connecting to loud machines, the bed is thin and papery, and they won’t give her a heavier blanket. She’s just uncomfortable and wants her own bed back.

Carlos took this all into account on a mental list as she had mentioned all of them and set Rosa in the tub like bed. “Mi amor, what’s the matter?” He asked running a hand through her hair and cooing sweet nothings in her ear.

“I’m uncomfortable.” She mumbled. Carlos tried helping her to move around and she groaned. “I want to go home.” She whined. Carlos looked her in the eye, he couldn’t help but feel for her. She just went through birthing their baby and she can’t get comfortable.

“The doctor said after the tests come back mi amor, not that much longer I promise.” He assured her. As if on cue, a nurse walked in and informed them that they were allowed to be released.

Next will be baby snuggles and cuteness 🥰🥰

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