#this is one thing on a canvas with far too many things

[tevintersnakes]

Lab tech brain compels me to ramble through my OC

[starlight-eclipsed]

It never hurt to be careful. The last time Demise caught wind of Dark’s sharp tongue, he’d spent ten years in isolation sealed in a crystal at the bottom of the temple.

Hello everyone! This line (from chapter two of A Dark Among the Lights by @luckylectio over on AO3) has been on my mind for the last year, so I finally sat down and drew it :D

[zaynessbeloved]

Tipsy, hard and needing you

Synopsis: Rafayel doesn’t drink often...but when he does, he drinks to forget how much he misses you. After one too many glasses and one too many thirst-heavy messages, you find yourself in his studio, still in your scratched-up mission uniform. He’s flushed, needy, and harder than he has any right to be. And his drunken mind can conjure one thing, and one thing only: showing you just how much he missed you.

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, established relationship, rough drunk sex, desperate whiny begging, body worship, bratty dynamics, dominance/submission themes (soft switch energy), marking, fingering, oral sex (receiving), size kink, overstimulation, intense eye contact, dirty talk, alcohol consumption (consensual), rafayel sending a suggestive pic/public teasing (prelude), rough handling, cockwarming mention, possessive behavior, mild obsession, emotional vulnerability, and unprotected sex.

Pairings: Rafayel x reader

Word count: 7k

A/n: i am insane because he has so many 4star memories of him being tipsy (implied) so i had to write a lil something on how i personally see him being tipsy/drunk. this is just my personal take, enjoy! <3

The mission isn’t long, but it’s exhausting. Your arms are still sore from holding your weapon too tight, and there's a smear of Wanderer dust clinging to your boot. You want nothing more than to peel off your jacket, throw your comm onto the charger, and melt into your bed.

Your phone buzzes. And then again. And again. You don’t need to check the name, you already know who it is. The first few texts are nothing new.

Rafayel: i’m dying Rafayel: this canvas is my mortal enemy Rafayel: come eulogize me, cutie. bring wine

Dramatic, as always. But then the tone of his messages shifts.

Rafayel: need you Rafayel: no seriously. i need you Rafayel: i’m not even being poetic this time

You pause mid-step, boots clicking to a halt in the middle of the quiet sidewalk. Another buzz.

Rafayel: come ruin me. please.

Your heart stutters, because the following message is a photo. Your breath catches the second you see it. He’s shirtless, which, fine, isn’t unheard of—Rafayel has never been shy about his body, and he always knows exactly what he’s doing with that silver chain and half-lidded stare.

But this isn’t aesthetic. It’s desperate. His hair’s messy, mussed from his own hands. His chest is flushed, and the angle is a little off, like he tried multiple times and gave up. One arm is stretched above his head, the other lazily gripping the waistband of his sweats. Low, way too low.

There’s a hint of ink from one of his recent tattoos, the glint of chain, the barest shadow of want.And the message underneath the picture?

Rafayel: if you don’t come over i might start painting with my dick. your choice.

You don’t even laugh, you just pick up the pace. You’re half-jogging now, mission forgotten, boots pounding against the pavement. Because Rafayel doesn’t get drunk easily, not unless he’s trying. And he doesn’t beg. Not like this. Not unless he’s completely unraveling.

You fire off a single reply as you duck into a side alley and cut through toward his studio

You: Don’t you dare start without me, Raf

His reply is immediate.

Rafayel: hurryyy. i’m so hard it hurts. also i think i might have tried making soup and almost burnt the kitchen down???”

You don’t know whether to groan, blush, or sprint faster. Probably all three.

You don’t even knock when you come to a halt in front of his door. You’re too far gone for that. Too wired from the rush of his texts, the photo seared into your brain like a brand, the idea of him hard and messy and waiting for you.

The studio door swings open before your knuckles can reach it, and there he is. Rafayel. Shirtless, barefoot, flushed from the chest up, hair a mess of tangled curls, one side of his sweatpants riding dangerously low. There’s a line of color creeping across his collarbones, the telltale shimmer of sweat glistening beneath silver chains. And, oh…he’s hard. Very hard. Painfully obvious under the thin fabric of his pants.

He opens his mouth, but you’re already grabbing him by the front of those pants and yanking him forward into a kiss that shatters whatever clever line he was about to deliver.

He gasps into your mouth, stumbling slightly, both of you nearly crashing into the frame of the door. His hands fumble at your hips, gripping too tight, a little frantic.

“Getting straight…” he pants, voice thick, breath hot, “…to the point, huh?”

You groan against his lips, tugging him deeper inside, one hand already tangled in the damp strands at the back of his neck.

The door slams shut behind you but neither of you cares, really. His mouth tastes like vodka and heat and desperation—like Rafayel, but unfiltered. His tongue licks into yours with messy abandon, too much and not enough. He moans when your teeth scrape his bottom lip, then pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard.

“You’re…” His hand brushes the rough fabric of your uniform, and he squints. “You’re still in your hunter gear?”

“Obviously,” you mutter, panting. “You couldn’t wait?”

His brows furrow, soft and tipsy. “Shit. Did I interrupt something? You were on a mission, weren’t you?” His hand ghosts over a dirt-smeared scrape on your arm, slow, almost guilty.

You kiss him again, hard. “Don’t care.”

He makes a sound that’s half whimper, half relief. And then his fingers start tugging at your jacket, clumsy and insistent.

“Well then…” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, breath thick with heat and vodka. “It’s getting hot in here, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just starts peeling the jacket off your shoulders, dragging it down with exaggerated care, eyes locked on every inch of skin he reveals like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you.

You break the kiss as he pushes you backwards, deeper into the studio apartment section of his loft. Canvases and crushed tubes of paint blur in your periphery as your boots stumble over the rug.

“Raf,” you whisper between kisses. “Why are you drunk?”

He presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing lazily at the corner of your mouth, still breathing hard. “Tell me…” his chuckle is low, wicked. “…should I be a good, honest boy? Or should I play hard to get?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard your head tilts back, exposing your throat to him. He takes the bait immediately. His lips latch onto your skin, hot and desperate, teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder.

“God, even drunk you’re insufferable,” you mutter.

“And yet,” he pants, “you’re here.”

You drag your hands down his chest, nails leaving faint trails over his flushed skin. He groans again, deeper this time, and it vibrates through his chest like thunder under silk. Drunk Rafayel isn’t loud. He’s needy. Whiny, flustered, and just this side of unhinged. And you haven’t even undressed yet.

Your hands find the hem of his sweatpants as you kiss him again, just barely brushing beneath the waistband, the faintest tease of fingertips over heated skin. He gasps into your mouth, then groans, deep and needy, when your nails scrape softly just under his hips. You pull him with you as you both stumble backward, his footing a little clumsy, until his back hits the edge of the kitchen counter.

The moment jars him, just enough to bite at the fog in his mind. He leans there, flushed and panting, eyes half-lidded and gleaming like molten purple under the dim studio lights. Behind him, a bottle of alcohol, nearly emptied, sits beside a forgotten glass, the rim still coated in a faint pinkish smear from his mouth.

You glance at it, frowning slightly. ��Why’d you drink so much?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just breathes, or more like pants, trying to regain some sort of self control because he can still feel your fingers beneath the hem of his sweatpants. And then slowly, softly, his fingers curl at the edge of the counter as his head tilts.

“Miss Bodyguard,” he murmurs, breathless, voice slurring playfully, “touching me wherever is rude.”

You raise a brow, lips quirking. “You’re saying that right now?”

But there’s no bite in your voice because beneath the teasing, you see him. His face is flushed to the ears, hair damp at the temples, sweat slicking down the curve of his neck. And his eyes, god…his eyes are drowning in something deeper than just alcohol.

He swallows slowly, lifting those stormy eyes to yours.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

You blink, heart lurching.

“I know it was just a few days,” he continues, voice hoarse, trembling at the edges. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day, every minute.” He lets out a half-laugh, self-deprecating, breathless. “I tried painting. I tried walking. I even tried folding laundry, which—don’t look at me like that—but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop wanting you.”

Your heart squeezes so hard it hurts. You knew Rafayel was intense—loved intensely, wanted fiercely. But this? This is raw, cracked open and so honest.

He’s still leaning against the counter like he’s trying to hold himself upright. You close the distance, fingers still flirting with the band of his sweats, but now it’s softer, less teasing, more grounding. His hands twitch at his sides.

“Raf…” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he drags you into another kiss, deeper now, hungrier. You press into him, one hand sliding up his bare chest, the other still dancing just under the fabric at his hips.

His head falls back with a ragged gasp as your mouth trails from his lips down the slope of his neck. You taste sweat, vodka, and the edges of desperation, and he shivers under your tongue.

“I think you need to go…” he pants, voice low and wrecked and just a little daring, “…a little lower.”

You smile against his skin, lips ghosting over his collarbone.

“Is that a request?” you whisper.

His hips twitch.

“That’s a warning.” he growls, breathless and already falling apart.

You smile against the curve of his neck. Not sweetly and definitely not innocently. No, you smile like you know exactly what you're doing. Because you do.

Your lips trail down the column of his throat, warm and slow, brushing over the slick heat of his pulse. He tilts his head to the side instinctively, giving you space, almost desperate to feel your lips on his flushed, sensitive skin. His breath catches, shaky and high, when your mouth closes over his collarbone, planting a few kisses, then sucking, just hard enough to bruise.

His hips twitch. You feel it, feel the tension and the desperation. He’s so hard now it must be painful, the heat of his cock burning against your palm where your fingers still tease, just barely dipped under the band of his sweats.

He groans, head knocking back against the cabinet behind him, chains clinking softly against his skin.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, touching me like this…” he whispers.

But you do. You press another kiss to his clavicle, then a mark just beneath it. “I missed you too,” you murmur against his skin. “Every second.”

His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale, like the words hit harder than he expected. His hands clench at the counter’s edge, knuckles white, body trembling from how close your touch is to what he wants. He needs you to touch him so fucking bad.

But you don’t move your hand, not yet. You pull back instead, just a little, enough to look at him. And fuck, the sight of him like this steals your breath.

Rafayel, flushed and ruined, his lips parted, throat marked red and blooming, hair falling wild across his forehead, eyes barely open, just enough to look at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. His sweats are tented so hard it’s almost obscene.

You don't even have to speak. You just watch him, his whole body radiates heat and want, and the look on his face is ruinuos, drunk on vodka and you.

His gaze falters under yours, then lifts again, wild and starving. His voice is wrecked when he speaks, low and teasing, but laced with something darker, more dangerous.

“Do not tease me,” he breathes. “If you keep looking at me like that…” he leans forward, just slightly, a tremble in his frame. “…I won’t show you any mercy.”

You smirk. And that drives him insane. His hips jerk, desperate for contact, but you still don’t move your hand. Your thumb brushes just along his hipbone instead, feather-light. The touch is teasing yet promising underneath.

Makeout sessions with Rafayel are always like this—heady, breathless, intense. Full of moans and shivers and pretty bruises. Because when he touches, he touches with everything he has. And you know that. You know what he’s capable of in bed. You’ve felt it, how he unravels you like a masterpiece he painted himself—slowly, deliberately, with obsession bleeding into every stroke.

Which is why now…you’re not giving him exactly what he wants. You want to keep him tethering on this very edge of madness just a little longer. The thought of what that will make of him makes you so wet, and you mentally hold yourself to the promise of him ruining you later on. As he never fails to do.

You kiss him again, harder this time, deeper, and his whole body reacts. One of your hands slides up, threading into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. He doesn't grip the counter anymore. Now it’s you he holds onto, the side of your neck, the back of your shoulder, your waist—desperate hands clinging like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn't press you close enough.

His cock grinds against you, hot and aching, and he whines—low in his throat, helpless—when your hand still doesn’t wrap around him.

He’s burning for you, desperate for your touch, and you know it.

Your breaths mingle, thick with alcohol, lust, and the kind of hunger that makes your knees weak. You can taste the vodka on his tongue, sweet and sharp and drowning in need. And you’re drunk on it, on him.

Finally, finally, your fingers dip lower beneath the hem of his sweats, just a little. Your knuckles brush the thick, hot length of him and he moans into your mouth.

“Someone’s intentions,” he pants, voice shaking, playful but desperate, “are as clear as day.”

You smile against his lips and pull back just enough to start trailing kisses down his neck again. His head falls back with a ragged exhale, eyes fluttering shut.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “keep going.”

You do. You kiss his throat, his collarbone, the chain that dips between his flushed pecs. His chest is warm and sticky with sweat. His hands grip your hair, but not to guide, just to feel you, to hold onto something.

And then you drop to your knees. The motion is smooth, controlled, and so deliberate. He looks down at you like he’s been struck by lightning. You glance up, hands slow and gentle as they curl at the waistband of his sweats. His breath hitches as you drag them down, kissing along the trail of skin you expose, until finally he’s bare in front of you.

His cock is very hard, leaking, flushed red and aching, begging for attention. Begging to be touched, to find release. But still, you don’t touch.

Your eyes lock on his.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” you murmur, voice soft and sinful. “So honest with me. Now tell me…”

Your nails trace up the inside of his thigh. “…how did it feel? Missing me these past few days?”

His jaw clenches.

“Did you think about me?” you ask, lips ghosting over the crease of his hip. “Did you touch yourself?”

His entire body shudders. His hands tighten in your hair, and his cock twitches in front of your lips, but still, you wait, watching him unravel. Waiting for him to break.

For a second, he just stares down at you silently. You see it in his eyes, the hesitation, the pride, the fragile ribbon of restraint he's always trying to keep from unraveling. But then he exhales, deep and shaky, and lets it go.

“I thought about you,” he admits, voice hoarse, chest rising and falling. “Every night. Every damn time I closed my eyes, I saw you, cutie.”

Your eyes glint, lips hovering right near the base of his cock. His hips twitch forward, subtle, like his body is betraying his mind, again.

You tilt your head, breath teasing against flushed skin. “And?”

He swallows hard.

“I touched myself thinking of your mouth,” he breathes, a flush creeping up his chest. “More than once. I imagined this…you on your knees, looking at me like this.”

Your tongue flicks out in one long, slow lick from base to tip. He gasps, head tilting backwards, and you hum—low, sweet, satisfied.

“You’re such a good boy,” you purr, lips brushing the underside of his cock as you speak.

Another lick, slower now, around the tip, then back down.

He moans, and you can feel his whole body shudder. You lock eyes with him as your tongue moves, again and again. You take your time, tracing him with reverent cruelty, just enough pressure to make him shake.

He grips the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles white.

“Fuck…” he pants, voice cracking, “…cutie, I—I—”

You lick again, this time with more pressure, swirling your tongue just beneath the head. His breath punches out of him. His eyes flutter and his head falls back in pure pleasure.

“Oh my god—” he groans, the sound full of broken want, “please…”

That’s when you finally wrap your lips around him. Just the tip, but it’s enough to make him go insane. He gasps so hard it’s almost a whimper.

Your mouth slides down—slow, sweet, maddening. You feel his hips buck slightly, chasing the heat, desperate to be deeper, and you let him. Because you love him like this. Messy. Needy. Yours.

Your mouth moves, pace steady and deep, tongue tracing the vein underneath as he throbs in your mouth. He moans again, long and low and wrecked, every sound of it tinged with alcohol and craving and utter devotion. His hands find your hair again, not guiding, just anchoring, because he’s barely standing.

And you don’t stop. Not when his hips start rolling. Not when he starts panting your name like a prayer. Not even when he chokes out something that sounds dangerously close to “I love you” under his breath, breathless and soaked in want.

Your mouth works him steadily, slowly—deeper with each glide, wetter with every moan that slips from his kiss-swollen mouth. You feel him twitch on your tongue, hear the desperate curse that falls from his lips when you hollow your cheeks just enough to make his knees buckle.

And still, you don’t stop. You relax into it, hands firm at his hips, your tongue tracing every inch you can reach, your throat swallowing every groan he offers you. Without words, you tell him exactly what you want. Lose control. Take what you need.

You feel it when he finally gives in. His hips begin to roll, rhythmic and frantic, the hand in your hair tightening. Not to force, never to force, just to anchor. Like he needs to hold onto something to keep from falling apart.

His head tips back. A low, broken moan escapes him, raw and breathless.

“Fuck—fuck, you feel so good,” he gasps, voice wrecked, thick with desperation. “I want you like this every damn day…”

Your tongue slides along the underside of his cock, and he chokes on a moan.

“I missed you so much—fuck…don’t ever make me miss you again,” he pleads, frantic now. “It’s not fair…you make me feel like this and then you’re just gone…”

You moan softly around him, the vibration making him stutter a thrust. His hips twitch forward, messy and aching.

“I can’t…I can’t, cutie, please…let me—fuck, let me finish—”

His head drops forward like the strength’s been pulled from his spine, his glassy eyes locking onto yours below him and that is what breaks him. The sight of you, kneeling before him, lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowed, eyes shining and so willing.

He lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a curse. And then he thrusts forward one last time—deep, desperate—and comes. His whole body convulses, every muscle tensing as heat pours from him, his groan long and shattered, his fingers trembling in your hair.

You keep eye contact the entire time and you take all of it, every last drop. And when it’s over, when his body slumps against the counter behind him and his legs are still shaking, his chest heaving, he whispers something soft, breathless, stunned.

“…I think I just died.”

You smile and lick your lips as you rise slowly, warm palms tracing up the curve of his waist. His hand finds your jaw, the grip gentle but sure, and he pulls you up into a kiss that’s messy and hot and absolutely drunk with need.

He tastes himself on your lips and doesn’t care—if anything, it makes him groan louder, deeper, kissing you harder as his hands slide lower to your hips, clutching them like he’s starving for more, like the high of release wasn’t enough to dull the ache you left behind.

Somewhere between kisses and panting and hands roaming skin, he wiggles awkwardly out of his sweats the rest of the way, nearly stumbling. You catch him by the waist, laughing against his mouth, but he uses the momentum and spins you, backing you up until your spine hits the edge of the counter with a soft thud.

Now you’re cornered. Now he’s the one in control again. His mouth is on your neck before you can say anything—wet, open kisses trailing down your throat as his fingers tug at the buttons of your uniform shirt, clumsy but determined.

“You see, cutie…” he murmurs, voice breathless against your pulse. “You already made my life a beautiful, chaotic mess.”

The last button gives way, and he pushes the fabric off your shoulders, kissing down the center of your chest until he reaches your bra. He groans softly, brushing his nose against your skin as he mouths your breast through the fabric, fingers digging into your waist like he can’t get close enough.

You pant, fingers tangling in his hair again, head tipping back as your hips roll forward, brushing against his now half-hard cock resting heavy against your thigh.

Rafayel growls.

“I barely touched this,” he whispers, warm mouth brushing against your bra as he speaks, “and you’re already flushed.”

He kisses over the soft breast, slowly dragging his teeth along the edge, and you whimper. You are flushed, breathless now, and he knows it. He drinks in every gasp, every twitch of your body like it’s paint running down canvas.

“I missed you,” you gasp between pants, threading your fingers tighter through his damp hair. “God…I missed you so much, Raf. I would’ve come sooner, I swear, but—”

“Don’t care,” he cuts in, groaning into your skin. “You’re here now. You’re mine now.”

His kisses get rougher, hungrier, as his hands slide up your spine, finally touching you properly, and his mouth finds your collarbone, your throat, your shoulder, all the places he needs to mark.

His mouth never leaves your skin. Not when he slides his hands up your back. Not when his fingers fumble with the clasp of your bra—frantic, trembling, almost too clumsy with how drunk he is. But then it gives way, and he lets the straps fall, kissing down your throat, nipping the slope of your shoulder, like he needs to devour every inch of you.

Your bra drops somewhere on the floor, but his hands don’t stop. They hook under your thighs, gripping you tight and then he lifts. You gasp as he picks you up and plants you on the edge of the counter, the cool marble pressing against your bare thighs, shocking in contrast to the molten heat in his mouth.

He is still kissing your skin, still biting your neck and leaving matching marks for his own. He doesn’t even pause to catch his breath, just pants into your neck like he’ll drown if he stops.

And yet, he slows. He shifts the angle, presses soft bites just under your ear, kisses the same spot until your spine arches on instinct, begging for more. But he doesn’t move his hands, doesn’t touch you where you need him most. Just keeps teasing.

You whimper, arching your back again—an invitation, a demand—but all he does is hum against your skin, warm breath fanning over your throat like a confession.

“Silly girl,” he murmurs, chuckling against your pulse, his voice ragged and low.

You groan, rolling your hips forward. “Rafayel…”

Still, he doesn't move, he just sucks harder at your neck, his teeth scraping the shell of your ear.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whisper, breath breaking between frustration and arousal.

He laughs again, breathless, dazed, drunk on you.

“Yeah…” he pants, voice soft and cocky. “I am doing this on purpose.”

His hands finally slide up your ribs, palms hot and greedy, and then at last, he leans down and wraps his lips around your nipple. You moan, back arching hard, your fingers threading through his hair and holding him there as his tongue swirls, slow and sinful. His free hand drags down and slips beneath the edge of your uniform skirt.

But still, he doesn’t go where you want him. His hands only grasp at your thighs, caressing the soft skin just above your knees, then sliding upward in slow, possessive sweeps, fingers curling tight enough to bruise.

You shudder under his mouth, under his hands, under the weight of his teasing control. And he hums against your chest, smug and starved all at once. You arch harder into him, the curve of your back deepening as you press your chest to his mouth, your thighs tightening around his waist. Your hands stay tangled in his hair, desperate and pleading without words, because god…he’s still teasing.

His tongue swirls around your nipple in slow, wet circles, just barely flicking when he knows you want more. His hands are gripping your thighs, hard, sliding up to the edge of your panties beneath your skirt and then stopping.

“Rafayel,” you gasp, half-laughing, half-moan, the frustration laced through every syllable. “You said you missed me so fucking much…and now you’re bullying me?”

He groans against your chest, hips twitching where they press between your thighs. Sweat clings to his skin, flushed and shining in the low studio light. His silver chains stick to his neck and chest, tangling slightly as he lifts his face, breathless.

Then he bites lightly at the swell of your breast before meeting your eyes, voice wrecked and fond and maddening all at once.

“But you’re very, very cute right now,” he says, lips dragging against your skin as he speaks. “And I’m allowed to admire what I missed.”

You whimper. He moans again, this time into your mouth as he surges up to kiss you, devouring, hungry, his teeth scraping yours in a kiss that’s too messy to be sweet and too honest to be anything less than worship.

And then finally—finally, his hand slides under the edge of your panties and pushes them aside. You don’t even get to breathe. Two fingers slide into you, deep and unrelenting, and you moan into his mouth, the sound punched straight from your lungs as your body clenches around him.

He swallows it all—every sound, every gasp, every trembling exhale—kissing you deeper as his fingers start to move, slow at first, then harder. Slick. Hot. So fucking good.

You grip his shoulders now, your back arched against the counter, head tipping back as he pumps into you, his breath ragged against your jaw, his mouth dragging down your neck again. Your hips start moving without thought, chasing every curl of his fingers.

The world blurs around the heat building in your core, and Rafayel? He’s already drunk, already ruined, but he wants to see you break before he even thinks about stopping.

Your hips roll into his hand instinctively, chasing the rhythm of his fingers as they pump into you, slick and deep. You whimper as he curls them just right, and your legs spread wider on instinct, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Rafayel—ahh, fuck…”

He groans into your neck, mouth hot against your skin. His free hand clutches your hip now, grounding you, anchoring you to the counter as he fucks you with just his fingers, but it’s so much more than that.

He moves like an artist. Like he’s sculpting pleasure from the very deep center of you. And his mouth doesn’t stop—biting, sucking, trailing heat down your throat, over your collarbone, back to your chest.

“You always break so beautifully,” he whispers against your skin, voice rough with lust, soaked in alcohol and longing. “So flushed, so desperate…”

You moan, louder now, as his fingers hit that perfect spot inside you again. Your hands grip his shoulders tight, fingers digging into the sweat-slick muscle. Your thighs shake.

“Please,” you breathe, “don’t stop—don’t you dare…”

He laughs, low and breathless, and his pace quickens. The slick sound of his fingers inside you is obscene, wet and filthy and so fucking hot you feel your face burn with it. Your moans turn higher, sharper, punched out with every curl of his fingers, and he loves it. Loves you like this.

“Say it again,” he whispers in your ear, breath hot and desperate. “Say you missed me. Say you want me.”

“Mhm, missed you…oh, fuck, I want you—Rafayel, please…”

His teeth sink lightly into your neck and he growls against it. “Good girl.”

You fall apart around his fingers, whimpering, clutching at his arms like he’s the only thing holding you together. The heat’s building too fast—white and burning—coiling in your gut like it’s about to snap. And still, his fingers move. Still, his mouth wrecks you.

And still, he whispers, “Come on, cutie. Show me how much you missed this.”

The pressure inside you spikes—sharp, hot, unbearable. Every drag of Rafayel’s fingers feels like it’s made of fire, and you can’t take your eyes off him. His flushed face, sweat-slicked chest, dark hair sticking to his forehead. The way he looks at you while he ruins you, like nothing else exists.

Your body is trembling. Your hips are bucking into every thrust of his hand now. And he’s whispering filth in your ear, low and unrelenting, the kind of voice that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, licking up the side of your neck. “I can feel it…you’re clenching around me so tight—god, it’s perfect.”

“Raf—” You gasp his name like a prayer, your voice breaking.

He fucks his fingers into you harder, deeper, faster now. Every stroke grazing just right. Your thighs squeeze around his waist, your spine arches off the counter, and your head tips back as the wave inside you crests—sharp and wet and blinding.

“Let go for me,” he growls, voice breathless and wrecked. “Come, cutie.”

And you do. You cry out, thighs shaking violently around his hips, your hands clutching him, clawing at his back. Your walls spasm around his fingers as your orgasm slams into you, hard and messy and endless.

He doesn’t stop. He watches it all—eyes wild, jaw slack, drinking in the way your body falls apart for him. His fingers keep moving even as you whimper and twitch, overwhelmed and shaking.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he pants, voice full of reverence and lust. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. Look at you…look at you.”

You moan, half-broken, half-pleading, and finally he slows. But only just. His mouth is everywhere now—pressing kisses over your jaw, your cheeks, your shoulder. His hand stays buried between your thighs, still feeling every twitch and aftershock.

“You’re mine,” he whispers raggedly, soft and deadly against your skin. “You know that, right?”

You nod, barely able to breathe, much less speak. You’re still catching your breath, body trembling, chest rising in frantic waves when his mouth crashes into yours again—a kiss more desperate than any before it. His hand hasn’t moved from between your thighs, and when his fingers stroke your oversensitive clit, your entire body jolts in his grasp.

“Rafayel—!” you gasp against his mouth.

He moans, muffled and low, as if he’s the one being undone, not you. But that’s always been the truth of it—every time he touches you, every time he brings you to the edge, he breaks with you. Falls apart in tandem. Wants you in a way that’s feral and emotional and frighteningly deep.

You know this rhythm. You know what he likes. And you know what’s coming. He lives to drag it out. To keep you trembling on the edge again and again, his control laced with adoration and hunger until you’re begging him to stop and begging him not to in the same breath.

But tonight… tonight he’s drunk. He’s missed you badly. He’s hard and flushed and not even pretending to be composed anymore. And you feel all of it.

His cock is pressed hot and firm against your thigh, twitching each time you grind closer. The thin fabric of your panties is soaked, pushed to the side, clinging to nothing. Every breath is a moan, every kiss tastes like vodka and sin.

You clutch his hair and gasp against his lips, trembling from the overstimulation, the heat, the need building all over again.

“I need you,” you whisper. “I need you, Raf. I need my lover. Please…I need you inside.”

He growls. That’s all it takes. Something inside him snaps. He grabs you hard, almost rough, pulling you into his arms. One hand still clutching your ass, the other around your back, dragging your mouth to his over and over again as he stumbles blindly through the apartment.

You giggle against his mouth as he stumbles into the wall, swears, and then keeps going.

“Where—?” you start to ask.

“Shut up,” he pants. “I’m taking you.”

You don’t argue, not when he makes it to the edge of the bed. Your bodies stay tangled in the heat of that kiss, standing at the edge of his bed, tongues dancing, mouths open and hungry. His hand stays locked around your waist, his cock pressed hard against your thigh, twitching with every pulse of your moans.

You gasp against his lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to reach down between your thighs. Your fingers hook into the edge of your ruined panties, dragging them down quickly, wet and wrinkled from everything he’s already done to you. They fall to your ankles, kicked away without thought. Your skirt follows, bunched and rumpled, shoved down and off. You’re flushed and shaking and so, so exposed.

Rafayel groans as he takes you in, still in your half-open uniform shirt, still breathless, trembling, and flushed from your last orgasm, and now bare from the waist down.

“Fuck,” he pants, dragging you back into a kiss, deeper this time, desperate. “Not fair. You’re gonna kill me, cutie”

You giggle into his mouth and he turns you, suddenly, his hands warm and firm on your hips. He presses his chest to your back, caging you in, his breath hot at your ear.

“I’m going to show you,” he murmurs darkly, “exactly how deep this goes. How fucking much it hurt to be without you.”

His hand slides up your spine, slow and deliberate, until it settles between your shoulder blades, and then he pushes you towards the bed.

“Bend over.”

You do—panting, moaning, letting him guide you forward until your hands brace on the edge of the mattress, fingers curling into the blanket. Your back arches, instinctively, your ass tilted perfectly for him.

He stands behind you, groaning like he’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. Because from this angle, you’re all flushed skin and damp thighs and trembling anticipation.

“God,” he growls, voice ragged. “You’re so perfect.” he palms your ass, carresing it. “My perfect girl.”

You shudder at the praise, moaning softly as your hips roll back once, begging. And of course—of course—he teases you more, because he can’t help himself. You feel his fingers ghost over your inner thigh, then pause, just before they touch where you need it so desperately.

“I guess Miss Bodyguard is still wet…” he drawls, voice lilting with mock surprise, smug and dark and hungry. “Tsk.”

He chuckles low in his throat as his fingers circle your clit once. You jolt, gasping, legs nearly buckling. And then he pushes in, all the way. You cry out, body arching hard, hands gripping the bed as his cock stretches you deep and fast, no warning, no patience.

It’s just him, just Rafayel, hungry and raw, claiming you, filling you, like he never stopped needing you. He groans behind you, loud and ruined, hips grinding against yours as he bottoms out. His hand stays pressed firm on your back, holding you there, keeping you open for him.

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s part of your heartbeat, your breath, your very bones. His palm is still pressed to the curve of your back, keeping you arched just right, keeping you his.

And behind you, you hear it. That breathless, broken sound—half a moan, half a laugh.

“Fuck, cutie,” he murmurs, the words slurred with want. “You feel like home.”

Your hands tremble where they grip the bed, legs already shaking just from the stretch of him, from the pressure of being filled so full. You roll your hips back just slightly, and that’s all it takes.

He groans, and then he starts to move. Slow, at first. Deep, dragging thrusts that pull almost all the way out before he pushes back in again with force that makes the whole bedframe creak under your grip.

You cry out, mouth open, head falling forward as he sets the pace—not gentle, not tentative. Raw. He thrusts harder, faster now, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room, wet and filthy and perfect.

“God,” he pants behind you, his voice deeper now, more serious than it ever is, even when sober. “I missed this…I missed you…”

His hand slides up from your back, wrapping around your waist, pulling you tighter into each thrust. You can hear how wet you are with every slap of his hips, can feel his body curl over yours, sweat slick, chest against your back.

“Every fucking night,” he groans into your shoulder, still fucking you, harder with every word. “I kept thinking about this…about you, ah…about your body… this pussy…”

You whimper, his words sending fire straight to your core, making your walls flutter around him.

He gasps. “Shit, cutie…do that again.”

You rock back, meeting his thrusts, and moan his name this time. He loses it. He slams into you once, twice, hard, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You drive me insane,” he breathes. “You fucking ruin me, cutie.”

“Rafayel…” your voice cracks, moaning, barely coherent. “Please…don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He pounds into you, frantic now, hips relentless, every thrust angled to make you feel every inch of what you do to him.

The room is nothing but sweat and moans and the scent of sex and the low, breathless rasp of his voice murmuring, “Mine, mine, mine…”

Your moans fill the room like music—high, wet, breathless. Each time his hips slam into you, you gasp, and his name pours from your lips like a spell. You can’t even think. You can’t breathe without feeling him, every inch of him buried so deep, stretching you wide and perfectly.

He leans closer, his body pressing to your back, his breath hot against your neck, lips brushing your shoulder in desperate, half-mouthed kisses. Sweat slicks his chest, gluing it to your spine, and you feel how much he’s shaking.

And then his voice—hoarse and frantic, trembling with emotion he never hides well when it comes to you.

“Do you want me to go faster?” he pants, thrusting deep and slow for just a moment. “Huh, cutie? Tell me…tell me how you want me.”

Your head lolls back, the tension coiling hot in your belly, your arms shaking where they grip the bed.

“Yes,” you gasp, voice thin and wrecked. “Yes, Rafayel, faster—fuck, please…don’t stop—”

He groans, a full-bodied sound that tears from his throat like he’s breaking apart.

“You want me to ruin you again?” he rasps, speeding up his pace, each thrust now wild and relentless. “Wanna feel it for days?”

“Please—yes…oh my god…”

His fingers slide around your front, finding your clit with practiced ease. He circles it once and you wail, your body locking tight around his cock.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispers, desperate now, breathless. “I can feel you… fluttering, gasping—mine.”

“Yours,” you cry, broken, gone. “Always yours—fuck, I can’t—”

“You can,” he snarls, drunk and feral now, hips slamming faster, deeper, perfectly brutal. “And you will. I’m not stopping until I feel you come again. I need it…I need you to feel me everywhere.”

You’re past words. Past thought. Every muscle in your body tightens as the edge hits again, full force, harder than before, shaking you from the inside out.

And he doesn't stop. Not when you start to tremble. Not when your voice breaks. Not when you scream his name and come hard all over his cock, body collapsing, arching, lost. He fucks you through it, breathless, moaning, yours.

“That’s it,” he gasps, eyes wild, lips parted. “That’s my girl—god, you’re so perfect.”

You clutch the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Your body is trembling, your skin burning, your mouth wide open as helpless moans spill out between every brutal, perfect thrust.

He’s still moving. Still buried deep inside you, cock twitching with every pulse of your orgasm. Still holding your hips like they’re sacred. Still panting like he might fall apart if he doesn’t keep feeling you.

“Fuck—fuck, Rafayel—” you cry, voice broken. “I can’t…I can’t, I’m so—”

But you don’t tell him to stop. Even through the overstimulation, even through the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes from how good it still feels—you don’t tell him to stop.

You whimper, loud and high and wrecked, hips jerking with each thrust, and through the haze, you reach back, grabbing his wrist, holding him to you.

“Show me,” you moan, desperate, breathless, trembling. “Show me how much you love me… ah, how much you missed this pussy…how much you need me.”

He breaks. Completely. With a shattered groan, he slams into you harder, losing his rhythm, his hips stuttering with frantic, messy thrusts. His head drops forward, lips parted against your back, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shoulder.

“Fuck…fuck, cutie—I’m gonna…” he pants, voice rough and wild, “I’m gonna come—oh my god…I missed you, I love you…I need you—”

And then he comes. Your name is the only thing he says as he unravels—half-moan, half-grunt, worship on his tongue—his cock buried to the hilt as he pulses hard inside you. Hot. Wet. All of him.

He thrusts through it, whining against your skin, chasing every last wave of it until he finally collapses—chest to your back, arms wrapping around your waist, his weight holding you both together.

Silence falls. Heavy, warm, trembling silence. Your knees give out first. He catches you, barely, pulling you down with him to the floor, tangled in limbs and sweat and ragged, open-mouthed breaths.

You both just breathe. There are no words yet. Only the echo of his moans still ringing in your ears. Only the slick warmth between your thighs, the tremble in your legs, the whisper of his lips on your neck as he presses kiss after kiss to your skin like an apology and a vow.

“Mine,” he murmurs again. “Never letting you go, cutie.”

And you don’t argue, because why would you? Because you are his, and you always have been.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple

[honeytonedhottie]

honey's guide to having the BEST closet ever.ೃ࿔*:･🍨🎀

as a fashion girlie who's curating the wardrobe of her DREAMS i've come with my notes, tips, and everything i've learned thus far on how to have a cohesive, FABULOUS closet…💬🎀

HAVE A CLOSET COLOR PALETTE ;

this is the GOLDEN rule of having a fabulous closet. keeping a color palette thats true to u doesn't mean that u cant play around with colors and textures, but it means that ur pieces will ACTUALLY go together and you'll buy pieces that actually go with other pieces in ur closet and you'll be able to make like DOUBLE the outfits.

since my vibe is super feminine and glamorous i stick mostly with pinks, creams, browns, whites, nudes, blacks, etc etc. i love that glamorous look. it makes making outfits and getting dressed so much easier bcuz everything matches. plus ur closet is so aesthetic and looks like a boutique.

PRO TIP : buy cute hangers for your closet, it'll help with an overall cohesive look. i got the CUTEST pink heart shaped hangers off of ali express for like $0.99 and they're actually amazing quality and i LOVE them…💬🎀

BE INTENTIONAL WITH EACH PIECE ;

do.not.buy.fast.fashion. dont spend more than a hundred dollars on fast fashion, heck dont even spend a hundred dollars on fast fashion. i get that its tempting when u see those low prices but the quality HELLO?? i understand sometimes wanting something quick and easy but just don't overspend on fast fashion.

another thing, don't buy things just because they're trending right now or because they're cheap. u have to ask yourself if this piece SPEAKS to you, does it fit ur vibe? how many diff ways u can wear it? does it fit ur palette? etc etc. we wanna CURATE our dream closet, not a super cluttered one that we dont even have any like attachment to.

THRIFTING ;

when thrifting, my first tip is to always head to the pajama/lingerie aisle first for some cute tops! those fit my vibe so i head there first. bcuz i know my closet color palette i check the pinks, creams, browns, etc first and then i go on from there. know ur color palette and look through those colors first. next, go to the kids sections for super cute tops.

TAILOR YOUR PIECES ;

do u know how FABULOUS it is to have pieces that look like they were made FOR your body?? like thats peak glamour. yes it costs a pretty penny but its an investment! i get every single pair of jeans i own tailored because in my opinion i feel like thats the piece where its the most notable.

if you find the perfect skirt but it’s a little too long or the waist is off, get it tailored!! or learn some beginner sewing and do it urself. having clothes that fit you perfectly makes such a difference in how you feel in them.

SIGNATURE PIECES ;

every girly girl should have her signature piece of jewelry, signature scent, signature lipgloss, heck even a signature hairstyle. i love having signature things because its all part of the branding you know? if ur not a bracelet girly, have a signature necklace. or if ur not a necklace girly have a signature pair of earrings.

and take your time when finding your signature pieces because when you have something that is ur signature _ it'll be like a part of you so you wanna take time into thinking and choosing the piece that best represents you and who you are/want to be.

UTILIZE CANVA TO MAKE OUTFITS ;

i use canva for EVERYTHING, school projects, moodboards, and to curate outfits. i use pieces that im thinking of buying and put them into canva and just make a bunch of outfits so i can get a visual of what the piece would look like styled. it’s actually so fun like i feel like a fashion editor making layouts for vogue. sometimes i’ll screenshot pieces from websites and mix n match them with items from my closet. plus it helps u be more intentional with your shopping bcuz u can see what ur closet is missing. it’s like building your own lil fashion universe.

[organic-bloodbath]

Teach Ddakji to me - Part 2

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: The salesman teaches you a new game: Rock, paper, scissors, minus one. However, he adds a mix to the game whenever one of you loses.

Warnings: 18+ smut, pure sex. Minors, time for you to leave and come back in a few years, this not for your eyes ✋🏻 the door is that way 👉🏻🚪

A/N: This shall have part 3 and i'm working on part 2 for Mingle too ✍️🏻 i haven't written smut in several years so be nice to me thank you, i feel a bit rusty 🥲

Part 1

Taglist:

@apookalypse

@lady-of-blossoms

@k1ra-park3r

♡♡

By now you had been seeing him for over a month. He had asked all kinds of things about your life in the U.S., your studies and what you'd want to do in the future, your hobbies and in general what you liked to do, and so on. He was genuinely interested in getting to know you and it warmed your heart.

He told you a little about his job, how he was recruiting new people for different businesses. He didn't get into lot of details, just said that he did like his job and it paid surprisingly well. He was happy at his current life.

He told you about his family, how his dad had died by someone shooting him to death, and that he didn't really keep in touch with many family members anymore. A lot of them had passed away apparently and he didn't want to get into more details at this stage of your relationship. You did feel sad for him, since you still had many living relatives who had some kind of part in your life, despite you moving so far away from your home.

You had gone to several different dates, none of them ending up all the way to the bedroom - yet. Mostly you had been only making out at the end of the date, and that was a lot. He was fine with waiting as long as you wished, not wanting you to be only a short term thing. You had told him about your past with one of your boyfriends how he had left you right after he had slept with you for the first time. He promised he wouldn't even think of acting like that.

He was a little too perfect and you had waited to find any kinds of flaws he had, but by far you found none and sometimes that worried you a little. There was no way a perfect man like he existed. Everyone had atleast one thing wrong with them, whatever it was.

Tonight, you had booked a hotel room together and you had made sure to wear your best pair of panties and bra, definitely avoiding the least sexy ones you owned. You had gone for a dinner before coming to the hotel, he had paid your meal again like a gentleman, as he always did. You tried to insist that you'd pay yours but he wasn't having any of that. Afterwards, you had let him know that you were ready to go all the way tonight, if he wanted to.

Right now, he was teaching you a new game, though this one you knew already but it had a little different twist to it that you hadn't played before.

Rock, paper, scissors, minus one.

It took you a while to understand how the game worked, but you grasped on the idea well enough. You both sat on your own chairs, directly facing each other, only a small gap between your knees.

He had added his own twist for the game - only with you: The one who lost, had to remove one piece of clothing, randomly chosen.

This time, you lost, his scissors cutting your paper. By now you had taken off only your cardigan, while he had taken off his tie and socks - he was taking it slowly, apparently.

You put your hands under your white top, unclipping your bra and pulling it out without taking your shirt off. You showed your dark red bra to him, hanging it in the air, until you threw it towards him. He catched it easily from the air. He brushed his fingers along the lacy canvas for a few times, until let it lay on his lap.

Another round, which made him lose his shirt. He took his time taking it off, a smirk on his face, just to mess with you. He knew you weren't very patient. But when he had taken it off and you saw him shirtless, you could definitely tell that he worked out regularly and kept himself in shape. You bit your lip and felt your cheeks warming up. God damn, you had prepared yourself for that - but still.

There were barely any words exchanged during the entire game, there was no need for that.

This was definitely a lot better than Ddakji.

It didn't take long anymore until you were only wearing your underwear and nothing else, your chest bare and you could see the hunger in his eyes.

"I think it's time for the second part of the game," he said and got up. "This part i haven't gone through with any other people i've played with."

You could see he was already hard through his underwear, which was the only thing he had on him as well. You got up before he managed to come to you and made him sit back down on the chair. He looked at you, eyebrows lifted up in surprise, but didn't stop what you were doing.

You kneeled down in front of him and pulled his underwear off, finally seeing his size how big he really was and you weren't sure if you'd be able to take it all. You looked up at him while taking his dick in your hand, stroking it a few times. He let out a sigh, not been prepared for you to make a move on him first.

You stroked him a few more times, until taking him in your mouth as deep as you were able to go. You got a gag reflex quite soon but managed to take surprisingly lot of him, though definitely not the entire length.

He grabbed your head with his hand, fingers brushing through your hair. He guided you with his hand for a while, noticing what your limits were so he wasn't pushing your mouth too deep. He let out deep moans and grunts, but before he was about to come, he pulled your head off him.

He pulled you up from the floor and grabbed your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips on his, taking him in a deep kiss. His hands fell on your ass, and his tongue found its way into your mouth when you let out a quiet moan.

He pushed you on the bed, immediately crawling on top of you, not breaking the kiss for more than a few seconds.

He massaged your breast until sliding his hand down your stomach all the way to between your legs, under your panties which you still had on. He gently massaged your clit, then putting more pressure on it, making you moan louder than before. He inserted his middle finger inside your vagina, pumping it in and out, soon sliding in a second finger as well.

"Oh god," you whispered, his touch felt so good and you felt like you were going to come sooner than you had expected.

But he stopped when he sensed you were starting to be on the edge of climax. You let out a frustrated groan but he shut you up with another kiss.

He pulled himself back a little bit to take your panties off and got a condom from the bedside table, wrapping it on him. He finally positioned himself against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asked, ready to push in whenever you gave her permission. "You remember the safe word, hm?"

"Ddakji," you breathed with a chuckle and nodded. "Ready."

He didn't wait even a second longer, right then pushing in, slowly. You gritted your teeth, nails digging on his back. God, it hurt so much and you were sure you were going to bleed a little.

"Just, wait a moment, okay?" you said quietly, getting used to his size. You had had sex with a few other men before, but the last time had been in the U.S. and none of them had been as big as him.

He kissed your neck on several different spots, and by now he knew exactly the right spots which made you insane.

"Okay go on," you whispered and that was all needed for him to start moving his hips back and forth.

"God you feel so good," he murmured in your ear.

You moved your hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head into a deep kiss, his tongue playing with yours.

You didn't know how many minutes had passed, you had lost the track of time, and slowly he was fastening his pace, becoming rougher than in the beginning.

Finally, you experienced the best orgasm you had ever had, the waves of pleasure going through your body. You didn't care how loud you were and how thin the walls of this room were, you let your body react the way it wanted. His body fell limp on yours, being a lot more heavy now that he didn't keep himself up on you.

"Was it good?" you whispered, unsure if he enjoyed it as much as you did. It was your first time with him and you weren't sure what kind of sex he had experienced with other women before.

He looked at you with a surprised expression on his face.

"Was it good?" he repeated and then kissed your forehead and smiled. "It was a lot more than just good. It was perfect."

You quickly washed yourself in the bathroom and when you got into the bed, it didn't take long until you fell asleep in his arms.

♡♡

"You fucked him," your roommate gasped, looking at the hickeys on your neck and below your collarbone. "Is this your walk of shame? Oh my god you definitely fucked him."

It was 6am and your class was about to start at 9am. You knew you should have spent the night with him on the weekend, and not when you had to go to a class in the morning, but you had other plans on the weekend and you couldn't wait another week to spend the night with him.

"Shut up," you chuckled, not denying it.

"So, tell me everything," she asked. "No, wait a moment until i get coffee for us."

She could see that you had stayed up late and needed some caffeine to wake you up before the first class. You waited until she was done with the coffee and brought two cups on the table.

"So, is he big?" she asked and your eyes widened. Straight to the deep end, then. "Like how big exactly?"

"Oh, he was big," you said, the back of your mouth still sore.

"On the scale of a cucumber - half of it? 2/3? Don't say an entire cucumber." Her eyes widened and she gasped. "I mean, he looked like he could easily be-"

"Oh god no, i would have instantly walked out of the door in that case," you cringed and showed an estimated size from memory.

"Ok but how did you do it? Bed, table, shower, wall? All of them?" she asked, talking so fast you weren't able to interrupt her. "Sorry, i haven't had sex in months i'm going insane if i don't get some soon. Like my vagina is actually screaming to be filled. Does he possibly have a hot friend? Could you text and ask? Friend, brother, dad - i'll take anything."

"I'm not going to ask that!" you laughed.

"How could you find a hottie like that in a damn subway station anyway? The only man who has come to talk to me there was a homeless man asking for money because he just got out of jail for drunk driving," she said. "Let's go clubbing this Friday, you can be my wingwoman."

"I don't know, i don't really do clubbing," you said awkwardly, you weren't a fan of those places and hadn't been at any club in a few years.

"Please you have to share your tricks with me," she was begging by now. "Otherwise i'm gonna have to seduce our professor who i've had hots for since the beginning of our semester and we all know that's a horrible, horrible idea."

"Yeah, that's a big no," you said instantly.

"You know what must be big? His-"

"Okay shut up," you interrupted immediately before she was able to continue. "Ask one of your friends to go clubbing with you."

"I will, but you should tag along," she insisted. "You should be more social with us outdoors, come on."

"I'll pass this time, thanks," you said, giving an 'i'm sorry' smile. You took a sip of your coffee, then changing the subject. "Oh, by the way, my brother is coming for a visit," you said and pointed a finger on your roommate before she was about to say something. "And he's definitely OFF limits, don't even think about it, he's going to get married next summer."

"Aw, fine," she pouted, for a second she had had her hopes up, but it was quickly erased.

♡♡

The salesman went to a park with a large bag full of bread, there was atleast 50 loafs in total, and pockets full of lottery tickets.

He found a group of homeless men and women, sitting on different benches. He approached them one by one, holding a loaf of bread on the other hand and a single lottery ticket on the other.

The homeless man looked at his hands and was about to take both to himself, but the salesman pulled his hands back.

"You can choose only one of these," he said. The man thought about his choice for a few seconds, until grabbed the lottery ticket. The salesman offered him a coin to scratch the ticket with.

The man's face fell when there was no win. The salesman repeated this action to all the people in the park nearby, and only one of them chose the bread.

Suddenly, he saw you in the distance, but his face fell when he saw who you were with. A young man was walking next to you, arm around you shoulder, keeping you close to him. The salesman had no idea what you were talking about, but somehow the man managed to make you laugh.

He didn't like what he was seeing, not one bit. Anger was rising inside him, he couldn't help it.

"Hey, give me the bread!" one of the homeless men yelled at him.

"Yeah, give us the bread!" a woman shouted nearby.

"I apologise, but you had a chance to choose the bread, but you chose the ticket instead," the salesman pointed out politely and threw the bags of bread on the ground.

He started pouring his anger out by stomping on the breads, mushing them all completely and letting out a few frustrated screams out of his mouth.

The homeless people looked at him like he had lost his mind and should have been taken into a mental hospital. They got up and left, it became too hard to watch a grown man's sudden tantrum.

The salesman pulled his hair back and brushed sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his suit. He took a deep breath to calm down.

"I'm cool, everything's cool," he mumbled to himself and straightened his tie a little bit. He looked around him, barely anyone on his sight anymore. He really needed to work on his anger issues.

♡♡

"Hi," you greeted and planted a kiss on his cheek when you arrived to the cafe a few hours later to meet him.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he said and forced on a smile. He might have had a little sarcastic tone in his voice, but nothing what you might have noticed.

"Oh, my brother came to visit me, he's staying for a few days. I showed him a few places around here, he had never visited Korea before or really travelled much outside the States," you explained, seeming excited. "I haven't seen him since i moved to Korea."

He lifted his eyebrows and after a moment started laughing a little bit. You looked at him, confused what was so funny.

"Your brother," he mumbled. "Right, of course, your brother. Did you have fun?"

"A lot of fun, yes," you smiled widely. "Do you want to meet him?"

He went silent for a moment, somehow surprised by your suggestion. Sure, you had been dating for a while now but he hadn't been prepared to meeting your family members since they were all far away in the United States. It hadn't really seemed like an option before.

"Well, sure, why not," he said with a smile, though he was surprisingly a little nervous about it, which was quite unusual for him.

♡♡

That same night, your roommate had texted that she had found a guy at the club and if it wouldn't be a problem for you to find another place to spend the night, since she didn't want to go to the guy's place right when she had met him.

You were fine with it and answered that your boyfriend let you stay at his house. Calling him your boyfriend sounded so strange, but he was one, right? It just sounded like you were both still in high school, and he was a lot older than you anyway.

This was your first time visiting his home. You hadn't thought about what kind of home he had or what you were expecting, but it was larger than you had imagined. Certainly a lot fancier than your apartment, which felt like a closet compared to his place.

He hadn't visited your apartment either, so you didn't think much of it that you hadn't seen his place sooner.

He went to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine for you and left you in the living room by yourself. You saw a shelf which seemed to be full of old records, most of them seemed to be artists you weren't familiar with.

"Hey, can i look through your records and find something to listen to?" you shouted.

You heard his approval to choose anything you wanted and started browsing through them.

Then, opening one of the drawers to see if there was more, your heart stopped for a second when you saw something hidden in there.

A gun. He had a gun in his drawer.

You had never held a gun in your hand and carefully lifted it with your hand, making sure to keep your fingers far from the trigger, just in case it was loaded. You looked at it side to side, you didn't know much about guns but it seemed to be a real revolver.

Then, he came back to the living room, a red wine bottle and two wine glasses in his hands, eyes widening when he saw what you were holding and the shocked look on your face.

"Why do you have a gun?"

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 09: have you listened to my songs?

NOTE: another update bc we got the grades for all our subjects and i survived sophomore year !

When Scaramouche arrives, he finds you at a secluded spot in the park.

You were sitting on the grass, leaves stemming out from branches above you providing shelter. He spies art materials laid on a piece of fabric, along with a decently sized canvas resting on your lap.

Scaramouche mentally thanks you for choosing a spot with no people nearby.

The crunching sound of grass and leaves urged you to look in his direction. He waves, and you nod. 

As soon as he reaches your spot, he stops, leaning a little bit closer. “Archons, that’s gorgeous,” he whispered.

He could not tear his eyes away from the pink-hued canvas in your possession. Despite being far from completion, he immediately recognized what your work tried to capture — the endless rows of sakura trees currently surrounding the two of you.

“Thank you.” You flash a small smile. 

“Don’t be. That wasn't mere flattery, I was just stating a fact.”

“You didn’t mean it to be flattery, but it made me feel good anyway. And I want to thank you for that.”

His lips curve a little. Really, you’re such a smooth talker. You’re tolerable to talk to as well. It makes it hard for him to believe that you were born and raised by a family such as yours.

He unconsciously frowns upon remembering your background. Who knows if how you’re interacting with him right now is how your parents trained you to.

And Scaramouche hates those two things — he hates deceptiveness, and he despises not knowing.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, you must have a busy schedule. You didn’t really have to go and meet me personally.”

He stills.

You were right.

Why did he even go here?

He could have just continued to converse with you through texts. Now that he thinks about it, he could’ve just drove straight home instead of stopping by. He could’ve been laying in his extremely comfortable bed, wearing his loungewear and with his choice of movie playing in the background, as he half-heartedly responds to your messages.

So why is he here?

He cleared his throat. “Well, I decided to just go here too because I needed a breather anyway.” He tries to convince you and himself.

He merely receives a hum in acknowledgement.

“Anyways,” you say as you stain your canvas another stroke of pink, “as I said, your agency’s asking about our progress.”

“Can’t you just tell them that we’re having one?” He suggests as he finally sits beside you, unconsciously leaning in closer to observe your painting.

Your fingers momentarily freeze at the proximity. You’ve never had anyone this close to you while you’re painting before! Well, except probably that time in college when your art professors were observing you as you taint your canvas.

“I mean, I could but… I overthink a lot so… I’m already thinking, ‘what if they ask me follow up questions, or more details, or a proof and whatnot’.”

“You think too much.”

“You think too little.” You counter. “Actually, I’m already overthinking now about how someone could possibly recognize you out of nowhere.”

He shrugs. “I see no one near us though.”

You pay him no mind. 

“And what if after they recognize you, they mob us? Or worse, what if they paint me to be your girlfriend?”

Scaramouche’s lips part in bewilderment. “You think being my girlfriend is worse than getting mobbed?”

“Is it not?” You ask, voice unmistakably genuine. You start to think of his old friend, who received so many unwarranted criticisms when she was revealed to be the girlfriend of renowned actor Kamisato Ayato. From that fiasco alone, you had a general idea that being the significant other of a high-profile person — especially someone that has a fanbase — is not for the weak.

“How would it be?!” He spats, visibly offended. 

“Because—”

“Actually, you know what, don’t answer that.”

“For your peace of mind, let’s just talk at the cafe inside our agency.”

You oblige, and Scaramouche helps you pack up your stuff. Once the materials are packed, he stands up and picks up the rose-colored canvas before he accompanies you towards his car.

—

You feel his stare as you take a sip of your coffee (a futile attempt to divert yourself from the awkwardness). 

“Why don’t you give your agency a rough date when they can expect you to hand over your demos? You’ll also feel pressured that way. Having deadlines works wonders, you know. I mean, to me, personally. Because I’m a procrastinator,” You reply — though merely whispering the last bit— to his earlier question, something about how he just does not have any idea how to start on his next album.

“Okay, I’ll try that.” 

He languidly props his chin on his right palm.  “How long are you staying here in Inazuma again?”

“Three months, why?”

“So that I know until when I’ll have you here with me.”

You still. And that’s when he realizes.

He again clears his throat. “To make my album cover, I mean.”

You merely give him a small ‘okay’ and a nod, before turning your focus back to your beverage.

‘Archons, I don’t know what else to talk about!’ 

“Random question, have you listened to my songs?” 

You almost choke.

“Uhm, no, I actually haven’t.” You answer. You could only hope he wouldn’t notice how you’re restlessly fiddling with your fingers underneath the table.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll start listening now.”

“I’m not forcing you to?”

“But I want to.”

You hope he doesn’t notice how all of his songs were marked with green checks on the side, a testament to how they were all already added to your ‘Liked Songs’ playlist. You hope he didn’t see how, when you opened your profile, he was displayed as one of your ‘Top Artists this Month’. 

You started to listen to his most recent album, the one called ‘To The Girl I’ve Loved Before’. It was hard, trying to not sing along to the lyrics you knew oh so well. It was tough, trying to not move your head along to the beat you were all too familiar with.

“Sooo,” you say as you remove your earphones. “Are most of these songs about one girl?”

You mentally hit yourself. ‘Why would you even ask that, oh my god.’

“Yeah.”

“Never requited?” You were too deep in your act now to stop this topic.

“Never.”

“Have you moved on?”

“Why is this suddenly turning into an interview?” He leans back and crosses his arms. “And why am I the one in the hot seat?”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Well, I don’t know. Honestly.” 

Scaramouche finds himself looking out into the distance. His mind has been a mess for the past several months.

And now, he’s plagued with a series of questions.

How does one even know if they’ve already moved on? What if they thought they haven’t yet… but actually… the only feelings remaining are lingering platonic attachments, and not, in fact, love?

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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[kitkatkitzune]

MUSE

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!witch!reader

Summary: Always the artist, never the muse… until now that is… sorta?

Warnings: A tiny bit of Angst, Death, Mentions of painting with blood, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (whoopsie)

Notes: First post of the new year!

After a lot of consideration I have decided that I am not going to be making a tag list at this point in time. I am simply not organized enough for it, maybe sometime in the future but not now! I’m sorry! If you’d like to be notified when I post you can turn on notifications… sorry again!

Word Count: 1.5k

MASTER POST , TVDU MASTERLIST

———————

You hum as you walk around the Mikaelson home, stopping every few moments to admire the paintings hung around the house. Some of the paintings were incredibly old and some were only made a few years ago, and all of them had been made by the hybrid.

There was at least one of each sibling, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and even Finn. Freya had also gotten a painting after her return. However, there was someone missing.

There was not a single one of Klaus hung around the home, he wasn’t even in the large family portrait at the end of the hallway. You come to a stop in front of it, tilting your head in confusion.

You don’t get long to ponder the thought as a familiar voice cuts through the silence, “Admiring the artwork, love?”

Turning, you face Klaus with a small smile, “Yes, everything is so beautiful… you’re incredibly talented.”

He hums, taking a step backwards, “Come, I’ll show you my studio.” he beckons you to follow, holding out his hand for you to take.

After a moment's hesitation, you take his hand, allowing him to whisk you away to the art room. The room was isolated, far away from the rest of the rooms in the house. You could tell that this is where Klaus goes to clear his head, when he needs a moment to himself. You couldn’t help but feel honored that he brought you here.

He smiles, “Take a look around…”

You begin to look around the room, admiring the different paintings and drawings all around. Every one was unique in its own way but they were all so Klaus.

There were even paintings in blood, you assumed that the blood used had come from one of Klaus’ many victims. You hover your hand near the canvas, it was of an angel. Ironic. There was something about the painting that you couldn’t shake though, it looked so familiar.

“An angel of death? Since it’s in blood?” you question, quietly.

“Sometimes,” Klaus murmurs in your ear, causing you to jump, you had been too distracted by the paintings to notice how close he had gotten, “inspiration strikes at the strangest times, even while I’m slaughtering my enemies.”

“It’s beautiful…” you smile softly, tilting your head to look at him.

“It’s yours,” he says instantly.

“Oh Klaus, I couldn’t…” you trail off, your eyes catching another painting behind him.

You quickly move to the other side of the room to get a closer look, it was of you.

You look back at Klaus, who, for once in his life, looks a bit nervous, “You weren’t intended to see that yet…”

“You painted me?” you ask in a whisper.

Klaus smiles, regaining his confidence, “Well, I paint you quite often,” he makes his way to you in a split second, “Your beauty is something I enjoy capturing… although, no painting will ever compare to the real thing.”

Your face heats up a bit at his words and you sputter trying to find a response, Klaus however grins, responding before you can, “I don’t know if you picked up on it… but the frame on this was is the same as the other ones displayed, I plan to hang this one in the hallway with the rest of the family portraits….”

Your brows furrow, letting out a small laugh, “I’m not a Mikaelson, Nik.”

“No, but you practically live here, practically family at this point.”

“I suppose that’s true.” you let out a little laugh before frowning, “but what about you?”

“What about me?”

You roll your eyes at his question, “All these paintings, Nik, and not a single one of you.”

He smiles but you swear you see a flicker of hurt pass his eyes, “I’m the artist.”

“And?”

Klaus sighs, “I’ve simply never had the urge to paint myself… I prefer to paint other things.”

You knew there was a deeper meaning to his words and reading between the lines you were quickly able to figure it out. Klaus painted beautiful things, even in his most chaotic works there was beauty, whether it was landscapes or a pretty girl— he painted things he liked, things he loved.

His whole life, Klaus had felt like an outsider in his family, he was the half-sibling, the hybrid, the bastard child. He felt that he did not deserve to be painted, to be hung on the wall with his siblings, and you would make it your mission to show him just how wrong he was.

As it turned out, painting was a lot harder than it looked. You had gone through at least ten canvases over the past week, all containing painted scribbles of the original hybrid and you were growing increasingly frustrated. Klaus always made it seem so simple but it was anything but.

After numerous attempts at recreating his face and failing miserably, you decided to cheat.

There were spells for death, aneurysms, memory, you name it— there was a spell for it. It took time but eventually, you found one for painting. It helped you create a spectacular painting of Klaus. You use the term ‘help’ when in reality, the spell did most of the work.

You were ecstatic to show him the painting, holding the canvas close to your chest as you reached the art room.

“Nik?” you call out quietly, entering the room.

He hums, setting down his paint brush, he was working on a landscape painting. He turns to you, raising a brow when he sees you’re carrying something.

“I’ve brought you something…”

“You’ve got my attention.” he stands up from his stool as you hand him the canvas.

He flips it over and reveals the painting of himself, a small smile appears on his face. Suddenly, his brows furrow, causing you to gulp.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s excellent, love, I just wasn’t aware that you painted.”

“Oh,” your face heats up, “I don’t, not really… it’s just, you deserve a painting too… just because you’re the tortured artist type doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be captured and immortalized in art…”

Klaus surprises you by pulling you against him in a tight hug, “Thankyou.” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your head.

You freeze in shock but, after a moment you relax, “Of course…”

When he finally pulls back, he stares down at the painting before finally looking at you, “I know that you did not paint this though.”

“I- What do you mean?“

He clicks his tongue, “Artist, remember? I assume you used a spell, little witch?”

You sigh, “Well yes, but I just wanted to paint you and I couldn’t do it! It’s incredibly difficult! I tried my best but everytime I just ended up with scribbles!”

“Scribbles?”

“Yes! Scribbles!” you grab his hand, dragging him to your room to show him the failed paintings.

As expected, Klaus cackles at your failed attempts making you pout, “I did try!”

His laughter quickly subsides at your protest, “I know you did, it’s just… I think we should hang this one up,“ he holds up one of the paintings, “although, people may think Hope painted it.”

“Don’t be mean…” you cross your arms, looking away from him.

Klaus frowns, setting the paintings down, he approaches you and places his hands on your arms, uncrossing your arms, “I’m only teasing, I think that it’s quite sweet.”

Finally, you turn back and look at him, trying to hold your angry expression but fail. The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, just staring at each other until finally, Klaus moves. He dips his head, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns heated, his hands find their way to your waist and he pulls you flush against him.

You tug on his hair and he groans at the feeling, sliding his hands to the back of your thighs. He picks you up with ease, pushing you against the nearest wall causing a few things to rattle, including the painting made in blood. It fell to the ground, making you both break apart at the sound.

“That painting…” you mumble, out of breath, “It’s still so familiar…”

Klaus smirks, setting you back on the ground, “I thought you’d have figured it out by now…” he brushes some of the hair from your face, “It’s you, you’re the angel… I made that the day we first met. When you were surrounded by those vampires… and with a flick of your wrist all of their heads exploded, coating you in their blood. I had never seen a sight so beautiful…”

“That is… so messed up…” you breathe out, “but so hot.”

And with that, you grab his face and slam your lips to his. You truly were his muse, and he was yours… sort of?

Bonus!

You sit at the dining room table, coloring with Hope and Klaus. Rebekah was braiding Hope’s hair and Elijah sat at the head of the table drinking his coffee while looking over the newspaper when Kol came waltzing into the room.

Kol smiles, “I saw your new painting Hope, it’s lovely.”

Hope tilts her head, “What painting?”

Elijah answers before Kol can, “The portrait of Niklaus in the hallway.”

Your eyes widen and you immediately look at Klaus who is smirking at you.

“You ass!” you take the crayon you were currently holding and throw it at him, causing him to cackle.

“I told you I’d hang it up!”

[milkoomi]

⋆˚࿔ a new canvas means a new you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a mini series on the art of becoming a better you

inspired by this podcast i watched recently !!

chapter one — THE ART OF LETTING GO

letting go is one of the strongest and bravest things we can do for ourselves. whether it be letting go of toxic relationships, bad habits, or simply just things that no longer serve you, being able to do something like that will help us grow stronger and create a better life for ourselves. i’m sure there’s so many things, or even people, that have been weighing you down or hindering your own progress, so take that first step and let. them. go.

ᥫ᭡. things/people to let go of

bad friends/partners

toxic relationships, whether romantic or platonic, are extremely hard to free yourself from, but you have to put yourself first. you are always your number one priority. if you believe in “treat others how you want to be treated”, then you should believe in making sure others are treating you the way you want to be treated. you can always give and give to the people in your life, but relationships are a two-way street, babe. you can’t give your all when the person or people you’re giving too isn’t giving anything in return! don’t continue to expend any more of your energy on those who won’t even consider trying to give you even an ounce of energy back. it’s not worth it.

when you’re in a toxic relationship, you start to realize how poorly you’re being treated, but because you want to try and fix the relationship or mend it somehow, you stay. and staying is one of the worst things you can do for yourself. while you try and try to fix something that you aren’t even responsible for fixing, you just keep hurting yourself over and over; making yourself even more miserable in the relationship. and you don’t deserve that! you don’t deserve to be treated poorly time and time again, you never deserved that kind of treatment to begin with!

let them go. leave. free yourself from the constant heartbreak, betrayal, and pain. you’ll lose yourself if you stay, and i know that you’re trying to find a better version of yourself, so if you stay you’ll never find that person. you’ll keep getting lost and you’ll keep getting further and further away from your own happiness that you do deserve.

“but how do i leave?”

if we’re talking toxic friends: distance yourself. put distance between you and them until you’re too far away for them to reach. keep conversations short, keep responses to a minimum until you eventually have gone so far that they can’t find you anymore.

or simply: cut them off, immediately. block them on everything. instagram, twitter, tiktok— all social media. block their number. block them out of your life for good. they don’t deserve to see you, to hear from you, to have the chance to try and speak to you; they do not deserve you.

if we’re talking romantic relationships: send them a message. whether it’s a letter you send to their house or even through a text, send them a message. if you do it through text, do not feel any remorse for doing so. there’s this whole idea of “if you break up with them over text, you’re a coward”, and in most cases i can see that to be true, but if you’re in a relationship where your partner does not value you, respect you, or even love you the way you’re meant to be loved then they don’t even deserve the courtesy of an in-person break up.

sometimes we’re put in situations where even sending a message may seem impossible because our partner has taken too much control over us. when this kind of situation happens, we have to put our foot down. if you feel like you have no control, even over yourself, you need to leave. you have to do whatever it takes to leave because you should never, and i mean never, be put in any kind of situation or relationship where you feel like you have no control over yourself. you should never stay in a relationship that makes you feel trapped or that makes you feel scared to leave. you are allowed to leave no matter what anyone says.

additional note: if you are ever put in a situation where you feel unsafe in a relationship, please reach out for help. whether it be your family, a friend, or even an authoritative figure, please reach out for help. you do not deserve to ever feel unsafe by someone who’s supposed to love you.

negative self-talk

most times we are our own worst enemy. there have been so many times where i’ve put myself down with extremely hurtful words— words i would never say to someone i loved. if i wouldn’t say those awful things to someone i cared about, why should i say them to myself? we need to let go of talking down on ourselves. the more we put ourselves down with hurtful words, the more we let our insecurities take over and eventually consume us.

we have to be kind to ourselves. at the end of each day, we only ever have ourselves. you need to always have your own back! talk to yourself like you would to someone you love! talk to yourself with love.

negative self-talk gives more energy to those who try to hurt us. the more energy we put into hurting ourselves, even more energy will put into those who feel like they have power over us. do you really want someone who puts you down feel like they have so much more power over you? no, right? then, please, use that energy to bring more confidence and power into yourself. the only person who should have power over you, is you. use your own power to bring yourself up, not bring yourself down.

“but it seems too hard, where do i start?”

applaud yourself for making achievements no matter how big or small! did you make your bed today? then congratulate yourself! did you get a promotion or raise at your job? then tell yourself how proud you are! it doesn’t matter what the achievement is, if you accomplished it then you deserve more than a pat on the back from yourself. always take pride in your work, always treat small wins as the biggest win of the day, always tell yourself that you are so proud of who you are becoming and what you’ve accomplished.

compliment your appearance, makeup, or outfit! maybe your skin’s been improving, so you should look in the mirror and say “hey, you have really beautiful skin!” or maybe you snapped a pic of the makeup look you just did, then you should say “wow, i’m really talented at doing my makeup! it turned out great!” or maybe you put together an outfit for your day, then you should say, “i made a really great choice in my clothes today! this looks so nice!”

treat yourself with kindness, care, respect, and love. you need to uplift yourself to feel like your best self! literally, just talk to yourself. look in the mirror and have a sweet conversation with yourself and just admire who you see in the reflection.

sometimes we have to fake it til we make it, and honestly? it works! even if you start out and you feel like you’re lying to yourself, still do it. do it until it finally starts to feel real and then keep doing it from that point forward.

feeling embarrassed

we live in a day and age where everything that anyone does is labeled as “cringe”, and it’s exhausting. now, people feel like they can’t be who they are without feeling like they’re being “cringe” or without feeling embarrassed for being themselves or taking part in things they enjoy.

you should never feel embarrassed for being who you want to be or for enjoying things that genuinely make you happy. let go of feeling embarrassed! you are allowed to have fun and be happy being yourself. don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you can’t.

i always like to think, “well, if someone thinks i’m ‘cringe’ then they must not know how to have fun with their own life!” because that’s more than likely the truth! people will feel threatened by those who exude confidence in what they enjoy and who they are and those people will do anything to project their own insecurities onto others. it’s never anything you’re doing that’s wrong. what’s wrong is the fact that some people just can’t stand seeing others thrive. let yourself be someone that those haters can’t stand to see thrive.

i’ve said this before, and i’ll say it again, be unapologetically yourself.

ᥫ᭡. how to let go

letting go just means detaching yourself from the things/people that have held you down. it means to simply stop caring. i know i said “simply”, but of course it isn’t all that simple. this is something you have to work towards!

emotional detachment.

when you bring yourself the inability to attach your emotions to something or someone, you practice emotional detachment.

now, in some cases, emotional detachment may not be a good thing, but when you’re practicing or in the process of letting go it’s best to emotionally detach yourself from that thing or person.

acknowledge and reflect on your emotions! what do these things or people that you want to let go of make you feel? sadness? anger? frustration? grab a journal and write down all that you’re feeling. acknowledging and being aware that there are things/people who are making you feel a negative emotion is a great first step to emotional detachment. you’re being made aware of your feelings, thoughts, and emotions that are a result of the things/people you want to let go of— and that’s a good thing! it allows you to see how you’re still attached and helps you think “well, i don’t want to feel this way anymore” and will begin the next thought process of how you will start letting go of those particular feelings.

set boundaries! now that you’re aware of how these things/people make you feel, you can start setting boundaries for yourself. with people, like i mentioned earlier, you can create distance or even block them. of course, you can always try to set a boundary with that person, but remember: if they cross your boundary and continue to cross it, let them go. you put these boundaries in place and whoever it is that you are setting boundaries with needs to respect them just as they would want you to respect any of theirs. when it comes to setting personal boundaries for things like the ones i mentioned above, it’s the same idea of cutting off what makes you act on that negative self-talk or gives you that feeling of embarrassment. blocking hateful people on social media, unfollowing accounts that don’t make you feel good about yourself, and/or taking a break from social media and making more time for yourself in the real world.

focus on self care & yourself! after you’ve set some boundaries, whether it was with yourself or with others, start putting in more time focused on you. focus on things and people that genuinely make you happy, consume content that makes you feel good whether in general or makes you feel good about yourself, and practice self care! as i said in the beginning, you are always your number one priority. your happiness, your peace, and you overall should always come first in your own life.

ᥫ᭡. final notes

this is “the art of letting go” and art is always something you have to practice so that you get better at it! take your time and be patient with yourself. letting go isn’t an uphill battle, there’s going to a lot of ups and downs and feelings of uncertainty or even anxiety and fear, but i know you can do it! i know there isn’t a single thing that you can’t accomplish for yourself! you are capable of change and you are more than capable of becoming a a better version of yourself for yourself.

with lots of love, juno 🌷

[cupidkenji]

killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises. 

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly. 

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint. 

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?” 

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.” 

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up. 

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?” 

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new. 

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick. 

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

– 

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you. 

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up. 

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision. 

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

– 

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him. 

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day. 

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up. 

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it. 

“I can watch him.” 

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you. 

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day. 

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.” 

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless. 

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from. 

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back. 

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.” 

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless. 

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between  friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.” 

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

– 

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it. 

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks. 

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in. 

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine. 

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal. 

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day. 

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you. 

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.” 

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure. 

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. “On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?” 

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.” 

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself.  You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road. 

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much. 

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm. 

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

[neopuppy]

Our Sick Story, Thus Far (M)

Teddy Bear—> (yes you have to read this first)

pairing. Jeno x female reader x Haechan x ?

genre. college AU, pwp, dark fic, angst, M/F

wc. 29k

warning. profanity, bullying, forced relationship, cheating, dr*g use mentioned, blackmailing, coercion, possessive/obsessive behavior, lies deceit manipulation etc, is anyone in this story actually a good person??(the answer: no), stockholm vibes. smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

now playing. Our Sick Story(Thus Far)//Atreyu

a/n. it’s been a long time coming and I hope the wait was worth it for this story that I had no business writing to begin with😅

dedicated to the messages I received letting me know Teddy Bear made them wanna throw up. you are going to love this one! and @notncdeeh for consistently bothering me to finish writing this💚

smut warnings. dubcon/noncon elements(DO NOT read if that makes you uncomfortable. thanks.), Jeno refers to y/n as ‘Teddy’ often, no teddy plush shall be spared, dacryphyilia, humiliation, degradation/praise, oral, anal, rimming, finger sucking, sub/dom dynamics, switching, hair pulling, slapping, protected and unprotected sex, breeding, impreg kink/forced pregnancy, cock warming, hidden camera use, choking, mind break, surprise character smut(👀).

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･

Art class had taught you more than expected when you chose the extra curriculum for ‘stress relief’ as the school’s counselor put it, emphasizing how fast you will burn out if you don’t allow yourself one light work subject.

‘Paint me something pretty today.’ Jeno smirked near the entrance, stepping backward to keep his gaze on yours until he could no longer see you from the hallway.

Blue, sky blue. 

Jeno’s favorite color is sky blue, which he mentioned one day when grabbing you after class. The only one of your courses he’d been unable to transfer into because it’d interfere with his degree.

‘It’s a shame we can’t be together all day.’ Jeno traced a faded spot along the column of your throat while you studied color theory. A mixture of blue and yellow bruises speckled with red bits of gnawed skin. 

Art class has taught you many things, one being- you aren’t very artistic, and that much like the blue sky had turned darker earlier these days, so had your mind. 

Jeno rained trickles of blues into your favorite colors, he muddied a bright day, stained pools of misery around your world.

Sky blue is an ugly color, you think, because even as he smiled with an arm slung over your shoulders walking through the first drops of November rain; Jeno robbed hues of yellow and gold from the sun. He gathered red from the last days of summer heat and stormed through your life on a cloud tainting everything a miserable shade of black.

Art class had really become your everyday sanctuary, a time away from him. Time to pretend that Jeno had never invaded your days.

A time to daydream from aw you hid behind a canvas, imagine ‘what if’, and admire a student from across too focused on his work to spare you a glance.

and when Jeno would arrive ready to prance you through the halls as his play thing, his little toy, you couldn’t help but wonder..

In another life you could have fallen for Jeno. You could have loved him, developed a healthy relationship, formed fond memories to reflect upon together in the future.

But in this life, you hate him.

Hate may be a strong word, but as you sit across from the bane of your existence, you know one thing is certain.

You hate Jeno Lee.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･

Perhaps it is to your detriment that Jeno has made you feel nothing, unless numbness can be classified as an emotion.

By the round of omnipresent gasps and whispers that reach your ears each time you enter a room with him, it’s hard to not fixate on the way his presence alone stirs the first rumble of what can only be classified as a concrete shattering earthquake. Maybe that’s the problem, because even when Jeno’s arms are wrapped around your waist from behind, leading you through the cafeteria to sit at a table alone with eyes of vultures ready to pick your flesh apart inch by inch; you cannot find it in yourself to care. Not anymore, not even close, not even a little.

“I like it when you wear your hair down.” Jeno whispers, fixing your loose locks to one side. “It’s really cute how you think this is enough to cover yourself and hide from me.”

Bony fingers trace patterns of sadness atop the marks he’s drawn along your throat. “Pretty.”

Cute. Pretty. Meaningless compliments, because how could they hold any meaning pouring from a soul filled with nothing but darkness.

Even as you sit pressed to his side in the back of the library, you feel sick, scribbling a mental note to wear your hair up more often. His compliments replay like a broken record, scratching the way up your thigh to a cut between the juncture of your knee. Your teeth clench as you claw your jagged nails up your inner thigh, attempting to make the mental gash real just to feel something. Dig the wound deeper, much like Jeno’s sweet words strike similar to the tip of a blunt tip knife; aimed recklessly at your soul slicing through inch by inch. Cutting you open until your blood has been drained of all life.

His eyebrows furrow, gaze following along to your hand and slapping your wrist away. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I need to use the restroom.”

“Great!” Jeno pipes up, grabbing your bag. “So do I.”

“Jeno..”

Standing up, he smiles expectantly, lip quirked to one side daring you to speak out loud against him. It’s useless, you know better by now.

“Can we make it fast this time? The bell will ring soon..” you mumble quietly, walking alongside him toward the exit.

“Worried you’ll miss your precious little painting class?” Jeno nudges you toward the mens bathroom, grabbing a hold around your elbow as he steps in first. “EMPTY OUT!” He roars, followed by an urgent shuffle and toilet flushing as one of the new Freshmen you recognize scuttles out with his head ducked, toilet paper attached to the back of his sneaker. 

Jeno laughs breathily, entertained by the younger's fearful exit. The fear that he can instill in anyone easily with the snap of his fingers, or a mere glance. Turning toward you, he smiles, nodding to one of the stalls. “All yours.”

“That wasn’t necessary..” you say quietly, moving past him to find the cleanest stall available, nose scrunched in disgust as you settle on one and turn to shut the door. “Shit.” You startle jumping back, clutching at your chest.

Jeno latches onto the stalls frame, peering down at you. “No need to close the door Teddy, it’s only me.”

“Jeno, please..”

“You know I hate it when you do that.” Jeno swings his body back and forth, head shaking side to side slowly. “You said you need to use the bathroom?”

Locking your eyes to the floor, you’re at least thankful for choosing a skirt to wear today, lifting, sliding your underwear to your knees as you squat down and settle with your skirt fanned out over your thighs.

Jeno turns to laugh, rolling his eyes. “The way you still act so shy, like you’re ashamed..” 

As if he hasn’t defiled you and had his way with you in every which way he prefers. “Cute.” Jeno’s gaze traces up from your sneakers to where your knees clench together, running his tongue under the inside of his lip. “Done?”

Scooting closer, his arms drop down to his sides, shoulders appearing more broad from where he looms above you. “And look at that, with time to spare still.” 

Jeno grips around your upper arm, hoisting you up to your feet, panicked as you’d just begun to reach for the roll of toilet paper. “What’re yo—stop!”

Ignoring you, he flips you around to press your back against the stall, licking across his lips akin to a rabid animal. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll clean you up.”

He drops to his knees, bunching your skirt up to your waist as he perches one of your legs upon his shoulder, face burying between your thighs. 

“Jeno, don’t! That’s too—“

The drag of his tongue has you choking, squirming back to get away as heat fills your cheeks, completely mortified by the sweep of his tongue running up and down. “N-no!”

Jeno groans, face shaking side to side as he makes sure to cover each inch of the skin between your thighs, tongue greedily running rampant between your folds. “That’s so disgusting.” You cry, pushing at his head, nails dug into his scalp

Jeno rushes back with a hiss, eyes snapping open wildly as he apprehends your wrists and clutches around your forearms roughly, returning the feeling with his short filed nails. “Funny how you only shut up at the worst times.” Overpowered, he pulls on your arms to launch himself back up, twisting them around your back painfully to press you to the stall chest first. “So difficult.”

Returning to his knees, he flips your skirt back up, keeping your wrists tethered with one hand. “Thought you wanted to get to class on time?” Jeno’s nose drags between your bottom, sucking in a deep inhale. “Fuck.”

He groans, biting down on the cleft of your ass hard enough to leave marks behind. A new one to join the rest that he makes sure to add daily. “Nothing about this is disgusting.” Cupping one of your buttcheeks, he bounces the meaty flesh against his face, eyes rolling up as his nose dips against your tight ring of muscle. 

“Not there!” You wheeze, scrabbling to get away by uselessly scratching down the wall. 

“You’ll get used to it.” He rumbles against your core, lips circling your entrance with a lewd slurp; not missing a drop of your arousal beginning to drip out. “Ridiculous how good you taste.” 

Clapping your ass against his cheek without pause, Jeno’s neck bends back more, jaw opening wide to swipe his tongue from your clit to your hole, growling between short staggered breaths. Each drag of his nose slowly circling your rim humiliates you worse, biting down to keep in your complaints the more he goes for it. Splaying out his palm, he spreads your ass completely open, unveiling the taut ring of muscle clenching helplessly.

Jeno kisses at the backs of his teeth, drawing in a sharp breath as his index finger extends to tap and tease your rim, cheek dimpling to one side the more you fail to pull away. “You’ll let me fuck you here next, yeah?” He laughs, pushing your trapped fist into your lower back to form a deep arch. “Fill up all your holes, is that what you want?”

“N-no..” You grimace, face pressed to the chill bathroom stall. “Please, hurry, please.”

His tongue clicks obnoxiously, blowing on your rim before setting down a searing kiss, tongue smoothing around in a circle. “Why should I hurry? I don’t even get to fuck you.” He sneers, eyeing the time on his wrist. 

“Later,” you pipe up fast, rutting back against his face to convince him. “After school, we can.. do that..” 

His eyebrows shoot high, peering up in surprise. “Oh yeah? I’ll hold you to that, Teddy.” He bites down on your buttcheek again for good measure, nipping the skin roughly. “Now be good, and hold yourself open if you want to make it on time.” His grip on your wrist loosens, shaking off the sting left behind only for a second before he slaps your palms down on your butt and adjusts your position to expose both your holes. “That’s it.”

Thick arms circle around your thighs, biceps flexing to keep a snug grip on you as his hot tongue returns to your center and glides between your folds, inching lower until his lips can wrap around your clit.

“Uhhnnghhh..” you jolt, firmly tucking in your mouth to suppress a moan from soaring out.

Jeno’s hands swipe up the front of your thighs, gliding his mouth and nose from your wet hole to your clit with teasing firm flicks of his tongue; three of his digits find your bundle of nerves right as his mouth latches back around your entrance. His tongue buries deep, lifting your toes to curl up off the floor, knocking your forehead against the wall as you fight to keep in a desperate cry. 

He’s relentless, tongue expertly waving against your insides, the muscle strong and thick. “Ugh!” A whine breaks through your sealed lips, smacking the stall as he taps your clit repeatedly, urging you to break down and squeeze your release around his tongue.

Jeno draws out, mouth a mess of shiny wet, panting heavily. “Come on, give me what I want.” He slaps your clit roughly, spitting at your entrance before plunging in, nosing at your rim harshly as he struggles to breathe out of his nostrils. He grumbles between choked breaths, tongue working in and out of your hole with precise thrusts. Each rub to you rim, stroke against your clit, and incessant roll of his tongue inside of you shoots straight through your legs, ready to collapse if not for his arms keeping you held in place.

“Je—I—“ your eyes roll back, grateful that he can’t see the wash of pleasure pouring down your face. Turned putty under his ministrations as you clamp around his tongue shamefully, scratching down the stall in a weak attempt to get away.

Jeno drags out only to lick up the trickle that managed to escape his mouth, lapping your inner thighs clean with a deep moan. Each swipe of his tongue raises your humiliation up higher, hissing and jerking away when he reaches the cut along your knee.

“What is this?” He grips a hold around your calve, forcing you to balance on one leg to get an up close look and inspect how deep the wound goes. “When did you do this?”

“Don’t know, think when I ran down the stairs to meet you this morning the stair bannister skimmed my leg..”

He grunts displeased, setting your foot down to stand and kick open the door. “Come here.”

Jeno motions to the sinks, dropping both of your backpacks down next to you on the counter. “Does it hurt?”

He examines your knee closer, propping your foot to rest along the sink ledge, tongue poked between his teeth. 

“Why do you care?” You ask with a scowl, reassigning your attention to the bathroom floor when Jeno slowly blinks at you and reaches to open his backpack.

“Is that a serious question?”

“Whatever.”

He nods, huffing an amused sound under his breath as he grabs a pack of sanitation wipes. “This may sting but I’d rather you not get some infection, especially after scratching at it.”

He proceeds to lightly dab the wound, drawing a hiss between your teeth despite how gentle he’s trying to be. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you bite, leg jerking in his hold. “I won’t pick at it anymore.”

“Sure.” Pink lips purse together, delicately blowing over the area. “I don’t have much, but I’ll cover it up with some gauze when we get home later.”

Home.

Jeno speaks as if you live together, and you may as well at this point. Ripping a bandage open with his teeth, his eyes thin to place the non-sticky white where your flesh appears most harmed. “You’re mine now, I expect you to be more careful than this with your body.”

Squeezing up your calve, his thin digits dig through the meat of your muscle, trapping your bouncing gaze. “Maybe it’s best you move out of that shit hole you live in. That areas not well fit for a young girl to live alone there.”

“I can’t afford to move..”

Jeno’s lips gingerly land atop the bandaid, puckering to press a kiss. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re being weird.” You whisper, turning away from the sight of his pouty mouth continuing to layer kisses over your wound as if to heal you faster.

“It’s okay.” He draws your foot off the counter, taking a hold of your thighs to make space for himself to stand closer between. “It’s okay to accept it.”

Jeno’s eyes appear black as night, empty of any genuine thought or emotion, but even then your chest aches at the flicker of hope when he looks at you. It’s different, nothing you’ve experienced from anyone else. He looks at you like you’re..

“Special.” He whispers, pinching your chin as he leans in closer and his palm smooths over the covered wound. “Does it hurt?”

“..Would you hurt me?” Your lips move faster than you mind can register, asking yourself the question over and over again without realizing you’ve said it outloud. 

Jeno blinks slowly, taking in your nervous expression. Opening up his palm, he moves to cup your chin and keep your face visible as you try to hide away, slowly inching forward to connect your mouth to his.

The bell rings right before your lips can meet, dislodging the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. It’s easy to break from your thoughts and push yourself off from the sink, scoot around him fast with the excuse of being late. “My scholarship.” You constantly remind him, receiving nothing more than a roll of his eyes in return.

“Yeah yeah,” he trails after you out of the bathroom, voice low and threatening. “I’m holding you to what you said for later, don’t forget.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･

Jeno met Haechan the first day of Freshman year of high school.

Excited to show off a new pair of shoes with wheels attached on the soles, he rolled through the hallways to his first class. That’s when he noticed an on-slaught of senior girls running by in their short cheerleading uniforms. Giggling and waving as they jogged by him cackling from behind their hands- ‘hey freshie’.

All too distracted with a goofy smile on his face, he missed the shorter boy wandering ahead of him lost. An unfortunate collision caused their foreheads to bump hard enough for a bruise to show up on both of them by lunch. 

Haechan hissed, crashing flat on his bottom painfully; Jeno quickly apologized and helped him up. Little did he know they’d become great friends from that day forward.

Jeno’s not jealous of Haechan, not necessarily. He admires how giving his friend can be, really. If Jeno ever forgets to grab his packed lunch, Haechan will always offer to share. He’s always sure to invite Jeno over to play games whenever his dad purchases the latest gaming console. He’d even go as far as lending Jeno the shirt off his back if needed.

‘What are friends for if not to have you back in any situation?’ That’s what Haechan would say whenever Jeno felt rendered speechless by his friend's generosity. 

The thing is, Jeno had never had a friend like Haechan. He questions if he can even call his relationships with others friendships anymore.

Unlike Haechan, Jeno had trained himself to not share. Friends had only become burdensome with time. Always asking him to play with his toys, mooching from his delicious snacks, making a big deal over the new pair of sneakers he wore that day.

They liked him because he had nice things, but they didn’t actually care about him. They cared about materialistic bullshit, about his good looks, the designer name brand clothing he’d wear.

Haechan was different from all of them. One day he opened up and shared that he’d felt homesick. Vulnerable at the time after a long tiresome day of introducing himself to groups of snobby fake stuck up people. One even pointed out a manga on his desk saying- ‘I’ve only seen weird loners read that shit’.

‘I had a friend.. back home.’ Haechan had sighed despairingly, head dropped lazily on his bed; drained by the realization that this is his new life. ‘Well.. I wanted her to be more than a friend.’

Jeno watched Haechan over the next few years. His friend changed, reformed his persona to fit in with the standard; he adapted quickly to this new lifestyle. Days of asking Jeno if he’d like some of his lunch dwindled down to nothing; seemingly only irritated that Jeno could be so forgetful of he ever asked for his leftovers.

Things had only become more tense with time. Haechan had grown competitive with everyone. He craved to be the ‘it’ boy around school. It never phased Jeno, not really, he learned to accept the change in his friend. 

Then came the day Haechan decided that Jeno was his competition.

“Jeno, don’t you think this Cartier bracelet would look so cute on my wrist?” Sinclair waved her phone in his face. Wrist waggling out toward him, suggesting with her flirty batting eyelashes that he buy it for her; she had been on his ass for months dropping hints. “Perhaps you could finally ask me out with a gesture such as this?”

“He can’t afford that.” Haechan rolls his eyes letting out a breathy scoff by her side. 

“Of course he can, nothing a swipe of your dad’s Amex can’t cover. He won’t even notice it on the monthly statement.” Sinclair goes on.

“His dad’s broke.” Haechan corrects her abruptly, glancing quickly toward Jeno’s burning glare. “I mean, uh... don’t repeat that.” 

Haechan snatches her phone, waving off that he’d buy it for her when he takes her out come Friday. 

All it took was some stupid girl Jeno could give a fuck about for Haechan to let him down for the last time. It bothered him for months, imagining the various ways he could split his ‘friends’ skull open. 

“I won’t mention it again dude. It was a mistake, alright?” Haechan whispers standing near his locker after Jeno had resorted to the silent treatment for the rest of the week. “Listen, I’m sure she’s already forgotten. I’ll just take her to some overpriced restaurant and tell her I made that up because I was high or whatever.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“Promises are for children Jeno, I forgot alright? I’m allowed to make a mistake.” Haechan showed no remorse. Proving his promises to be empty, backed by no integrity, lacking worth and value. Jeno knew deep down Haechan only continued to befriend him out of guilt, he knew their relationship boiled down to nothing for the other at the end of the day.

He knew he had to do something about it, but he couldn't. He had to wait for the perfect timing. He had to leave Haechan defenseless. He needed to ensure no way for his father to find out of his plan. Leave Haechan with no way to snitch and rat him out, a threat strong enough to hold over his friend's head.

The day you came along everything fell into place. Jeno knew as he watched Haechan’s head lay on your shoulder from behind a bookshelf in the library, you clearly meant something to him. None of it made sense at first. Why would Haechan care about you of all people?

“Remember that girl you mentioned from back home?” Jeno decides to casually bring up the story he’d hardly cared about or paid attention to while gaming. His friend's throat cleared on the opposite end from behind his computer screen. 

“Yeah, what about her?” Haechan says, continuing to mumble curses as he goes on playing.

“Whatever happened to her? Did you two keep in touch at all?” Jeno asks, cursing at the screen to seem casually interested.

“Uhhh,” Haechan swallows, shrugging. “Honestly, don’t know.”

Liar.

Jeno’s teeth grit, holding back a laugh. “That’s too bad, you two were really close, I remember how tore up you were back then when you had first moved. Took you a while to get over it.”

“Man, that was so long ago.” Haechan waves off. “I was a kid.”

Raising a finger to silence their conversation, Haechan pauses the game, picking up his phone after the first ring. “Hey baby, nah I’m just with Jeno, yeah the usual.” Haechan proceeded to ignore him, the old friend he once cherished long gone now.

Just like you.

There are times you want to ask ‘Why me? Why me of all people? Out of all the girls withering away for a mere blink from Jeno in their directions, what the fuck made me matter.’

The unplanned vow of silence you’ve committed to halts those times your tongue itches to lash at him, and you listen, you listen well, very well. It’s to your detriment really, because Jeno adores that you listen, he loves the implication of the power he constricts you with behind your binded lips.

It’s also to his detriment that— for lack of better words, Jeno isn’t the brightest. Maybe he doesn’t want to come off too intelligent, you contemplate as he gushes on about his lost friendship; his favorite topic other than you really.

Haechan.

Jeno’s obsessed with Haechan, at least he’s obsessed with the fact that Haechan won. Between his foul rehashing of times his alleged best friend made him feel futile, it’s easy to decipher why it had to be you.

Not to make Haechan jealous, no. Haechan could give a fuck about you.

Jeno sees the precious memories of his former friend that he lost in you. The glint in his iris sparkles, satisfied by your raptured gaze as he wraps up his story.

“That’s why you’re so perfect.” He says proudly, capturing his bottom lip between index finger and thumb, massaging it while a hum rises up his throat. “Had to be you. You’re the answer I’ve been waiting for.”

The answer. What the fuck does that even mean, you squint, blinking it away fast. Jeno beams, pulling you closer to him with his arm snaking around your waist. “I like when you do that, makes me wonder what’s going on in that brain of yours. Something devious I’m sure.”

Carrying your bag, he hooks an arm over your shoulder, drawing you close as you venture to your next class together. “Hey.”

Maneuvering you around to face him, he stops at the classroom door, grabbing the attention of numerous students as he blocks the entrance making an awkward scene for you. “What are yo—“

“I love you.” Jeno announces loud and clear, receiving a round of gasps and an uproar of whispers. He smiles, cheeks lined with wrinkles, eyebrows raised as he waits.

“Wha—…” breaking off, you peer around quickly, sweat pouring down your back out of fear. Anger and an oncoming storm raging through your gut. “What.”

He lets out a chuckle, sighing as he hugs your back to his chest and proceeds to make way to your seats, further boiling the heat building up your chest. “My sweet sweet Teddy.”

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You hiss, throwing your shoulder into his chest to continue to your seat under the eyes of the entirety of your class. Rounds of whispers sing around you, the usual confusion you’ve become accustomed to laced between every shared word. 

He sits by your side, arm back around you in no time with a large smile, nodding and peering around the room to affirm that he meant what he just said. 

Every cell in your body wants to explode, throw Jeno down onto the ground and crush his face under your foot. The squeeze around your shoulder curls you in further, wishing to be anywhere but here.

“Cold?” He asks, knowing that you aren’t, it’s a mere excuse to wrap himself around you more. His nose nuzzles against your hair, taking a deep inhale with a suffocating possessive hug wrapped tightly you. “Can’t have my Teddy get sick.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ 

“Teddy.”

It’s shrill, nausea inducing, the way Jeno’s grown fond of this nickname for you.

The way he smiles and peers at you with some sick adoration as he calls you his teddy bear again.

While you feel trapped and disgusted, everyone else seems confused, peeved, and to be gossiping about the two of you.

Haechan’s girlfriend sports an ugly sneer when you walk by wrapped under one of Jeno’s arms; snapping the pencil in her hand into a broken half as he sets a kiss on your forehead, smirking at the round of gasps your schoolmates let out throughout the hallway.

“They’re all so jealous of you.” 

They are jealous of you, watchful eyes speak volumes following your conjoined figures heading toward the parking lot. 

Jeno has successfully transferred into nearly all of your classes, he picks you up and drops you off. Blows up your phone with texts and calls the second you’re apart. He doesn’t ask for updates or proof of what you’re doing, he demands it. Threats fall empty now, you don’t have much to say, he does the talking. 

You listen.

“Our assignments are due next week.” He mutters, pulling away from the school in an opposite direction from where you live.

Our. Mine. His. 

Nothing is yours anymore, Jeno made sure of that.

“I have to be home soon..” 

“Oh yeah?” He lets out a breathy laugh, drumming the steering wheel while sat at a red light. “Last I checked you only have to be with me, your parents only call to check in on you once a week. They don’t have to know your location at all times teddy.”

Oh but he has to know. He knows everything about you, every excuse and lie you can concoct shot down by weeks of evidence collected while studying you from afar. Far enough for you to never catch on, too clueless because of your own insecurities to ever fathom that someone like Jeno could be obsessed with you.

“Besides, today is a special day.” He exclaims, driving into a gated community full of large three story houses resembling suburban mansions.

“How could you forget?” Jeno parks, moving to unbuckle your seatbelt. He sighs, pinching your chin to look at him. “It’s our one month.”

He pouts, bottom lip jutted out while blinking dumb and slow. 

Sometimes you think that Jeno’s cute, and that makes you hate yourself more than anything. All you can do is avert your gaze, pretend he has no affect on you, keep up an act that he’s emptied you of any possible emotion; because he wants to destroy you. He wants you to feel helpless, wants you to rely on him because you have nothing else.

He’s pushing you inside of the house, digging into your knees from behind with his, built arms tightly wrapped around your waist. Suffocating you, that’s what he does, coating you in his scent, sucking out your energy throughout the duration of each day with the metaphoric needles he prickles you with. Every word that drips from his tongue feels like acid poured onto your flesh, burning through the layers to melt you deep inside until the pain goes numb.

His families house is enormous, spread out and fully furnished. Luxurious like some 5 star hotel, which Jeno hasn’t let you forget is only thanks to Haechan’s father for saving their ass. 

‘My dad can’t afford this place anymore. The bank owns our house by now, but he’ll do anything to keep up appearances.’

That’s what he mentioned during lunch one day, ranting about how he can’t stand the way everyone ‘keeps up appearances’ around here; snickering disdainfully toward the table his former best friend sat at.

‘Especially him. Fake asshole.’

Jeno stops you in front of his bedroom door standing by itself in the hallway he’s led you through. 

A dark empty hallway, away from all of the other bedrooms. Ominous and cold.

“You know the way, open the door teddy.” 

Of course you know, it may as well be your bedroom at this point.  

“I have a surprise for you.”

Jeno’s palms cover your eyes when you reach for the door handle, stiffening your spine as his chest knocks against your back to make you step further inside.

Inside of his bedroom it’s dimly lit, a chilled temperature; the air cools down your throat with every breath you take. 

“Do you like it?” He’s smiling against the shell of your ear, whispering softly. Revealing with the drop of his hands a giant plushie sat on his bed against the corner; a human size teddy bear.

He knows you don’t like it, even the question sounds like a dare; a dare for you to say that you don’t like it, that you don’t like any of this.

You especially don’t like Jeno, or the way his palms brush down your arms, shifting to your waist to gather your top up. Bunching at your stomach as he begins to remove it from your body.

“There's more, Teddy.”

Of course there’s more.

The tips of his fingers slowly trail between your breasts, throwing your top off with ease because you don’t struggle. You let him take off your clothes whenever he wants. 

Most times he doesn’t touch you much, but he counts, he memorizes. He traces over indentations from teeth buried into your skin and faded bruises left behind after fucking you roughly. He makes sure there are no others, only Jeno can mark you, only Jeno can see you like this.

He takes time discarding your bottoms, unbuttoning slowly, pushing the material down your hips even slower. Squatting down to his knees to pepper faint kisses on your hips and thighs as more your flesh comes to light; finishing off with a peck on your forehead when he stands and motions toward the plushie.

“Don’t you want the rest of your gift?”

You nod, just barely, taking a step toward the bed. Met with a hand clasped on your shoulder and a ‘nu-uh-uh Teddy’.

Jeno smirks, pushing on your shoulder. “On your knees.”

On your knees like the pet you’ve become. Crawling with your palms flattened onto the bed. Heating up knowing he’s behind you watching your underwear ride up your ass. It’s less humiliating now, he’s made you do worse.

A small black box sits between the teddy bear's legs, adorned with a glittery red bow.

“Open it.”

Hesitantly you pull apart the lid, pursing your mouth shut at the piece of jewelry inside.

A choker, a solid black thin choker you will no doubt have to wear around your neck everyday now. A choker with a teddy bear charm punctured in place through a small metal ring. 

“Ah, I can tell you love it already.” He chuckles, ripping the box from your hold. Shoving your hair away to lean close and lock the clasp around the back of your neck. Grazing the edge of his nose on your jaw and cheek as he does, a silent reminder that you are his, and he will do whatever he pleases with you.

Jeno has a sardonic smirk stretching his lips as he takes you in, fingering the charm dangling just beneath your throat.

“My teddy bear.” 

Tips of cold fingers trace your neck, following the pulse passing through your veins, it’s all just to push your buttons. Jeno wants a reaction, he craves your pitiful stares and miserable moans, he needs your pain to feel something.

You won’t give him that satisfaction, not anymore. 

He sighs, pushing your shoulder to nudge you in the direction of the large plush. “Don’t think I’m letting you off easily for forgetting our special day either.”

God. How could he possibly care enough about you to count down the days you’ve been ‘together’ or whatever he considers this. “Now, show me how much you love your gift.” He says with a wink, tapping your ass and nudging his chin to the teddy bear laid between his pillows.

This has to be some sick kink of his, and it’s impossible to forget what he made you do in that abandoned classroom a month ago..

“Just like last time.” He hums, moving onto the bed with his knees. “I know you remember.”

It’s not necessarily watching you grind against a toy that ripples blood through his veins faster, filling up his cock until it weighs heavy and hot between his thighs; but the saddened broken image before him, with your gaze lowered in shame as you mount the plush and grit your teeth. It’s the shattered feeble look of defeat that fills his chest with warmth more than anything. “That’s it.”

Reaching to smooth up your spine, he pushes at the backs of your shoulders, shifting closer to sit behind you on his knees. “Wanna see you ride it up close.”

He works to guide your hips down onto the bears stomach, pushing hard until your core meets the soft material and you let out a shameful whimper. Biting down on his lip as he slaps your thigh, squeezing up your butt to your waist with instruction to move.

It’s vile, rolling your hips down at his command, growing short of breath as the friction builds up between your legs and his strong hands manipulate your movements. Tears spring past the corners of your eyes the faster he makes you move up and down, grinding your core along the life-size plushie full of humiliation and fear.

“Your ass looks so fucking good.” He groans deeply behind you, rubbing down your back to cup your buttcheeks in a squeeze. Gripping and kneading, parting you open to watch your rim flutter against your panties with each pathetic hump against the teddy bear. “I know I couldn’t be your first time teddy..”

He leans in, chin resting on your shoulder to halt your movements as he dips in past the cleft of your ass to find your hole. “But I’ll be the first to fuck your ass.”

The gasp you try to keep mute still reaches his ears, softly chuckling against you as he adjusts and slides your underwear to one side. “Consider it your gift to me for forgetting our special day.”

Some special fucking day.. 

“You’re so wet already, doubt I’ll even have to prep you.” Jeno whispers, nudging the tip of his thumb against your rim. “Looks really tight, what do you think? Should I be nice and stretch you open first?”

“Please..p-please, I’ve never..”

“Shh shh, don’t worry, I believe you.” He chuckles softly, pressing the blunt tip of his length against your entrance. “With how tight that pussy is, I know you’ve never let anyone inside your ass. It’ll be a special memory only for us..”

Is it special? The tingle building in your stomach seems to agree, relaxing against the plushy to arch your butt out more. It has to be a Pavlovian response by now, conditioned to seek this pleasure Jeno provides you. Even if you hate accepting it. It’s not your fault that your body's natural response is to crave his touch, and spread your legs wider for it.

“I’ll be nice.” There’s amusement in the way he says it, like he doesn’t believe himself either. Slapping the mass of his cock down between the dip in your ass, cursing through clenched teeth. “You may not show it, but your cunt never lies.”

The bulbous tip swipes down, pressing against your clit, pushing your knees to slide open an inch more. It’s all taunting and teasing, running the fat cockhead between your chubbed folds, dipping it into your entrance just to watch you squirm and rut back for more. “Greedy pussy, acting like I don’t fuck you enough.”

He mumbles, smacking the underside of his length between your thighs. The wet clap stinging under the weight of his heavy size beating down on your swollen core. “J-Jeno..”

“Something wrong teddy?” He tuts, hips rolling up, gripping your buttcheeks to sandwich around his length. “You sound.. impatient.”

He gulps, trapping his cock under his thumbs to fuck between your buttcheeks faster. Wet tip prodding out, spilling precum down making the glide even easier. Each thrust passing over your pussy hole and rim makes your thighs tremble, burying your face deeper into the teddy bears neck. “Mmmph..”

“I know it hurts you Teddy..” Jeno’s words rasp against the back of your neck. Bending forward to paint your warm flesh with a coat of moisture. Sweat, raw sex and saliva combine, sticking your skin and his mouth together like hot glue. “Why do you have to be so good at taking it though? Huh?” 

Breath fans your upper back, the drag of his tongue races across your shoulders to bite down a groan on one. Notable effort to make you squirm and scream becomes more prevalent with each smack of his hips against your ass, grunting deeper the more he exerts. “It’s because you like me, right?” He asks between the sound of a struggled laugh, gasping with another slide of his thick length passing between your thighs. “You’re drenching me sweetheart, making a fucking mess of my sheets. You know what I’m gonna have to do later?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, panting heavily as his tongue trails to lick the column of your throat. The glide of his cock between your thighs is disgustingly loud, squishing and splashing in volumized echoes around his bedroom. “Your lack of response is becoming predictable, you know.”

His lower half snaps, protruding hip bones beat against your backside. A  gut crunching sensation curls up your chest, unable to deny the slick gush continuously leaking out of you and coating your ass and thighs the more frantic his motions become. “Can’t wash these sheets again, need to savor it. Remind you of how much you enjoyed it. How you finally gave in and accepted this fate.”

“N-no..”

“What was that?” Jeno asks breathlessly, gripping the base of his girth to position the tip against your rim. “You want more, don’t you?”

He presses in, watching his wet slit disappear past your asshole. “Ahh, no!! S-stop!”

He snickers, angling the tip to stretch your tight ring of muscle. “Relax. It’s going to hurt a lot if you don’t relax.”

“Please..go slow..” you sigh, biting on the plushy when he nudges more. 

“Be calm teddy. You want this?” He drags the sharp edges of his well-filed nails down your ass painfully, surely leaving marks behind. “Want my face shoved in your ass, huh? That’s why you’re whining so much.”

Jeno always has a way of speaking to you during these intimate moments. So cold and uncaring. The icy tone breaking your skin out in goosebumps. Even with your mouth sucking around the teddy bears arm, you whimper, the urge to cry spiking as he removes your panties and lands a sharp strike down on your ass.

“Bent over all pretty for me teddy, you arch that butt out like such a good little slut.” His palm smooths down lower, patting your wet folds to make you listen to how wet you are from this alone. “Who knows, after this I might not even bother with your pussy anymore. Have my own brand new unused hole to fuck now.”

He teases, swiping your clit side to side, dragging the tips of your fingers between your cunt to prod at your entrance. “You’re so wet, I love how fucking wet you get.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips as he twists two fingers inside and buries in knuckle deep, pressing his thumb to your asshole. “Such a perfect slut for me, ready to be my anal whore.” Jeno pulls out and lands a slap down on your rim, hard enough for the sound to clap out around his bedroom. Your hips drop from the sudden impact, biting down a scream into the plushy. “Enough of that, I wanna hear you.”

Wrapping around your waist, he manhandles you easily onto the center of his bed. Laid down on your back softly for him to get a good look at you, for you to finally see him. He’s big, broad, looming over you in the dim light illuminating from the corner of his room. The strokes of yellow paint across his chest and muscle, the darkness pronouncing deep indentations of muscle lining his abdomen and arms. Jeno falls forward, catching himself above you with his biceps bracketing your head, smiling as he leans in to kiss the fresh tears lining your cheeks. 

“As much as I wanna bend you over and fuck your ass like there’s no tomorrow.. “ he slows to kiss up from your chin to where droplets have pooled under the hollows of your eyes. Sucking up and kissing the wetness there, enjoying it more than you’d be able to comprehend. “Nothings better than watching your face when I fuck every inch of my cock inside..”

The pure joy glaring back at you from his dark glass irises rains more tears down your face, sniffling and shaking as he licks them clean and squishes your lips out. “Relax sweetheart, it’ll feel good for both of us. Promise.”

Thin digits run down from your jawline, tracing past your neck and over the mounds of your breasts. Jeno adjusts your position to haul one of your thighs up, using his shoulder to keep your knee pressed against the bed. He makes a show of bringing his hand up to his mouth, sucking around three fingers, dragging his sloppy wet tongue between each with laser focused eyes locked on yours. 

“You’re so good for me teddy, gonna let me use that pretty ass..” the way he holds you open exposes both of your holes, hovering past your swollen wet cunt to press two fingers against the clench of your asshole. “Just one baby..”

He presses the tip of one slicked up digit in, breaching the tight little muscle until you whine desperately. “Feels so warm..” Jeno’s eyes flutter, thick black eyelashes still visible in the low light. He sounds throaty, hungry, exasperated and needy. Quietly muttering to himself about how good your tight hole feels as he begins to pull his finger in and out slowly. “Bet your pussy was even tighter than this when you were still a virgin.” 

His voice comes out a lot more harsh, gravelly, guiding another finger in with the next stroke. They scissor through and flutter against your inner walls, tugging lightly at your rim as he dips out to the just the tips. “You’re opening up great for me sweetheart. Do you see how you always listen so good?”

Jeno sits on his knees like a predator catching his prey after a long meticulous hunt. Prodding another tip past your rim alongside the two, the muscles lining his arm rippling, exerting more strength to not push them in all at once. “Tell me teddy, are you desperate enough for me to even let me claim your ass?”

Your throat dries, pursing your lips together to quell the moan that nearly spills out. It’s a new type of full, sneaking peeks at the veins running down his inner forearm leading to the fingers working you open. A wash of shame and heat streaks down your limbs, shivering when Jeno draws his digits free, dangling them above your ass. 

“I know you are.” He lands another slap between your thighs, making your extended leg jerk. Fixing his angle to line the tip of his cock with your rim, the large blunt tip presses down, having to tuck your lips in to not scream. “..but I want to hear you say it.”

The head of his cock nudges in, pulling a gasp from your chest. Jeno bends closer to grab your jaw, shake your head around until you look at him. “Tell me to fuck your ass.”

“I’m—“ your voice sounds unrecognizable, squeaking out brokenly, overpowering the one you’re used to. “I—‘wan—“

Bending in closer, the pull up your hamstring burns, further pushing your leg against the bed. He pushes in another inch, the bulbous tip nearly fully entering, skin stretched taut around him. “You can do it, I know you can do it. Tell me sweetheart.”

“F-fuck—“ you pause, the last bits of your mind slipping away to another dimension. “Fuck m-my ass, please—fuck my a-ass.”

A sick pleased smile lifts the corners of his lips, bumping the tip of his nose to yours. Jeno doesn’t fuck the rest of his length in immediately the way you expect, slowly pushing each inch to savor the snap around his shaft. 

It’s when his hips bump against the backs of your thighs that you finally take in a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. Panting out heavily and wide eyed when you can feel the entirety of his cock fully sheathed inside of you.

It’s when Jeno begins to pull out that you bite down to keep in a scream, lifting up on his forearms caged around your head to watch his length draw free. It feels like he’s splitting you in two and he hasn’t even really gotten into it yet. It goes on like that for a minute or two, his head hung, black hair in your face, awestruck by your rim sucking around his dick each time he pulls out to the tip. He gains speed slowly, snapping his hips forward for the first time. Jolting your spine to arch up and finally release a tiny scream you can’t hold in any longer.

“Pussys making such a mess teddy..” Jeno rasps, throwing his head back, pink lips hung open. “Fuck, you’re dripping down to my balls. Love getting fucked up the ass.”

Every thought racing through your mind dissolves, blank and empty as you crane your neck to the side to get a look at what he’s going on about. Embarrassment flushes down your face, unconsciously clamping down on his length plunging in faster. The powerful snap of his hips rocking you deep into his bed, surrounded by Jeno Jeno Jeno. His smell, his touch, his mouth and his meaty girth stretching you open. It’s become something you expect, something you’d feel weird without now, Jeno. 

It burns when he buries in deep, grabbing onto the back of your knee for better control. The stretch feels more and more overwhelming with each pass of his cock manipulating your tight ring of muscle further. Digging his knees steadily into the bed, he picks up the pace and kicks his hips forward to fuck in to the hilt.

“Love fucking your ass. Love fucking you.” Jeno’s eyes clench shut, blinking quickly to open them and shove his forehead against yours. “Love you.”

God it makes your stomach churn, half pulled into a pleasure that feels too good to be true; sickened by how good it feels to be impaled by his fat cock. Half suffocated by the rushing swarm of emotions lassoing your brain, tightening until you feel ready to burst. And Jeno again with the fucking L word, dropping it like nothing, making sure you feel each syllable through his girth splitting you open. 

The push and pull against your clenching rim feels painful, feels good, makes your head spin. He eats it up, licking across your lips, trapping the bottom between his teeth to suck on. Nose dragging down your cheek, lapping the tears, sweat and spit painting your face. It should feel disgusting, you should feel repulsed, but this behaviors become so standard now. Jeno’s like a puppy sometimes, burying his face in your neck, searching for a place to lay new kisses.

Even during these times when he’s on top of you, pushing his cock in deep enough to bruise your cervix, your fingers itch to touch him. He usually does it for you, grabs your wrists and forces your hands to drag down his face, kissing the inside of your palms and wrists.

He seems more intent on kissing you right now, letting ragged breaths fans across your lips between light pecks. “Can you cum like this?” He asks, murmuring against your mouth. 

“I—I d-don’t know..” you really don’t. It’s your first time and the pleasures surging all over in different directions, racing between pain and confusion back to arousal and need. 

“You can.” Jeno whispers, lowering his face to your neck, gaze focused on your connected lower halves. “You’re so wet.”

Fingers trail down your stomach, softly skimming over your clit before easing between your folds. He sinks two inside, thumb rubbing your clit in a simultaneous motion, filling you from both ends. “Ugh! Yeah just like that sweetheart..”

Jeno snaps forward, trying to match the rhythm of his hips to his fingers. He bites down on your jugular, panting heavily against your throat. The burn of the stretch crashes against waves of pleasure, twitching up with each rough rub at your clit.

“I’m—I’m c-cumm—“ the sob you break off into has him moving faster akin to a feral animal. The weight of his bulky frame lands down on you hard enough to make his bed shake, headboard slam against the wall. Each brush of his thumb at your clit feels more sensitive than the last, sending you over the edge, mind blank beyond the grip your ass has around his cock. “Ahh!”

The wetness spilling out past his fingers slides all the way down to your lower back, further solidifying your humiliation. Because he’s right, you are wet just from this, loving your ass stuffed full. Drowning in the sensation of his length ramming in and out.

“Squeeze that fuckhole around me so good teddy, cum cum—“ Jeno chants manically, throwing his hips down rough and fast. Pressing down your clit harshly between viscous flicks, rolling the stiff nub until your toes curl. 

You spill over quickly, writhing under his weight as the pressure of wetness pushes his fingers out of your cunt. The orgasm rolls through you like no other, rolling your eyes to the back of your skull. Thinking you’ve passed off into the afterlife if not for the way he draws back and pounds into your ass.

“You like it?!” Jeno’s expression morphs into one of anger, black eyebrows furrowed together. He grabs your face again, chasing after his release still slamming his cock in deep. “You like getting fucked up the ass?”

The questions pointed, furious. The face of frustration and anger only there to mask how close he is to falling apart, reaching a new high as he charges to the peak. 

“L-love it, yes..” you barely whisper, tear filled eyes blinking the moisture away to watch his features contort and crumble. His pace turns erratic, breath quickening fast enough for his chest to beat up and down. Letting out a deep growl, Jeno comes to a still, mouth hung open letting a chopped up groan roll off his tongue. His cock thrums wildly against your inner walls, flooding your ass with warm white cum you’ve had poured inside of your cunt for weeks.

The little sounds dripping from his lips sounds anguished, whimpering when he thrusts in one more time to ensure his cums evenly painted your insides. “Love you so much..” 

His eyes fall shut, nose dug into your cheek catching his breath. The tips of your fingers tingle again, itching and burning to comb through his soft dark locks, to smooth the sweaty strands off his forehead. It feels like the right thing to do.. maybe with anyone else.

But you want it to feel right with Jeno..

He grumbles, littering kisses down your cheek to the corner of your mouth. “Gonna pull out, okay?”

You don’t respond, not even a nod, only hissing through your teeth as you gape and the now cooled down semen trickles out of your ass disgustingly, really cementing what you’ve just done. What you’ve let him do to you again.

Jeno hums softly, laying by your side without a worry, seeming pleased and full of life judging by the small smile on his face. “Happy anniversary teddy.” He reaches for your hand, scrabbling to entwine your fingers when you try to pull away.

“What’re you thinking about?” He murmurs, shifting closer to your side as you curl into yourself to get further away. “I don’t even have to ask. I’m sure I can throw out a wild guess..”

He lets out a long sigh, huffing a quiet laugh. “You’re not as good at masking your emotions as you may think.. You have to erase those old memories you have of Haechan. He’s not a good guy.” Jeno remarks, nudging his elbow against your side. “He’s a bad person.” 

“You are no better..” You accuse, a bit surprised, whispering with your mouth pressed against his bed. The last person you’re thinking about right now is Haechan(..maybe). Jeno’s smile only grows wider, tickled to hear you talking back finally.

“There’s a difference between me and him.” He says surely, slinging an arm around your waist, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he presses in close to whisper. “He changed to please everyone. I just don’t care anymore.”

“You’re both terrible people..”

Jeno sighs, smile still evident in his tone, leaning closer kissing your ear. “I love you.”

“Stop saying that.” You mutter, digging your elbow back to push space between you.

“Why would I do that?” Smoothing your arm down, he kisses the end of your jaw, licking your earlobe. “I love you, I know you won’t say it back, but that won’t stop me from letting you know that I love you.” He cozies up against you, yawning. “Get some rest, we have that test to pass tomorrow.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ 

Jeno has that look on his face again, the one that shifts from raunchy to feral hunger, the one that has him reaching to grab you in less than a second.

“I’m still sore..”

“I barely even touched your pussy.” He says cocking an eyebrow, phone dinging in his pocket over and over again. “Was I too mean teddy?” His palm swipes down the curve of your ass, cupping your buttcheek.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

He groans, smacking your butt lightly before reaching to free his phone.

“Shit, my dad’s blowing up my phone.” He huffs annoyed, swiping through paragraphs of text messages. Most yelling at him in all caps lock for not answering his phone. “He needs me to pick up some files from his home office, says it’s urgent. Something about an accident..”

Frustrated, he hoists his bag and adjusts yours on his other arm, nodding toward the end of the hall. “Come on.”

“Jeno, the test—I can’t!”

He sets you with a look that nearly makes you crumble, ready to succumb and follow his orders. “Please, you know my grades..”

Dragging the tip of his tongue between his teeth, he sighs deep and loud, pinching the skin between his eyebrows together. “Fine.”

What?

He looks irritated, upper lip twitching stretched over his teeth trying to control his anger. “But I’ll try to come back later to pick you up. If you take longer than a minute to reply to me, I swear to fucking God—“

“I won’t!” You almost add a ‘thank you’, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself. “I’ll keep my phone within view shot in case of anything..”

Jeno rubs at his temples, shoulders visibly trembling. “Fuck. Whatever. Fine.” 

He stops to take in your elated expression, cupping your cheeks, thumbs caressing your soft skin. “Don’t forget, I love you.”

You won’t say it back, he knows you won’t, but he waits for a minute, a flicker of hope passing behind his gaze. “Good luck on your test, I know you don’t need it teddy.”

He leans in and kisses you, full control on his end. Making a real show of it by shoving his tongue down your throat right in the middle of the hallway where everyone watches and whispers nasty remarks. He wants them to see, he wants certain people to see especially. Public display of affection had never been something you enjoyed, or even experienced before Jeno, but he made it something you had to learn to endure. 

“Be good.” He says quietly, warningly, slipping your bag from his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”

You nearly risk being late to class just to watch him leave, having to run to make it on time. The first time you’ve been alone in days, weeks even. Sitting down at your desk with a sense of relief, a crippling weight lifted off your spine. This test would be a breeze without him there to breath down your neck.

It is really crazy how you turn to the empty seat next to you numerous times though, fully expecting to see him there waiting for the next answer. Finishing off your exam without handing it over to Jeno to ensure he copied all of your answers felt odd, peering at your phone over and over again expecting notifications only to have none. 

So. This is life without him. Normal? Not anxiety inducing? Nothing to fear or worry about..

You should know better though, exiting your class blindsided by Haechan leaping in front of you, hooking his arm around yours. “You. In here. NOW.”

“Haechan?! What the hell!” You cough, waving at dust that lifts from the janitor closet floor. Cleaning supplies and clutter surround you, setting in how claustrophobic you feel when he slams the door shut and locks it.

“We need to talk. Right now.”

“About what?!” Pushing him off, you stumble back and glare. Watching his face fall at the sight of your anger.

“About this.” He says, reaching for the charm adorning your neck, flicking the teddy bear. “What’s this bullshit all about? What are you dating Jeno now?? What the fuck is wrong with the two of you.”

“The two of us?! There’s nothing wrong with me?! It’s your fault any of this is even happening to me!” You screech, slapping his hand away. 

“My fault?! You low lives are threatening to ruin my future and it’s somehow MY fault??” Haechan bellows, grabbing your upper arms. 

“Low lives?” 

He scoffs, shaking you with his firm hold. “Don’t change the subject! What the fuck if your problem, huh? Are you making him do this? You two need money that badly?”

Haechan could have just asked about your relationship with Jeno if he really cared. He would have noticed how different you’ve been looking and acting if he really ever cared about you.

“Everything’s about money to you..” you mutter, gaze hanging low. 

“To me?! I’m the one being threatened here!” He says in disbelief, burning holes into your face with a crazed look. “I don’t need any money from you or him.”

No. You don’t need anything, do you? Everything’s about you. You you you you…

Jeno was right all along.

“You seriously think I want your fucking money Haechan?!?” You shout, breaking out of his hold to shove him back. “What about me, asshole?!? Do you even give a shit about me! No, you don’t! Because I embarrass you that much, huh?”

“What are you even going on about.” Rolling his eyes, he grabs your wrists before you can pummel him with your fists, teeth gritted. “Of course I give a shit about you, why do you think I’m here?! He’s always hovering around you! It’s impossible to get near you anymore.”

“You’re only here because you think I’m weak.” 

“Weak?” Haechan repeats, tossing your arms down. “He’s really brainwashed you, yeah? Made you believe I’m the bad guy here? I’m not the one money hungry enough to destroy years of friendship over some petty jealousy!”

“He hasn’t brainwashed me.” You snap back, nearly adding a lie to make yourself feel better. He doesn’t talk about Haechan that much, and he’s not that jealous..

“Oh yeah? Than what the fuck is this?” His fingers aim for your choker again, sliding the tips under to press along your pulse. “Wearing a collar like a good little bitch?”

“It’s a gift.”

Haechan’s mouth parts in surprise, cocking an eyebrow. “You really like that psychopath, I can’t believe this.”

“Fuck you.” You bite back, wrapping around his wrists. “You have no right to assume anything about me.”

“And me? What about me, huh?” He says soft and low, leaning in closer. “I thought you liked me.”

“You did?” You ask, a bit surprised. You hadn’t made it that obvious, right?

“So, you don’t?” Haechan’s gaze flickers to yours, peering between each of your eyes confused. “Ever since we were kids I thought..”

“Do you like me? Did you ever?”

“Always, I always have.” He says surely, tugging out of your grip. “Not that it matters.”

“W-Why?” You stutter, feeling heat rush to your face. “Because y-you won’t do anything about it? Because I’m nothing but a low life, right?!”

Haechan steps closer, locking you in place against him with his arms tightening around your waist. “You’re not, okay? I’m just mad about Jeno..”

You hate getting angry, because you hate to show how weak you really are, cursing at the first batch of tears that pour from your eyes. You punch at his chest, letting out a tired sob. Tired because of this, everything, tired of holding onto something you never had. “It’s all your fault. He wouldn’t even care about me if it wasn’t for you.”

“What’s my fault?! That your boyfriend’s a certified nut job??”

“This isn’t about him! He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Oh yeah?” Haechan squeezes you in, inching his face closer to yours. “So, you won’t care if I do this.”

The same lips you dreamt about for years come closer, a breath away from finding yours. He pauses to watch your reaction, eyelashes fluttering up and down expecting you to do something to get away. Because Jeno’s girlfriend wouldn’t let another guy kiss her, especially not his new enemy.

It’s nothing like your dreams when he finally goes for it, he’s not soft and nice, he doesn’t move against your mouth like he belongs there. The kiss is rough, fast, sloppy, needy and aggressive. He sees his chance and takes it, sliding his tongue in past your lips as you gasp, lowering his hands to your ass with a fierce squeeze. His dreams had been to strip your innocence, watch your fall apart and scream while he fucked you deep. Nothing like the fairytale stories you’d imagined. Each pass of his tongue against yours indicates his desire, forcing your arms out of his hold to reach for his hair, fisting it and pulling as hard as you can.

“Ahhh! Ahh! Stop!” He whines, lips already swollen. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You sneer, coiling tendrils between your digits, pulling until his neck arches back and a high-pitched squeak breaks free from his mouth.

“I knew it.” He grits, eyes thinning into a glare. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“Is that what this is about?! You just need to have everything Jeno has?!”

“You are the one falling for that freak.” Haechan spits, slapping your ass. “Everyone knows Jeno fucks like a fucking crazed beast, you’re not as innocent as I thought.”

“I’m not fucking him.” Technicalities..

“Yeah? And why should I believe you?” He plays with the hem of your skirt, tickling at the skin there. “You say that you like me and yet here you are holding back. I think you’re a liar, trying to protect your crazy boyfriend..”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Yeah?” Haechan steps back, leaning against a shelf full of cleaning products. Reaching below his waist to unbuckle his belt. A bulge sits beneath his zipper, slowly lowering it with his eyes on yours. “Get on your knees.”

“What!?”

He snickers, shoving his boxers and jeans down under his balls. “I said get on your knees.”

He has the audacity to wear a cocky grin, tilting his head back onto the shelf as he begins to gently stroke his cock to full mass. You have to look, have to lick your lips at the sight of his length beginning to chub up in his hold. It’s not enough to subside your anger, marching forward to slam his shoulders back against the shelf. “Who do you think you are?!”

“A guy you like.” He says, voice low, staring at your lips. “A guy who likes you.”

This certainly isn’t normal by any means, you know that, but that doesn’t stop the extra skip in your heartbeat. Doesn’t stop your eyes from trailing down Haechan’s face to where he sucks on his bottom lip, letting it go and bounce shiny with spit. “Now.” Reaching for your mouth, he slides a thumb across your lower lip, pushing down on the fatty center. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

There’s a cruel edge to his tone, watching you crumble and slip down onto the floor, eye-level to his length. “Don’t act surprised. This is what you want.”

You don’t know what to say, watching your knees settle on the ground before looking up. He strokes at his size lazily, the tip right between your eyes. Nowhere near as big as Jeno, that’s for sure..

“You’ve always had such a pretty mouth, always used it to talk so much shit.” He smirks confidently, bringing the tip closer to your pouty lips. “What are you waiting for?”

Haechan even smells rich from down here, clean, trimmed pubes, a slight musk wafting off his sack. Jeno’s a little different, he’s always hairless, always smells clean in a soft and inviting way. You think he keeps himself extra tidy to entice you more, but maybe that’s just him. Maybe this is just Haechan..

“D-do you have protection?”

“Huh??” He says, surprised, shrugging and reaching for his wallet. “Yeah, whatever.”

He sounds a little ticked off, flicking the condom at your pressed together thighs. Not putting up an argument either way. It’s been awhile since you’ve had to use one of these, and as you unwrap the package you start to wonder why.. 

Clearing your throat, you nervously reach to grip around the middle of his length. It’s not as heavy in your hold, not as thick, a lot smoother with less prominent veins. The condom rolls down fine, aided by a layer of lube that will surely taste disgusting sliding down your tongue. He’s hissing above you, eyebrows scrunched together focused on your hands and robotic expression, wondering if you’re lying about everything..

“Come on.” Haechan says desperately, reaching to thumb your lip again, a lot messier and more eager. “You want my cock, don’t you?”

Leaning in, you test the feel of it, sliding the tip across your upper lip. Slowly craning your neck up to watch his face fall apart. “Say it. Wanna hear you say it.”

He grips your hair, fingers tingling through your scalp, forcing your neck back further. Plump lips hang open above you, breathily moaning, stuck on his cock dragging your lower lip open. “Say you want my cock like the pathetic fucking slut you are.”

That flicks your eyes open fully, rising from your knees quickly with a tight grasp around his size. “What did you just say to me?!”

Haechan’s jaw hangs limp in shock, letting out a shattered moan when you pull at his length roughly. “Turn the fuck around.”

He listens without even trying to resist, grabbing onto one of the shelfs with your fist still circled around him. “S-sorry.. I thought..”

“Shut the fuck up Haechan.” Grabbing his wrists, you loop them both back and trap them in place against his lower back. Reaching lower with your free hand to smooth over his ass.

“Now, repeat that? What did you just say to me?”

He shakes, turning his face to the side to watch you from the corner of his eye. “Nothing nothing! I take it back!”

“Are you sorry?” You whisper, nipping at his jaw. Fingers skimming between the crevice between his ass.

The vibrations soaring off his body intensify, trembling harder, breathing through his nose gruffly. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He chants, breaking off into a whimper.

He doesn’t know what you wish he was sorry for. Delivering a slap to his ass and watching it bounce back against the collision, you hum lowly.

“Come here.” He’s easy to whip around, shivering from head to toe excitedly. Ankles weak to walk on as if he could cum already, making it easy to push him down onto the floor. 

“Fuck, you’re crazy..” he whimpers, laying back and kicking his legs to get his pants off. He looks more pathetic than the first time you ever met him, sobbing under you, crying for you to let him go. 

“It’s your fault.” You mutter, pushing your skirt and underwear off to mount his hips without restraint. “Wish I’d never met you.” You hiss, reaching for his chin to dig your fingers into his cheeks. He blinks up at your blearily, the bright light above you staining his face in a white translucent shade, eyes lost and glossy. He’s pretty, so so so pretty, makes your chest burn and ache. He’s always been pretty, eyelashes fanning across his cheeks slowly with each blink, plump lips shoved out for you to capture. 

“You’re so sexy.” He mutters, struggling under your rough grip. “If I’d known—“

“If you had known what?” You sneer, slapping his cheek hard enough for his head to snap to the side, eyes bewildered and surprised. 

“Fuck you’re..” he spits, bending forward at his neck to watch your core sit down on his length. “Ahh.. shit I’m still!—” He splutters, head dropping back, hips rutting up as you start to slide against his cock. 

It’s easy to take control and feel powerful on top of him like this, shifting back to grab his knees and push them up. “Stay still.” You demand, using force to push the pits of his knees down and hold yourself up. Haechan whimpers from the change in position, feeling small and confined under your figure sitting above him. 

“Fuck I’m—not gonna last long. You’re too much.” He’s such a whiny sniveling mess, drooling down his chin, cock twitching against your cunt.

“You like that?” Hoisting yourself up against his legs, you lift enough to line the tip of his cock up to your entrance, hips trembling as you begin to lower and breach your hole. 

“Ahhh! Fuck!” Haechan screams pretty, high-pitched, unashamed. His head tosses back fully exposing his Adam’s apple, dainty collarbones. He’s nothing now, nothing but a groveling whore begging to be fucked.

“Say it.” You say full of threat, struggling to keep yourself held up, clawing your nails into the sides of his knees. “Beg me to fuck you.”

The softest cracked moan spills from his red juicy mouth, face dropped to the side looking at you with half-lidded drunk eyes. “Please please, please fuck me.”

He’s nothing, and he could easily be yours.

It’s so easy to mount him, to bury the rest of his length inside of you. It’s less of a struggle to take him than you’re used to, filling you to the brim with a wet splash against his pelvis where you land. He whines and moans through it, making you work to ride his cock faster. 

Haechan looks brainless, gorgeous, stupid as fuck with his tongue hung out lavving at the drool pouring from the corners of his lips. Sweaty hands push yours off his knees, holding himself open wider to free your hands. The burn running up your thighs calms as you grab onto his chest and ball his shirt between your fists, short of breath the faster you work to fall into a rhythm. 

“Faster, come on, fuck me faster!” He grunts under you, voice loud and ragged over the thunderous clap of your ass crashing down on him. 

“Shut the fuck up whore.” You bite, reaching to wrap around his neck for better leverage. Pretty brown eyes go wide, gasping for breath as you tighten around his throat until his head shakes and he sounds empty of air. His cock thrums wildly, urging you to slam down harder, rock your hips faster. The veins along his forehead expand the more he struggles to breathe, mouth hung wide open like nothing but a dumb slut. “Only sluts get off f-from being choked.”

He nods weakly, coughing and groaning, sweaty fingers slipping on and off his legs. “Yes yes, ahhh g-gonna cum.”

“If you cum before me I’ll bite your dick off.” You spit out angrily, freeing his neck to clasp his chin and bury your fingers inside of his slutty mouth. “You useless slut.”

Haechan’s eyes roll back, tongue lapping between your digits, balls colliding with your ass with each heavy thrust. “Ah—ahh!” He gurgles and spits, making a mess around your fingers. “Pl-please!”

The hold on his knees slips free, arms flopping down to his sides, legs landing on the ground hard with rapid tremors shooting through. “Shit!” You grunt, stilling as his length pulses and warmth fills the condom, sliding off before any of it can pour out inside of you. “What did I fucking say?!”

Anger and arousal combined feel similar to a slasher film. Murderous and frightening, craving death around the corner as the music changes to warn you as the next kill approaches. Haechan lays under you out of breath, face covered in sweat and saliva, cock pathetically twitching against his stomach. “Selfish.”

Snapping the condom band into place, you settle back down on his length, making him shout out and shake his head. “No no! That hurts!”

“I said shut the fuck up.” Bending in, you reach for his hair, fisting handfuls to pull on and control the speed of your hips. So useless, so stupid and useless, you deserve better than this. Better than someone who can’t even control his own needs to make sure you both finish and reach pleasure. 

Tears brim his eyes as you rock down and roll your cunt against his half-hard soaked cock. The friction of creamy wet rubber rutting against his length more painful than enjoyable at this point, springing droplets down his cheeks. 

“You’re so weak.” He nods, has the nerve to agree with you. Biting down on his plush bottom lip to compress a sob, glossy eyes blinking tears out faster. 

The broken sight of him sends shivers up your spine, jabbing the tip of his cock against your clit in rapid motion until your hole convulses and draws out a much deserved orgasm. 

“Holy shit..” he wheezes out breathlessly, the back of his head hitting the floor painfully as you abruptly release him and move to the side.

Satisfaction courses through your veins, along with something else weighing heavy on your mind..

That was.. interesting. Is that the word you’re looking for? Interesting.

Patting the floor for your skirt, you immediately grab your phone. Jeno hasn’t texted yet. Even more interesting, something really must be wrong with his dad.. you should send him a message first. He might need you right now. Why the hell do you care about what he needs..

“Hey, let’s keep this between us.” Haechan disrupts your inner monologue, patting your shoulder. “Don’t need Jeno seriously spreading those photos around and whatever else he’s blackmailing me with.”

“Does your dad know about your drug use?” You ask, sliding your arm away from his touch.

He frowns, nose wrinkling annoyed. “Why the fuck would he know about that?!”

Because you’re a spoiled brat. Surprised that daddy even cares about his privileged son ruining his future, blowing his father’s hard earned money on more white shit to snort up his nose.

You shrug, buttoning up your shirt. “I guess you have a lot of secrets.” 

Like me. 

You are one of Haechan’s secrets if you think about it.. his secrets stemming from shame it seems. Because he’s ashamed of you, of the part of his life you remind him of.

“Whatever.” He scoffs, standing uncomfortably, nervously scratching his head.

“Don’t worry.” You reassure, picking up your belongings and grabbing the door handle. “There’s nothing your secrets can provide for me. See you later?”

His frown deepens, chewing on his bottom lip and shrugging. “Whatever.”

“Goodbye Haechan.”

You leave first, emotions unsettled and scattered as you walk down the hall to your locker. It’s nearing the end of the day, thankful that Haechan only made you miss gym class. Jeno always takes longer to fuck you, he likes to make sure you always get off, sometimes he doesn’t even finish..

Jeno. Shit.

‘Waiting for you by the north gate entrance.’

Shit shit shit. What the fuck. Jeno said he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pick you up today, or that he’d try to, whatever. Not even a heads up?! Nothing to warn you??

Fuck, what if you smell like Haechan?! Knowing Jeno he’d be able to tell. There’s no way you can come up with something quick enough to get him off your ass, another text alerts you demanding for you to hurry up.

‘If you’re not out here in the next 50 seconds I’m coming inside.’

Fuck. You really fucked up this time, fear picks up your pace to jog through the hallway corridor faster, dodging your classmates bodies left and right until you near the exit short of breath and look out to see your… Jeno, stepping out from the driver’s seat.

“There you are.” He smiles, a big smile, the type that reaches his eyes. The one that’s for show, for others to coo and aww at. The one that garners close-to-ear whispers behind hands and eyes bouncing back and forth from you to Jeno.

‘Why her?’

Everyone asks, everyone wants to know. You never asked before, until one day the voices broke you down and found yourself constantly asking- ‘why me?’

You’d never ask Jeno, you never ask him anything.. but right now, as you nervously force your lips into a measly smile, the cramp forming in your stomach nearly makes you trip down the grass hill leading to where his cars parked awaiting you with the passenger door open.

“That’s funny.” Jeno says under his breath, leaning in to wrap around your waist. “You never smile at me.” He whispers near your ear, taking a step back to look over your face. “What’s up?”

The way his head tilts scrutinizing your face makes your chest cave, lips pressed together tightly as his eyelashes lower over his iris the more he lowers toward your neck; the collar of your shirt saves you of any fear that Haechan left behind any incriminating evidence of what took place less than an hour ago.

“Hmm..” Jeno reaches forward before you have a chance to react, tugging you closer by the fanned edges of your collared shirt. “Now why is your top button undone..”

He can see the way your throat jumps, hollowing out between your collarbones with each dry nervous swallow. “And your necklace.”

Your choker, he means. Fuck your choker. The lucid memory of Haechan angrily pulling on the teddy charm adorning the strap squeezing your neck makes your teeth grit, hidden behind your quivering lips. 

“Strange.” Jeno’s eyebrows gather together, the gleam in his eyes darkening despite afternoon sun illuminating down on him, highlighting every defined flawless attractive feature. “You’ve never disobeyed me this much before.”

“Wha—“

“You know you’re supposed to always have this uncovered. Why did I dip into my savings and risk getting chewed out by my dad? For you to try to make me a secret?” Jeno finishes buttoning your shirt back up, digits reaching beneath the leather to adjust the charm’s position while adding more pressure, losing the tiny centimeter of space between your neck and the material. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No!” Your reactions too fast, fast enough to fully widen his eyes, mouth tensed as he meets your gaze. “I—I had to.. to participate..”

“In what?”

“Physical Ed.. you know I always sit out with you.” Jeno watched your choice of physical activity: yoga, for less than a week before deciding this form of education benefited you in no way. Something about those ridiculous yoga pants you wear for class only seemed to distract a group of guys in the weight lifting class across the gym. He concocted doctor's slips for the both of you to sit out and study instead. “Coach didn’t let me today.. she said there's no way my period cramps last all month. I must have forgotten to fix my necklace after getting dressed, I’m sorry..”

Jeno nods, smoothing his thumb over your warm cheek, hot from anxiety rising the longer you stand there and risk the chance of running into Haechan on his way home. “That bitch. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.”

He pauses again, a contemplative look taking over as he reaches for your hair and smooths down fly aways. “No wonder you look sweaty. Must have been working hard, using all of your body and stamina.” Jeno’s tone lowers to a whisper, gently pressing under your lash line. “Even smeared your mascara..”

“I really should take a shower.” You say, managing to speak quickly without stutter. “Didn’t have a chance to after gym class and the air conditioning must have been broken or something in the homeroom.”

“That’s fine.” Leaning in, his nose presses to your jugular taking a deep inhale. “I like it, smell like you just got fucked.” Reaching for your lower back, Jeno moves you forward toward the passenger seat, the facade of a nice boyfriend(or whatever he is) vanishes with the turn of his head. 

You learned quickly to let him do what he wants after receiving nothing but hard stares to shut you down. Jeno wants things done his way, even buckling your seatbelt is his responsibility.

The engine vibrates as you wait for him to settle into his seat and back out of the parking lot, just barely missing Haechan’s exit by a few seconds.

It’s silent on the way to his home, tense and thick. Maybe it’s guilt, your guilt, guilt you can’t understand carrying to begin with. Why should you feel guilty? Does Jeno deserve that? Is it really because Haechan didn’t feel like Jeno? Because he didn’t make you relinquish control, didn’t make you feel special? Is that what Jeno does? He makes you feel like nothing else matters more than you?

Biting your nails raw, down to the rough neglected skin beneath until the tips of your fingers ache, you’re unsure if it's the silence that bothers you more or your spiraling thoughts screaming louder and louder. “Was everything okay? With your dad?”

Jeno comes to a stop at a red light, tapping the steering wheel, lips parting open into a half smile. “I didn’t think you’d ask me.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you, only glances from the corner of his eye, sleek and cold. “You never ask me anything.”

A dry breathy laugh passes through his nose, stepping on the gas again as you near the neighborhood you’ve become more familiar with than your own by now. “Did you miss me that much today, teddy?” He’s grinning, stoically, and if you blink too long you’d miss the way his head shakes in disbelief. 

Shutting off his car, he turns and reaches for your chin to lift your face up. It’s your best effort to appear as nothing, not display an ounce of guilt or shame, but not smile or stare back too long— because that would be out of character. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

The gleam passing his gaze is damn near unnerving, adjusting your face side to side as if he’s inspecting for damage. “Did something happen while I was gone?” 

The most you give him is a barely noticeable shake of your head, gaze lowered to your lap, nothing too out of the ordinary..

Jeno leans over the space between you, turning your gaze back to him, digits spread out along your jaw for more control. “I think..”

He presses closer, forehead connecting to yours leaving just an inch of space between your nose and lips. Lips that left behind their moisture and shine on another man, a mouth that you fear may still carry remnants of his taste. “My teddy..”

Jeno’s lips graze yours enough to hitch your breath, shutting the seam of your mouth shut. That doesn’t stop him from cupping your face, overtaking power and pushing your lips forward with the pressure of his palms squeezing you in. “You are starting to like me more than you realize.” 

He kisses the swell of your pout, biting his lower lip for a second to admire how swollen and worn your mouth looks; as if someone has sucked on the fleshy fat roughly. Someone reckless who could give a shit about you. “Or at least more than you’re ready to admit.” 

Jeno lets go, leaving you gasping for breath as he sits back and studies your reaction. “Kiss me.” 

It’s not a question, it’s not even a demand, he’s too relaxed. It’s expectant, because you’ll listen to him, if you know what’s good for you; and you do.

There’s no way to crawl between the front seats without it being awkward, having to reach for Jeno’s thigh to keep yourself sturdy. He huffs to mask a laugh, turning away when you direct your pout toward his lips. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

He knows you don’t want to, but he doesn’t know why; and maybe that’s where your guilt stems from because you can still taste Haechan between your teeth; and the pink flush spread across his mouth stirs a need up from your stomach to your chest.

“Go on.” Jeno’s head rests against his seat, eyebrows raised waiting. You manage to slip onto his lap after banging your knee into the cup holder, gripping onto his shoulders to align your weight onto his crotch. The same way he likes to hold you in the evening while playing games with your head laid on his chest. 

Jeno kisses you everyday, he kisses you. You could trace the shape of his lips with your eyes shut at this point, subconsciously you even notice whenever he reapplies chapstick from the light menthol scent and taste alone.

There’s something you’ve noticed over time as you lean in and breathe out nervously across his impatient mouth. Jeno never looks away first, he watches for your response to everything, silently analyzing the tiniest smallest movements. He has to, because you give him nothing, and he does it well. Even now with your eyes falling shut too nervous to look at him up close, he stays tuned in to your bottom lip trembling, the little twitch between your eyebrows and how much your hands shake while gliding up to his neck.

This shouldn’t feel like your first kiss with him, not after everything, but it does. You are the one in control for once and you’re the one applying pressure. Taking time to feel out just how soft his lips actually are when they aren’t roughly prying your mouth open to shove his tongue inside. The tightness beneath your palms even seems to relax the more you move between top and bottom lip, gently sucking and pulling them between yours. 

Jeno doesn’t move, he even lets his hands rest by his thighs despite itching to gather your waist and grind you down against him. He wants to see how far you’ll go on your own, especially after today; because maybe you needed this time apart, albeit only a few hours, but maybe you needed to be alone to understand just how much you need him.

“I’m not a good kisser..” you finish with a light as a feather peck at the corner of his mouth, dropping your face embarrassed. “It’s better when you do it.”

Oh? He perks up at that, giving into his desire with hands encompassing your waist. “You are good, you just..”

He rubs up and down your sides, letting out a long sigh while looking you over. “You don’t like me, right?” Jeno bites down a smile, nodding to himself. He knows you’d pour your soul into a kiss with Haechan, you probably dream of some ridiculously romantic rekindling of your relationship with some ridiculous scenario: fixing all the damage with one kiss..

“That’s not it—“

“You don’t.” He nods again, an accepting nod. 

And it’s okay, because you still have hope, somehow you still have so much hope that Haechan will save you from this. That your stupid childhood first love still carries you deep within his heart the way you always have, because you have so much good left inside of you in spite of every obstacle put in your way. Jeno likes that, that’s why he befriended Haechan in the first place, because good people are rare to come by.

But Haechan is not a good person anymore, and soon enough your spark will die out too.

“It’s not that Jeno..”

“Let’s get inside, I ordered takeout, should be here soon.” He says with an ordering pat pat pat against your hip, unlocking his door for you to exit first. “You hardly touched your lunch today.”

“Is it okay if I take a shower first?” Having to ask makes your stomach churn, mumbling behind the tips of your fingers finding their way back between your teeth to bite down on your nails.

“Stop doing that.” Jeno gently pries your wrists away, opening the door to his bedroom. “You never shower until after we fuck.”

“Like I said.. the air conditioning..”

Jeno eyes you skeptically, huffing and grinning. “You think I’ll care if you smell a little?” He’s back on you, encasing your waist as he bends in to drag his nose along your throat. “I think you smell sweet.”

“It’s not that.. I just feel gross.”

And you do, you feel extremely gross. More disgusted with yourself than you’ve ever felt after allowing Jeno to defile you. The more you try to push away what you’ve just done, the more unsettled you feel by all of it.

“You wanna change?” He places a light kiss upon your cheekbone, moving away to sit at his computer chair. “Grab whatever you want to wear. Don’t take too long though or your food will get cold.”

Part of you wants to stand there and argue, claim that you aren’t hungry despite the rumble your stomach gives at the mention of warm food; but a hot shower to wash away the remnants of Haechan’s spit and other fluids depletes any will to bother Jeno any longer. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, skimming over the drawers lined up against the other side of his bedroom. 

Jeno hums, already logging on to play league and waving you off. “Yeah, wear whatever.”

Showering in his bathroom had become very standard, like he said you typically prefer to after the act, but today’s different of course. His bathroom is much nicer than the community one shared by multiple people at your shitty studio complex. The studio you rarely spend much time living in anymore ever since Jeno forced his way into your life. 

There is something inside of you that sighs out of relief under the shower stream, stretching your arms out and up high freely, enjoying the quality of bath soaps and shower gels he keeps stocked. Jeno always smells nice, fresh and clean, not smokey and suffocating the way Haechan did..

The memory of his luxurious musky scent has your palms traveling lower, reaching for the shower head to thoroughly clean away any possible trace of him left behind between your legs. 

Jeno would go ballistic if he knew.. you aren’t even sure how he’d react, and you don’t want to find out.

“Food’s here?” You ask quietly, still drying your hair by the bathroom door connected to Jeno’s bedroom. He takes a minute to answer, engulfed in the game playing across his computer screen.

“Just got here.” Jeno says, hitting pause to look at you. His lips loosen, jaw opening as he gazes from your feet taking short steps forward to your bare legs and his pink hoodie hanging past your hips. “Wow.”

“What?” You pause, looking yourself over nervously. He said to pick whatever you want to wear, you even double checked with him. He can’t be mad right? Maybe this is his favorite hoodie and now—

Jeno’s eyes soften, scanning up and down your figure as he reaches out and rolls his seat forward to grab your hips. “You look really cute.”

“Oh..” heat drives up your neck, lowering your eyes to look away from the pleased smile that tugs at his lips.

“I should make you wear my clothes more often.” Jeno squeezes up your sides, drawing the fabric to follow his touch and lift over your hips. “Come here.” 

Leaning back, he motions for you to climb onto his lap, a bag of steaming hot food sits at the corner of his desk waiting. “But the food..”

He lifts one groomed eyebrow, responding with a silent command to do as he says before he makes you regret it. 

“We’ll eat first.” Jeno wraps an arm around your stomach, tugging your back to press against his chest as he reaches for the bag. “Put on whatever you want to watch.”

It’s times like this in his bedroom, as you ease into his hold and pout when he swirls noodles around a fork to feed you with that you can’t help but to feel something. 

Something you can’t bring yourself to accept, because that would make him right about everything.. 

That’s what makes it harder to eat, harder to sit still and let yourself grow too comfortable, harder to laugh when something funny happens on the TV show you chose. 

Jeno can’t win, even if he continues to prod your mouth with another spoonful of rice, and softly smiles before licking away a piece from the corner of your mouth. “You’re so cute.” He mumbles, pushing the boxes of food aside. “Turn around.”

“Do we have to?”

Large palms run up your thighs, squeezing as they find a way between your legs to the fleshy meat lined along the outsides of your groin. “You’re cute, but don’t test me.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･

Jeno’s been extra clingy ever since that day he had to leave earlier. You can’t say you hate it.. and maybe it gives you an excuse for why Haechan’s been completely avoidant, not looking at you once. You wanted to wave at him, say hi as you passed each other, but with thick biceps belted around you at all times you knew better.

He could just be ignoring you because of Jeno.

He could just be ignoring you because he doesn’t give a shit.

“Really do hate that I have to spend the next hour and a half without you.” Jeno sighs sadly, kissing your cheek. “Fucking hate Philosophy too.”

“It’s just one class.”

“One class that’s stealing precious time I could be spending with my girlfriend.”

There he goes again, that bullshit title he keeps using. It’s almost worse than his constant love bombs. “Second bells about to ring.” You mumble, shoving his arms off.

“Yeah yeah, I know you can’t wait to get away from me.” He pouts, leaning against the door frame, glancing behind you at the area he knows you often set up at. Eyes squinting as he observes one of your classmates. “I’ll be here when you’re done. Be good.”

Or else.

The silent haunting echo follows you to your seat, apprehensively setting your bag down with a subtle peak toward the door to make sure he’s gone. 

“How’s the research going?”

A deep voice startles you, jumping up and dropping your belongings. “Crap.”

“Ah, that’s my bad.” He crouches down before you’re even squatted halfway, long hands reaching to gather your brushes and pencils. “Was just asking how the papers going. I really think we should get together to make sure we’re both on the same page. I don’t want you to hate me if we get a bad grade..” 

“Get together?!” You splurt out abruptly, coughing on choked spit. “Outside of class??”

The thing is, Jeno didn’t really know about Jisung Park. Why would he? He’s not in this class.

He didn’t know that part of the reason you loved this class so much wasn’t because he’s not in it. No(although that helps). It’s because from the first day you noticed Jisung sitting quietly free-hand drawing beautifully, you wanted to compliment his sketches, get to know him better; ask if he’s always had an interest in art..

But you didn’t, instead you shyly hid your face and looked away whenever he’d glance around. Sure, maybe you happened to notice how attractive he is too, but that didn’t matter to you. It’s not like you had a crush on him or anything..

And it’s not like your stomach exploded with butterflies as everyone paired off for your final project for the semester, leaving you nervously taking steps back and forth looking for anyone available.

Jisung approached you first, asking quietly and shyly. ‘Do you have a partner yet?’

That’s how you ended up here, your norm for the last week being to sit by him during class so you could exchange ideas and work on your final project together. 

And that crush you didn’t have ended up becoming very very real. Jisung.. he’s nice, really nice. Genuine and thoughtful, he always asks how your days been, if you have any plans later on, tries to get to know you with curious and non-invasive questions.

It’s easy to bond over your love and appreciation for art, and he thought it was cool that you once dreamed of illustrating mangas(until capitalism and reality set in). He sparked light around the dark corners you hide in. Your secret, something only for you, something Jeno couldn’t ruin or touch..

“Yeah. You can come over to my place tonight? My parents both work late hours so we shouldn’t have any interruptions.”

An invite to his place, where you’d be alone. Only the two of you, no Jeno..

“Your place? Tonight?”

“Yeah? If that’s okay with you?” Jisung smiles apprehensively, reaching to scratch at his sideburn. “I’d like to keep my perfect GPA intact.. it’s okay if you can’t, I don’t mind completing the bulk of it myself.”

“No no, that’s not fair.” You wave him off, biting at your nail. “I’ll uhm, yeah—no, yeah, I’m free later. Write down your address.” Sliding him your notebook, you reach for your phone to text Jeno under your desk. This is for school, for your perfect GPA.. he needs to be understanding.

Jisung perks up and scribbles down where you can meet him after school, clapping his hands together. “I’ll set some snacks out for us, I’m sure we’ll be working hours into the evening.”

Hours into the evening.. Jeno won’t like that.

Jeno doesn’t like that. Immediately shooting down your messages with a flat out ‘no’.

It came down to begging, explaining to him on the way to your next class how important this extracurricular course is for your future internship applications, even your counselor said that. It’s not a good look if you only excel in your non-creative courses, unless you plan to apply for a job that requires zero social interaction and teamwork. 

‘Good luck with that.’ Your counselor mumbled, signing you up for this art class in the first place.

“The whole purpose of being here is for you to finish partnered work here.” Jeno snaps, shaking his head. “Who’s your partner anyway?! Why haven’t you mentioned this until now??”

“We only barely received the project yesterday!” You lie, looking at anything else but him. “My partner.. Hani!” Thinking fast you blurt out the first classmate you can think of, praying to yourself that Jeno doesn’t know her.

“Hani?” He repeats, seeming pleased to hear a girl's name. “And what time are you supposed to meet?”

It took further convincing, a little bit of bribery, maybe you skipped Yoga to suck him off in the bathroom. But it worked, Jeno seemed at ease after hearing that your classmate Hani was counting on this project to keep her grades up. Your scholarship requirements too, sure.

“Call me when you’re done.” He says, parking on another street nearby you’d given him directions to, just in case..

“Of course.. it might be late.”

Jeno grumbles, leaning over to kiss you until your lips feel bruised and tender. He kisses like it could be the last time he’ll ever see you, but that never makes you react. He always kisses like that..

“Love you.”

You nod, stepping out and waving him off, letting him know that Hani takes the bus home and you’ll have to wait a few minutes longer. He seems hesitant to drive off at first, only finally taking off out of the street when his dad calls him about something.

Phew.

Panic and fear get shoved down as you make your way to Jisung’s actual address. You shouldn’t be this nervous, it’s just a project..

With your crush, alone, together, only the two of you. That’s why you stand at the front door to his house for a while, shifting from foot to foot, playing with the strings of your backpack.

Jeno would be really mad if he found out about this. What would be worse? Lying? Or Jisung? There’s no way he would have allowed for you to come here alone, without him. Lying was your only option..

Taking a deep breath, you reach for the doorbell, gasping as it flies open immediately.

“You made it!” He smiles, toeing off his shoes, still wearing the same outfit from earlier. “I just got in myself, had to jump the backyard fence because I must have dropped my key, sorry. Were you waiting long?”

“Oh no.. it’s fine.” You mumble, passing through and removing your shoes quietly. He seems even taller now, walking next to him in nothing but socks. 

“You must be hungry, let’s raid the pantry real fast before heading to my room.”

His room, you’ll be alone in his room..

Jisung’s a couple of years younger than you, and it’s evident when you step inside of his bedroom and take in the different toys he has scattered about; moving around to throw his jacket over a pile of stuffed animals displayed in one corner.

“Shall we?” He says, motioning to sit at his desk, dropping the bags of chips and cookies he found. “I’ve already wrapped up the bulk of writing, and cited everything, we just have to go over key points for our presentation.”

“Oh, that’s great. Thank you for doing all of that.” You smile, sensing heat rise up to your cheeks. His parents must not use the air conditioning much..

He snorts breathily, shrugging. “You seem really busy, with your boyfriend and all..”

“He’s not my boyf—he’s,” trailing off, you shake your head and grab your notes. “Let’s focus on this so we can try to finish early.”

“You’re always with him..” Jisung sits up awkwardly, playing with his knuckles. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed anything. You’re right, let’s uhm, get to work.

To your surprise Jeno doesn’t blow up your phone with texts, and you think about his dad again. He never did tell you what happened that day.. he should share personal things with you if he expects you to start trusting him. To build some solid type of relationship with him. The skin around your nails practically screams and begs to be left alone as you bring your fingers up to your mouth and begin to bite at anything you can find. He should have texted you by now..

“Something wrong?” Jisung asks, ruffling his fluffy black hair. “You seem a little distracted.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“We’ve been working for two hours,” he nods, setting down his pen and organizing what you’ve finished so far. “Let’s take a break, I can really use one too.”

A break? Your eyes widen, following his figure as he stands and stretches his arms up, tight shirt lifting up his stomach halfway giving your curious gaze a real show. “Come on, our brains are probably in overdrive after a day of classes and now this, you should lay down for a bit.”

Lay down?!

Motioning to his bed, he smiles and directs you to follow with his chin. “Come on, I won’t bite.” He says sitting down, patting the empty space next to him.

Oh, but you might. 

Stealing one more glance at your phone, you set it screen down on his desk, getting up and pretending to yawn. “You’re right.. sometimes I don’t know when to stop.”

Jisung laughs lightly, falling back and letting out a long sigh. “Me too, my grades mean a lot to me. I’m trying to get an internship this summer at Lee Corp.”

“No way!” You say excitedly, staying sat up on his bed and leaning on your palm to look at him. “I am too! Which program are you going for?”

“Engineer of course, they pay the best out of everyone in the country. Did you read that Forbes article? Haechan’s father must be a genius.”

You hum, brushing off the comment about Haechan, he’s the last person you want to talk about right now. “I was thinking about Global Affairs.. I really think a lot of their apps could expand and excel in foreign countries.”

Jisung laughs, smiling up his eyes, clasping his hands together on his stomach. “Look at us trying to relax.. we still end up talking about work.”

“I guess you’re right.. I’m not the best at, uh, relaxing?”

Jisung sits up on his elbows, eyebrows lifted as he looks at you. “I could.. make some suggestions.”

“Uhhh..”

He lets out an awkward laugh, turning onto his side and scratching his neck. “Sorry, that was lame. It’s just uhm, since you said you don’t have a boyfriend, I’ve been thinking..”

Shit.

He sucks in his thick pink bottom lip, biting down nervously. “I’ve always thought you were real cute, but you’re always with that guy so I kept my distance.”

“You, y-you did?” You stammer, clearing your throat and sitting up straight. “Ah, that’s—that’s nice. I mean, thank you.”

Jisung sits up, long bangs falling into his eyes as he tilts and stares at you in a way you’ve never had anyone look at you. There’s softness in his gaze, exposing his teeth as he leans closer to your face, huffing under his breath. “I’m not good at this, but I’d really like to kiss you right now..”

Kiss?!? 

“Is that okay?” There’s a tremble in his voice, dipping in closer until your noses are less than an inch apart.

No. It’s not okay. You shouldn’t even be here right now. But isn’t it okay? Aren’t you in this relationship with Jeno against your will? Hasn’t Haechan been ignoring you for days? This could be your only chance at something normal.. someone who actually likes you for you.

Jisung’s heart looks damn near ready to break judging by the way his pout begins to droop, it’s instinct to rectify what you’ve caused that has you pressing forward; the first to brush your lips together. He lets a staggered breath free, moving to cup around your throat to deepen the kiss. It’s soft, nice, slow enough that you can process and absorb every small caress of your lips against his. 

“I really..” he sighs out a laugh, tapping the end of his nose to yours. “Could help you relax..”

You deserve this, right? Why even question it? You like him, he likes you, and a part of you fully expected(or wanted) this to happen.

“Okay..” 

Maybe the soft innocence radiating off of him is moreso the difference in your age. But there’s something about the way Jisung gently lays you down and places a pillow beneath your head. He kisses you again, and again, and again, slowly working your mouth open to allow his tongue to roam freely and explore. 

It’s nice and calm without overstimulating your arousal, not until his fingers trace along your throat, pulling back with a smile that asks for permission.

Assuming he expects more you squirm anxiously, helping him slide his hand lower down your stomach to the button of your jeans. “Can I?” He asks, again, always checking in to confirm you’re okay with his next move.

You help him by shimmying out of your jeans, allowing for his hand to dip inside of your underwear as you continue to kiss and arch up at the first graze of long thick fingers swiping between your folds. His hands are warm, movements fluid and practiced, collecting the wad of wetness at your entrance to rub over your clit and begin stimulating your nerves. You can’t help to think- this is how it’s supposed to be, getting to know your body first with soft strokes, feeling the different parts of you to learn what gets you off.

“Wanna eat you out.” Jisung whispers against your mouth, trailing two digits lower to press against your hole. “Wanna taste.”

You nod eagerly, much too eagerly, kicking your jeans off to the floor, lifting your hips to invite him inside. He rubs circles around your entrance teasingly, tapping a few times before pulling out to sit up on his knees and tug off his shirt. 

Jisung may be younger, but his body’s built nothing short of a man. Muscles line his stomach, arms firm and flexed as he pushes off his pants and climbs back onto the bed in nothing but a snuggly fit pair of boxer briefs. He pushes your top up under your breasts, hands large enough to hide the base of your stomach when they lay flat on top of you and begin to slide down to your underwear. “Like your panties..” he whispers, leaning down to trace the rose on your mound, making your hips twitch.

He likes them enough to not even take them off, laying down on his stomach to drag his nose down the damp seat of your panties. God Jeno would never— stop thinking about him. Stop saying what he’d do, he doesn’t exist. Jisung’s the one between your thighs, collecting your underwear to one side and taking a deep breath. “You’re just as pretty down here..” 

His deep voice makes your toes curl against the bed, bending your knees up to grant him more access. “Can I touch?”

Nodding eagerly, you lift your hips again for him to push your folds apart, groaning as his thumb presses to your clit. “Like it when I do that?”

“Yes.. use your mouth..”

Jisung groans, half whimpering, tucking his face lower between your thighs. Thick lips suction around your clit, sucking the nub between and flicking his tongue out. His slow polite manners dissipate the more he ruts against his bed and sucks around your bundle of nerves. “Taste as good as you look.” He murmurs, long tongue dragging down to your tight hole to lap inside. 

“You’re getting real wet.” He breathes out, cursing. Ducking back down to lick a fat stripe from your contracting wet hole to your clit. His tongue laves between your folds, spilling saliva and wetness across each, dipping his tongue in and out. He suckles on your clit, big hands splayed on your inner thighs pushing them further open to jam his tongue deeper inside.

You need more, fingers twitch midair before reaching into his hair and scratching at his scalp. “More!”

Jisung growls, shoving his face in until his nose digs against your bundle of nerves, panting against your opening with his tongue flicking against your inner walls.

He pulls back to glide two fingers inside, taking the chance to tug firmly on his scalp and shake your head. “Do y-you have a condom?”

Surprise paints his delicate face, appearing obscene with your arousal hanging from his chin. He nods quickly and jumps from the bed to slam open his bedside drawer and pull out a wad of protection. “I have a ton!” He scurries back onto the bed and grabs onto your knees, wide-eyed and dazed. “I mean.. do you want to?”

“Mhm..” you nod, sitting up to kiss up his neck, ripping the packet open and shoving your hand inside of his briefs.

You wish he would shut up just a little, favoring the breathy whines and whimpered moans he lets out when you finally wrap around his length and slide down the condom. 

Jisung kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip until it swells, licking across the fronts of your teeth. He lowers you back down comfortably and shoves his boxers down, length jumping up and slapping against his stomach. 

“Y-you’re not like..” Jisung stutters, laughing to himself as he positions to line his cock up to your cunt. “Like a virgin?”

This is why you wish he’d shut up, gritting your teeth before forcing a smile. “Of course not.”

“Ah, figured.. wanted to be sure.” He takes a deep breath and cups your hips, inching forward slowly. “If it hurts—“

“I’ll let you know.”

It stings a little once he’s sheathed in half deep, he’s big, most of all thick. But the pain feels familiar, something you crave now.. 

“Come on.” You encourage, lifting your hips to fuck the rest of his length inside. “Fuck me, come on.” 

Jisung gasps, long and choked, falling forward and catching himself by grabbing onto your shoulders. He watches your hips cant up for a minute, literally riding his cock, pussy slapping against his pelvis.

“Fuck, oh my God..” he croons, sounding out of breath already. 

“Fuck me!” You beg, clinging onto his waist to scratch your nails down his flat tight stomach. “Please please, fuck me.”

Jisung snaps, nodding furiously as he crawls forward on his knees and hooks your thighs over his hips, throwing his hips into action to ram inside of you faster.

“Yeah yeah, just like that!” You whine, fucking him back to make him match your speed. 

His hands reach for your waist, slamming in harder until you’re gurgling and writhing in his hold. Cock sliding in and out so wet and deep, the pain completely gone, only receiving pleasure with each meet of your hips. 

It’s still missing something, something that has you reaching between your bodies to pinch your clit between two fingers. Nodding and panting for him to keep going. “S-so close.”

His palms land flat around the sides of your head, gripping the bedding in tight fists, using the leverage to drop his hips down faster. Fuck his cock in deeper and harder.

The sight of him above you, pale, muscular, black hair in his face, it’s enough to drift your mind away somewhere else. Shutting your eyes as heat burns up from your gut to your chest. Clit gone numb from your ferocious rubs, you twitch and cry out. The squeeze slowing him down as you clamp around him and begin to cum.

“Yesyesyes!” Through your blurry vision you can see him crumbling on top of you. Forcing his cock in past your tight heat, if not for how pitchy his moans sing out you’d swear..

“Ah, I’m c-cumming! I’m cu-cumming!” Jisung’s face tightens up, kissing the backs of his teeth. Hips locked in place, cock twitching as he fills up the condom with warmth. He pants and hangs his head between his shoulders, hips circling on more time before pulling out slowly. An audible pop resounds once he’s emptied you, flopping onto the bed by your side, stripping the condom off to give his dick a break for a moment, he throws it aside and lays back catching his breath. “No better way to relax than that..”

You wish you could say the same, already seeking your nails to chew on. That couldn’t have been too long, right? You need to check your phone, Jeno could have surely hunted you down by now if you’d even taken longer than a minute to respond. Maybe he’s really trying to respect your boundaries for once. Either way, you need to get out of here.

Tip toeing on to his bedroom floor, you step back into your clothes, quietly gathering your things to not wake him. Waking him could lead to conversation and more time you’d have to spend here..

There’s something you can only describe as guilt infiltrating your mostly pleased thoughts. Sneaking out of Jisung’s house was easy, scribbling off a note quickly that you’d see him at school later.

Jeno could be waiting outside where he dropped you off, you told him not to.. but he worries about you a lot. He’s always worried about you, it’s nice actually. It’s nice how much he cares about you, hell.. he checks in on you more than even your own parents. 

God. What the hell are you thinking? Who cares if he worries about you. He’s a fucking psycho is what he is. Why are you even thinking about him right now? After everything that’s happened.

Jisung’s really nice, he’s really smart, seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Yet Jeno.. Jeno feels like an infection you can’t find the cure for at this point. He’s everywhere, every time you shut your eyes, whenever you wake up, he’s the first person you think about, the first person you want to see.

This is ridiculous, you’re just tired, that’s it. Too tired to wait for Jeno to come get you. It’ll be best to take the bus back to your studio today, he’d probably make you go home with him and keep you up way too late. His bed may be nicer than yours, sure. His bathroom an actual personal bathroom, and as your ‘boyfriend’ he always makes sure you’re well fed. The grumble your stomach lets out doesn’t go unnoticed, ignoring it as you pick up your phone to shoot off a text message.

‘Really tired. Heading home. See you in the morning.’

Reading over your text before sending it, you chew at dry skin around your nails, dropping your hand quickly as if Jeno’s slapped it down again. He always does, reprimands you whenever you bite your nails or rip the dead skin off with your teeth. He does it because he cares about you, right? 

Fuck him. Seriously fuck that asshole.

Pressing your thumb down earnestly, you send the text and shut your phone off, bringing your thumb up to your lip to rip off an annoying piece of skin.

“Shit.” You hiss, shaking off your hand. More came off, opening a wound and stinging around the cuticle. Shining with red blood that rushed to fill up the divots around your nail bed.

Jeno would probably glare at you, raise your thumb to his mouth to suck on. He’d make it hurt less..

Brushing those thoughts aside, you pocket your fingers and tighten your jacket, making your way toward the nearest bus stop. He won’t like that you turned off your phone, he won’t like that you took public transport home instead of waiting for him, he doesn’t like anything really.

Except you..

It’s been a long while since you’ve taken the bus home, and it’s late, mostly empty. It’s hard to not notice a couple curled up in one of the two seaters, laughing at something on a phone together. Sometimes you watch things with Jeno, and you try to keep your amusement at bay, you try to emit nothing other than misery, but it’s become something you secretly look forward to these days..

Why do you keep thinking about him? What if Jisung’s texting you? Glancing at your blacked out phone screen, you wonder if he is, he could be.. Jisung seems to like you. He seems normal.. 

Normal could be nice. 

Normal.

Why can’t you and Jeno be normal? What if you are?

Coming home alone without him by your side seems odd now. This isn’t normal anymore, this isn’t your normal anymore.

Jeno is your normal. 

As you crawl into bed and take a deep sigh, you can’t help but to wrap yourself up tighter, curl up into a more fettle helpless position, and you can’t stop the tears that erupt from your eyes until they blur your vision and make your head pound. 

He should be here, he should be here to keep you safe and warm, but he’s not, and nothing feels normal anymore. ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ 

One thing about Jeno you’ve noticed is that he is always on time. He’s extremely punctual, and if he’s not, he always, without fail, will make sure to alert you with a call or text. 

Today’s different. 

Because even when you turned your phone on this morning and rubbed sleepy dry tears from your swollen eyes, no notifications from Jeno appeared.

Jisung had sent a few messages, thanking you for a great time and hoping you made it home safe. The last text you sent Jeno hadn’t even been opened, and his read receipts have always been turned on for as long as you’ve known him..

He’ll show up outside of your complex at 8 o’clock on the dot as usual. Maybe he forgot to charge his phone(that’s unlike him). 

But 8am comes around, and his car doesn’t round the corner, and minutes tick by, and he doesn’t show up. Each glance at your phone screen feels more like a plea for something, silently begging for a text or call to appear. Something to indicate he’s on his way, maybe traffic is heavier than usual today..

‘Hey. I’m waiting outside.’

You never add emojis. Keep messages as short and simple as you can. It would come across as too nice, too weird given the dynamic of your relationship, but that doesn’t stop your thumb from hovering over a smiley face before hitting send. Shaking it off, you watch the minutes go by, nursing the cut up cuticle you ripped off last night between your lips. If you don’t leave soon to catch the bus you’ll be late.

One more minute, you’ll wait one more minute before running to catch the next bus. 

‘Is everything okay?’

What if he got into an accident? Did Jeno even make it home yesterday after dropping you off? What if he’s in a hospital bed somewhere, disfigured, all alone without anyone to keep him company? What are you even thinking right now?!

It doesn’t calm your nerves a bit that he hasn’t opened a single text message you’ve sent. Doesn’t help as you cram onto a crowded bus and worry your thumb down to raw skin, biting every little piece you can get your teeth on. Doesn’t help that you can’t stop glancing at your phone, envisioning each terrible outcome.

He’ll be at school, he’ll be waiting at your lockers and walk you to class, sit by your side as usual. Throw out an assload of compliments that piss you off, stare at you and play with your hair. It’s fine, everything is fine, he’s a good driver. How could he possibly get into an accident? Jeno? Never.

But he’s not waiting at your lockers, even as you stand around longer peering up and down the hallway for him to show up. You can’t ask anyone if they’ve seen him either, it’s not like you know anyone to ask.

He’s not in your first class, doesn’t show up for second period, or third, and your phone never once dings with a new notification.

Even as your names are called out to grab attendance and you silently pray he’ll appear at the classroom door out of breath, finding your surprised gaze on him. A huge smile will stretch his cheeks into a bundle of wrinkles, eyes disappearing when he meets yours.

But that doesn’t happen, and in a panic you send off a slew of text messages, biting your nails down to nothing but raw skin.

‘Is everything okay Jeno? Did your phone die?’

‘I’m at school. Should I meet you for lunch somewhere?’

‘Are you sick?’

There’s no way to explain the fear clawing at your chest, the rumble in your stomach, the ache that pangs through your heart. It’s not because you care about him, he doesn’t deserve that from you, not even out of human decency. But maybe, just maybe, you are worried, because Jeno’s face has become such a normal part of your daily life. His light touches, a gaze that never loses sight of you, a powerful aura that wraps you up behind an invisible shield that makes you feel safe. As insane as it feels to even contemplate, you can’t help it.

He’s a disease, streaming through your blood, destroying all of your white blood cells and leaving you with no option other than to rely on him to survive. Some may even consider that love, if you think about it.

He sought you out in the first place, didn’t he? Took notice of something special in you that clearly no one else does. Like right now as you walk to your locker, head hung low, no one cares. No one’s looking at you, no one notices you or sees you. They always see you when Jeno’s by your side. He’s the bright light that illuminates around you, and you? You’re nothing. 

Jeno made you something though. He made you his.

How hasn’t he replied yet?!? What the hell is his problem! You’d scream if you could, that’s how desperate you feel, not even a god damn text? Nothing?!

You could always leave.. take the bus to his house. It’s possible he is severely injured after all, his parents might not even have a clue. It’s the least you can do, at least inform them that their son’s on his deathbed because of a horrific accident. Because that’s the only logical explanation you can fathom for why he hasn’t attempted to contact you even once since yesterday. It’s your fault too, if he really got into a bad car wreck after dropping you off. Yeah, you should definitely take the rest of the day off, it’s the right thing to do..

Adding speed to your steps, you rush toward your locker to grab your bag, prying it open quickly and nearly missing the folded note that slips out. A note.. with very familiar handwriting. A note in your locker after all this time, exactly like the ones you used to receive..

‘It’s been awhile hasn’t it angel? I haven’t felt the need to speak to you like this in such a long time now it seems. We have grown so close now, there are times I catch your gaze wandering away from me. I realize in those moments how much I’ve truly given up for you.

I lost my friends, carry guilt on my back of getting caught; that Haechan will find the courage to snitch me out.. The chance of my father disowning me for ruining his one chance to free himself from this impoverishment. In those moments I know you look away silently praying for someone to save you, when really, it’s been me all along.

I’ve only ever wanted to save you because you deserve better than this. I’m waiting for you, I know you’re smart enough to find your way.

-Your Teddy Bear’

This has to be a sick joke, you fully believe this has to be a sick joke; but your lip twitches, your tongue presses to the fronts of your teeth, and you can feel moisture itching at the backs of your eyes.

Jeno hadn’t picked you up today, he never sent a message to explain why. The last he’d spoken with you was on the car ride over to Jisung’s, and even then you never said much. He hadn’t said much either if you really think back, stay silent for most of the drive.

The last place you want to revisit is room 0423 after that day.

‘I’m waiting for you.’ 

Stoic and zombie-like your feet drag through the halls finding your way to the abandoned sector of the school. Because he’s waiting, and like a fool you’ve been waiting for him too.  

You couldn’t process a thought, mindless as you found your way in front of the door that read 0423 before you. At this point there isn’t much else Jeno can pull to surprise you. Probably planning a setup of some sort to commemorate the day he met you, since it matters to him so much.

“Don’t act shy and stand out there forever, I’m waiting.” His voice echoes through the small opening, leaving the door cracked enough for you to know to come inside.

Everything appears to be the same as you remember, other than the giant teddy bear Jeno gifted you sitting at the teacher's table, his back facing you from where he sits on one of the student desks at the front row. 

“Took you long enough to show up. I expected you’d be sick to your stomach without me, buried with your face in a porcelain bowl. Although, I must say, your messages have been quite entertaining.” Jeno begins to speak, his back muscles flexing as he laughs sarcastically. His neck bends forward, nodding to himself. “I won’t lie, I didn’t expect even that much from you. I dare say, you seemed frantic, worried even..”

“Why did you want me to come back here?” You ask softly, inching closer to where he sits. Jeno listens to the sound of your sneakers drag against the linoleum floor, he listens to your calm breath, he listens to your nails scratch by on each desk you pass, and he smiles stiffly.

“You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?” Jeno’s teeth grit, fisting a remote control in his grip. He stands up abruptly in a way that startles you. Instinctively lifting your fists to cover your face as you gasp. Rolling his eyes, he grips onto a curtain near the corner covering up an old school television, and he turns to face you. 

If looks could kill, you know that you’d be laid out on the floor bleeding out right now. He bores into you with a laser sharp gaze, slicing through your chest with a level of intensity he’s kept calm for weeks. 

“Answer me.”

Jeno’s throat shakes, his knuckles saturated in white, cuts of blood red and hues of pink from punching who knows what or who.. and for a quick second you think he may cry as he rapidly blinks away moisture that’s teetering at the brims of his eyes.

“No Jeno.. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“I’ve never liked when you lie.” He nods, sniffling loud and hitting play. “You always look dead behind the eyes when you lie, did you know that? Because even you know that deep down inside no matter how much you hate me, lying isn’t your style.”

The black tv screen illuminates, a dim video of sheets that make your eyes squint, familiar..

“Is that—“ the camera zooms out before you can even speculate, cutting off your breath. “N-no—there’s no wa—“

Jeno sneers, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes and nose. He turns the volume up until your pleasured moans resound throughout the classroom, cascading down the walls and your frame like lashings. The camera doesn’t bother to focus on Jisung once, zoomed in on your face, your mouth hung open, the lines formed between your eyebrows.

“H-how..” bile rises up your throat, stepping back until your butt meets the ledge of a desk. There’s no way Jeno could have known, how HOW could he—

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says smoothly, the tears dried up and gone. Spinning on one foot to face you and waved the remote in your direction. “You thought he really liked you, right?”

“N-no it’s n-not that—“

“What did I tell you about lying?” He grite, placating you with a cold hard stare. “I could have saved us the trouble of dealing with any of this. I knew from the second I saw you talking to him in class, I knew from that moment. You looked so happy.” He scoffs, head shaking, pausing the video. “You looked so fucking happy and hopeful, the same way you looked when I saw you talking to Haechan in the library before.”

He takes a deep dramatic breath, tossing the remote aside, arms free to cross over his chest and lock you in place with one of the most fear-inducing looks you’ve ever seen. “You never look at me like that. You never even tell me that you love me, and you pretend..” Jeno shifts back, turning his body away from you. “You pretend to hate me.”

Everything inside of you screams to say something, to tell him that he’s wrong, that you do hate him. But there’s that pain in your chest again, the one that feels worse than any pain you’ve ever felt, worse than when Haechan moved away and slowly forgot about you. Worse than when he ignored you after you had sex..

It’s a pain that only Jeno can pull out of you. It’s denial, hate, love, anger, fear, obsession, worry, and right now, that pain fills you with terror. He knows, and more than worrying about what he’ll do to you, you can’t stop the tears from flowing out at the thought of losing him. 

“I-I’m sorr—“

“Stop.” He snaps quickly, fully turning away and motioning to the classroom stock closet. “You can come out now.”

Through your bleary vision, you see him come out, big smile, broad and tall. Cocky as he clasp hands with Jeno and shoots you a wink over his shoulder. “You’ll send me a copy too, right?” 

“Get the fuck out.” Jeno jeers, crashing his shoulder into Jisung’s side. “Good job though, the money should be in your account.”

“Yeah of course man, anytime.” He smirks before turning to face you, winking as he makes way to pass by you. “And you, I really did have a good time last night.” He leans it quickly to whisper. “If this weird shit you have going on doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”

“Please…please!” You stammer, feeling overwhelmed and overheated the longer you have to listen to yourself get fucked through all of this. Every bit of confusion struggles to clear as your mind rages and grows heavy, painfully beating through your skull. “Turn it off! Please!”

Jeno snickers, ripping the TV’s power cord out. “Not that you deserve peace of mind right now.” He mumbles, petting the teddy bear he gifted you on your anniversary. “What were you thinking?”

“I..” 

What were you thinking??? Obviously you were thinking that your classmate who you’ve secretly had a small liking for may have a small liking for you in return. There’s nothing else to say, you fell right into Jenoms trap, you always will..

“Don’t answer that.” He says, turning toward you with an unrelenting penetrating gaze. “I know what you were thinking. I always know what you’re thinking.”

He steps closer, trapping you against the desk holding your weight up. Weakness takes over your ankles and knees, dropping head head to hang, too ashamed to even look at him. More embarrassed than ashamed.. why should you feel ashamed?

“You thought a guy like that could seriously like you? What’s it going to take for you to learn this lesson?” Jeno continues, voice cutting deep and sharp. “No one here will ever like you except me. Jisung may pity fuck you out of boredom, but he’d never bring a girl like you home. He’d never take you serious, he’ll never give a real fuck about you.”

“T-this whole time..” you stutter, biting down on your lip. “You k-knew this whole time.”

“Pft.” He bends in to meet you eye level, still standing straight to loom over your slouched frame. “I’m always watching you.”

Jeno’s tongue clicks, whistling lowly, taking a step back to snap his fingers in a sarcastic manner. “You know who else could give a shit about you? Haechan.” He nods, finding your red wet eyes. “Haechan who hasn’t acknowledged your existence ever since that day.”

“N-no..” tremors vibrate up your throat, gripping onto the desk beneath you to keep yourself up. “There’s no way..”

“I had a sliver of hope, you know?” He sighs, rubbing at his temples. “I thought maybe you finally understood that Haechan could give a fuck about whatever it is you used to have. That stupid childhood friendship you cherish and hold onto still.” He pauses to look at you, blinking glassy eyes away. “I can’t trust you, even after all that I do to prove to you that you belong with me.”

“This—this isn’t—“

“Haechan—he’ll never love you, he’ll never see you as anything more than some poor loser from his past.” He interrupts, hissing between his teeth. “Jisung, even fatter chance. I’ve explained this to you so many times now. When will you get it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?!” You screech, louder than you even thought possible. Tears rush towards your chin, digging your nails into the cheap old desk wood. “Why me?!?”

Jeno scoops your face, thumbing your wet cheeks softly, almost gently. His own eyes shake, pouring out from the corners. “Because.” He breathes in deep through his nose, wet voice coming out shattered. “I love you.”  

I love you I love you I love you. Those three words repeat over and over again, a face full of anger turning into one you can hardly recognize anymore, fingers dug into your cheeks as if he can somehow force you to believe him this way. It hurts to watch more than anything, as Jeno crumbles and falls to his knees, arms wrapped tight around your hips screaming manically that he loves you.

He. Loves. You.

Haechan doesn’t love you, and a guy like Jisung could never love you..

He’s right. Jeno’s right. He’s been right from the very beginning. You could have listened, avoided all of this? The normalcy you wished to have with him, whatever that could have been.. if it ever could have been.

“Why won’t you love me?!” He sounds broken, distraught, hopeless. The hug around your lower half burns, feels like you’ll never be free, you’ll never get away from him.

You don’t want to get away from him anymore.

“I love you, Jeno..” you can hear your voice empty of life as it exits your lips. The image before you too blurry to even make out past your tear-filled gaze. “I love you.”

The grip on your hips loosens, tears calming to a round of sniffles, he stops shaking and slowly lifts his face to look at you. “Say that again.”

Cold, emotionless, demanding. That’s the tone you’re used to..

“I love you.”

Jeno stands back up, quickly cleaning his eyes off with the heel of his palms. A large smile altering the anger and sadness he just displayed seconds ago. “My Teddy.”

He rambles, words slurred together as you fail to process anything that’s just happened. Could this have ever been normal? Or is this simply who Jeno is? He’s obsessive, crazed, dominant and deranged. 

“I know you love me.” He sighs happily, tugging you in close and rubbing along your spine. “I knew when you made Jisung put on a condom.”

The way spit clogs up your throat at that makes you choke on your next breath, Jeno’s laugh rumbling against your chest as he pats your back to help you. “I thought so after you made Haechan use one, but this really confirmed it. You wanted to hurt me, wanted to make me jealous..” his voice lowers, shifting to whisper in your ear. “But deep down inside you know I’m the only one you want to fuck you full of cum.”

There’s no point in questioning anything, you know he hates when you do that. You know that he has ways to find out things that you can’t begin to understand. “I know baby, that’s why I had to replace your prescription too. Those mints you always popped in your mouth after eating lunch. It’s cute how you play these little mind games with me..”

Mints?! The birth control you started taking after.. that first time. You knew he was evil, mentally deranged, but fucking your with medication?! 

“M-my mints??” You ask in disbelief, having to bite down on the backs of your teeth to stop your jaw from hanging.

Jeno waves a finger at you, tapping your nose. “I don’t believe in that birth control shit.”

And there it is, the same Jeno you became familiar with in this very room. The same one that turns your dreams into nightmares, that makes you look over your shoulder constantly, the one that’s imprisoned you in this inescapable hell. 

“It’s cute how you still think you can out-smart me.” He says sternly, pinching your chin. “But nothing about your constant lying is cute.”

He leans in close, eyes wide open taking in your despair, licking up the tears that seem endless. Everything, all of this, you were never going to win. Winning was never an option.

“You’re so special to me.” Sucking at the droplets dangling from your chin, he nips up your jaw to swallow your earlobe. “So special and real, remind me so much of him. Who he used to be.”

Because that’s really what this all boils down to. You never willingly fell for Jeno’s charms the way everyone else does, he had to force this, and even then you didn’t give. You held on to the last bits of yourself that remained raw and real, you chose to love and accept who you are even when he diminished your worth. And that drove him crazy, tickled him in places he forgot existed, reignited those memories of who his best friend once was.

“I love you.” Jeno repeats, whispering just for you, not that anyone could even hear your screams here from room 0423. No one heard you the last time, no one helped, no one cares.

“I love you too.” The tears that pour down from your upper lip could come across as tears of joy. From an outsider's point of view this could look like the happiest moment of your life. Sharing confessions of love with your boyfriend, a handsome young man who can only be described as obsessed with you, but they aren’t happy tears; and as Jeno grins, squatting down to scoop you up, you have to swallow the rancid bile rising up your throat. Laid back down on the same desk he first had his way with you on, the same place he made you shut up and take it.

It’s crazy and out of body when Jeno’s palms drag down your sides, unbutton your top and reaches under your back to unhook your bra. He’s done it many times, it’s muscle memory at this point removing your clothes. Each small drag of his fingertips feel more chilling, crashing waves of shock throughout your system. Even as he strips you nude and licks down your inner thighs you lay there stoic, gaze unwavering from where he stands between your legs taking time to stroke over your figure.

“What’re you thinking about teddy?” He coos, kissing along the tender skin lining your inner thigh. “You look like a lot is going on inside that pretty head..”

What are you thinking? You’re not thinking much of anything. Unable to process a singular thought as you watch him bend in and kiss down the center of your sternum, trailing down to your navel. There’s nothing else you can say right now, nothing else you want to say as tears collect and spill over, running down to your ears. 

“I missed you, I missed you so much.”

Jeno slowly cranes his head up to find your tear-filled gaze, he slowly reaches to cup your face, slowly smiles. It all seems too slow in comparison to the breakdown you’re having. Shaking down to the tips of your fingers and toes, body wracked with sobs as he sits you up and thumbs at your wet cheeks.

“Did you sweetheart? You missed me?” 

“Y-yes!” You cry out watery, throwing your arms around his waist to pull him in close between your thighs. “You left me, you didn’t come. You always pick me up, you’re always there.”

Jeno falls silent, basking in your misery, savoring the wash of success that rains down on him. He’s broken you, dropped each piece of the puzzle only to reassemble it the way he wants. Broken, fixed, he did that, made you his and only his. His hands reach under your top, stroking up your spine and cooing in your ear. “I’m always there, I’ll always be there.”

That’s his promise, that he’ll always be there for you. He’ll always watch out for you, even if it’s not in the traditional romantic way you’d dreamt of as a child. It’s still special, you’re still special to him. And that’s enough, that’s really enough. Because your body calms down, and your nose finds comfort in his clean scent, eyes falling shut as you begin to relax under his touch.

He straightens out to kiss your cheeks, smooth your hair away from your face and take in the sadness streaked across your iris. It’s sadness with a hint of hope, a hint of something he’s never noticed before. You’re finally looking at him like he means something to you, and that makes Jeno’s chest swell. Heart beating rapidly as he leans in to catch your lips and suck on each until they blister under his bites.

He never kisses you softly when you’re alone, and maybe you like that. He’s passionate and rough, takes control of your mouth and tastes through every little crevice inside. He always tastes good and lingers on your tongue for hours throughout the day, but you like that. You need to feel him, smell him, taste him, belong to him. You need him to remind you of who you belong to when you start to stray and seek attention from anyone else.

“Would you hurt me?” You asked him before, and as your eyebrows crush together while kissing him you have to ask again. Because Haechan hurt you, he hurt you so bad. Jisung hurt you, he hurt you more than he’ll ever know. But Jeno.. he can’t hurt you. If he ever hurt you, there’s no way to predict what you’d do..

“Only if you hurt me.” He says in a serious tone, pulling back to look in your eyes. “You won’t, not anymore. You love me.”

“I—I do, I love you.”

It’s final, it’s your love story. Here in room 0423, the school you worked hard to get into, the scholarship you stayed up late day and night putting in extra credit for. All of that led to this moment in time with Jeno. Led you to your destiny, to the man that loves you.

“I know teddy, I’ve always known.” Taking your hands, he kisses down your fingers from the tips, spending extra time on your knuckles, turning them to drag his lips over your palms. “I have plans for us, our future.”

Plans. Future. Whatever that means.. you’re just happy to be here with him. To let him place your hands on his cock, laugh quietly at the way your fingers can barely wrap around him. “You’d never ask me to wear a condom.” He mumbles. He’s proud of that, says it in a boisterous tone.

“Never.” You agree solemnly. 

That’s the best part of this victory. You were never a simple one time fuck, you were always meant to be more. He had to break you down beyond whatever voided space sex could fill, had to ensure your only need in life should ever be him.

It’s easier to lift your legs up and prop your feet on the desk, fully exposing your core. You still whimper and hide your face, still give off a facade of not wanting it. 

He wants you to watch, see every second of him filling you up from inside out. To know that your body belongs to him, that he made you this way. He slaps your thighs to get you to hold yourself open, grabbing onto the base of his cock to stroke. Free hand finding your hair to ball up in his grip and keep your neck bent down. “Want my cock sweetheart?”

Jeno shakes you by the tuft of hair in his hold, nodding your head up and down. “I know the small little dicks you let fuck you weren’t shit.”

The way your hips stutter at that and wet arousal bubbles from your hole makes his cock twitch, inching closer to pick up a dollop of your slick, spreading it up to your clit with the tip of his length.

Thankful for the rubber sole of your shoes keeping your feet in place, you moan, biting it down still out of habit. His cock is nice, thick, covered in large projected veins. The fat pink tip dips in past your clenched hole, forcing a gushing wet sound to echo throughout the classroom. It should be humiliating but your body says otherwise, squeezing out more of your arousal with each teasing prod of his cock.

He plays with you like that for a while, to get you desperate and needy the way he likes. Cockhead probbing in and out enough for the mass of his bulbous tip to disappear inside of you. 

“J-Jeno..”

That’s it, that’s what he likes to hear. That shattered little way you say his name. He bends in again to lick your cheek clean, dragging his lips to your ear. “Don’t take your eyes off my cock, if you do I won’t be nice.”

That’s how he talks to you, none of that lovey dovey shit when you don’t actually want it. He talks to you like you’re dumb, like you need to be told what to do, and sometimes you do. Times like these when you relinquish all control of yourself and let him turn you into a puppet, you need to be told to speak and listen, to watch and enjoy. He’s good at that, at making you feel small when you need to.

Weakly nodding, you scoot back to get a better grip on the backs of your upper thigh, hold yourself fully open for him. It’s commemorative being here like this again, on this desk, watching him begin to slowly push his fat girth in. 

His hands travel down to hold your cunt open, making it stretch even more as you take and take. It always hurts a little bit trying to take all of his length at once, a good hurt, the type the tingles from the end of your spine to your brain. Watching it split you open this up close makes the pain even more surreal, drooling from your mouth like a starved animal. Pussy drooling around his cock the more he buries in, skin pulled taut around the thick shaft.

“Do you see?” Jeno says deep and raspy, pushing in more than half of his mass already. He fingers your clit for a minute, watching your hole convulse around him. “See how damn good you take it baby? You’re so good for me.”

“Unnghhh..” you wanna kick your legs out, throw yourself on him, wrap your arms around his neck. You have to wait, be patient and watch the rest of his size push in. “S-so big.”

“Was made for you.” He says clearly, through the fog clouding your ears. “Was made to fuck you teddy, that’s why I feel so good inside of you. We’re perfect for each other.”

Hearing that makes you brain melt, dropping your head to hang only for Jeno to wrap around your throat and lift your head up, burning you with his fierce gaze.

“When you kissed Haechan,” his hands constraint around your neck, jerking your head to look at him. “Was your body still screaming for me? Is that why you missed me?”

When he says he knows everything about you he really means it. Down to the infestation of emotions crushing your soul everyday. He knows you’ll never be able to recover from what he’s put you through, you’ll always be addicted, crawling like a fiend for the next hit.

“You were thinking of me, that’s it right? With your lips pressed tightly up against his skin.” He says in the most condescending tone, dragging the tips of his fingers up your jaw while keeping a tight clasp around your throat. “Was he even worth the fuck?”

In the end, he wasn’t, your eyes tell Jeno everything he needs to know. The ache and lust, pangs of guilt muddled between. “Did he fuck you like this?” 

The rest of his length sinks in, thrusting in the fat base of his cock ruthlessly, nearly losing your balance if not for the chokehold he has you in. “He’d never fuck you like this, not the way you need. Nobody ever will.”

To drive it home he pulls out completely, making your pussy gape wide open and dribble a wad of wetness out that spills onto the classroom floor. You want to agree with him, tell him that he’s right, that he’s the only one that will ever fulfill your needs now, coughing and blubbering your whimpers as you try to inhale. He fucks into you like a rabid feral wolf, plunging his cock in and out all the way to hear your gurgled scream. It hurts it hurts it hurts, it hurts so fucking good.

The more animalistic he becomes, the more your skin drips with sweat, straining to keep yourself in this position on the desk. Legs more like jelly as your feet begin to slip and your ass slides forward. Jeno only pummels into you faster, determined to rip through your womb, leave a mark on your cervix. 

He grunts wildly, releasing your neck abruptly to wrap around your waist and cup your ass right as you nearly fall off the desk. Each thrust inside feels more erratic than the last, diving his cock in deeper than you’ve ever felt anything reach. He’s relentless, growling through it all, exerting power and anger as he hoists you up by your ass and your legs wrap around his hips limply.

“Fuck my baby into you.” He grunts furiously, throwing your body up and down on his cock. Hand prints bloom on your throat, dropping your head back to let out a howling moan, crying out for only Jeno to save you now. For Jeno to do whatever he wants with you.

Your cries has him laying you back on the desk, needing to see for himself how broken and pathetic you look. Hauling your thighs to wrap around him securely to not lose an inch of warmth blanketing his length. He pounds in balls deep, the clap of his sack meeting your ass resounding throughout the room wet and loud, making your legs tremble with each barreling thrust.

“Yeah? Fuck you full of my kids.” He growls, reaching for your shoulders to really lose it on you. Jerking back up the desk by each violent smack of his hips crashing down on you. It’s the crazed look in his eyes that hurdles you back into the last time, catching the faded sound of your pleading, of your denial. Screaming out no no! Over and over again, only for him to ignore you, have his way and ruin you for anyone else.

“P-please—“ you cry, squeezing around his meaty girth as much as you’re able to, feet dangling bonelessly behind him. “P-please, make me y-yours.”

It could have been this way last time, wanting him to have you instead of begging him to stop. It could have been normal, but the two of you were never destined for that. You were meant to be his as much as he was made to be yours. The wet smack of his balls turns messy, the looming broad frame mounting you losing his composure as you look up at him and more tears trail down your cheeks. 

“You always look prettiest when you cry.” Jeno grits out, falling down against you to slam home a few more jerky thrusts. Cock spurting out enough cum to surely knock you up, pushing it in deep with each digging swivel of his hips and he grabs onto your chin and laps your hot cheek clean of tears.

“Might have to keep getting you pregnant after this..” he mumbles, kissing the swell of your lips. “Fuck your ass in the mean time while you’re knocked up. I know how my teddy likes it..”

It’s hot and sticky between your bodies, nodding slowly at what he says, you suck on his thumb until both of you have calmed and caught your breath.

He’s not just inside of you, he’s seeping from your pores, infiltrating your nervous system, tearing you open from inside out. Each exhausted breath he takes lines up to yours, blinking simultaneously, twitching through the aftershocks of your orgasm at the same time. He’s yours, and you are his. One soul, one heart, one love combining you.

“I love you.” He pants, reaching between your sweaty bodies to smooth his palm over your extended stomach, bulging out with his cock lodged in so deep. “I love us.”

Jeno did more than ruin your life. He destroyed everything you’ve worked hard for. Shattering your hopes and dreams, demolishing any type of independence you strived to achieve, he stripped all those dreams away. 

He’s your new dream. 

“I love you too.” 

He hums, shifting to bracket your head with his biceps, littering gentle kisses across your wet tear-stained cheeks. “I know teddy, I know.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･

There are many ways you envisioned the future. Flying cars, trains that can get you from one side of a state to another at the speed of light, maybe even actual superheroes.

You can even recall sitting side by side with Haechan reading Uzumaki after the fight you had that brought you into each other’s lives in the first place. If you hadn’t wanted to read that damn manga so bad, if you had just shown up at the comic book store any other day. He had sat there with you, thigh pressed to yours, bangs too long and shabby, flicking up with each blink. 

You thought it was nice, to like a boy, to have a crush. It was nice to go home and giggle while brushing your teeth, sent off to dream after your mom tucked you in. Haechan had appeared, the Haechan he’d grow up to be someday. The Haechan you wanted him to be someday, but the thing about dreams is they’re silly. 

“I don’t believe in dreams.” Jeno says behind you, zipping up the back of your dress. “There’s more power in manifestation.”

But dreams are manifestations if you think about it, and while you dreamt of the future with Haechan, you remember it had been just like Uzumaki. 

Spirals had begun to sprout up in the small town around you, driving everyone insane. Infecting each inch of surface and land, and you, you reached for Haechan as he escaped the swarm of spirals. You screamed, shouted, pleaded for him to grab a hold of your hands and save you.

And then you woke up, sitting up in your childhood bed feeling a sense of dread. 

“I manifested you.” Jeno kisses your nape, fixing your hair into place. “My Teddy.”

No. He didn’t. That’s what you want to say, to let him know. He didn’t manifest you, you let him in years ago when Haechan stood there in your dream. Watched you get swallowed up by the spirals, the exact same way he watched Jeno swallow you whole. He did nothing then, he did nothing now, exactly like your dream.

It’s been a week now since you last went to class. A week now since you moved out of your studio apartment, Jeno reminding you that ‘That shithole is no place for my soon-to-be wife to live.’ as he drove you to a new apartment. Furnished, never lived in, a great view of the city, and two bedrooms. 

‘Until I’ve saved up enough for a house, this will be perfect for our little family.’

He kisses your forehead and held you close, admiring the scenery outside of your bedroom window. ‘You’ll never have to worry about anything again.’

Don’t ask questions, don’t worry, just trust him.

Because he knows you’d never handle the truth without a fight. The anonymous threats he holds over Haechan’s father’s head, the thousands of dollars he’s set aside just to get you away from your childhood friend. It’s all been a part of his plan, and thankfully it worked. Of course it did, everything works out for Jeno.

“We won’t stay out too late.” Jeno smiles, reaching over to the passenger seat to tweak your chin. “You look so fucking cute in that costume.”

“I feel fat.” You mumble, poking at your exposed stomach.

“Don’t start.” He tuts, slapping your hand away. “You look like my fluffy cute teddy.”

You really do. Wearing fluffy round ears on your head, fuzzy tan brown bralette and matching shorts with a puffed tail attached. Jeno held up the costume with a huge smile, tossing it your way only a few hours ago and letting you know to get ready for a Halloween party tonight. 

His costume seemed much more simple, nothing more than a Michael Meyers face mask and his usual attire. Tight black tee, fitted dark wash jeans, combat boots, studded leather belt. 

You look really good too Jeno. 

That’s what you wanted to say, especially after the last few weeks of falling asleep in the same bed together. You really really really wanted to say it, to tell him he looks hot, sexy, devastatingly attractive.

You say nothing though, following along with his arm around your shoulder through a throng of partygoers dancing around in their fun costumes. Fairies, iconic characters, Barbies, Bratz Dollz, cops and robbers. It’s fun really, your first Halloween party, your first Halloween party with your boyfriend.

“Water?” He hands you a cup of clear liquid, ignoring the bottles of alcohol lined up atop the kitchen counter of whoevers house this is. 

“Thanks.”

He nods, directing you to a long winding staircase leading you up to an enormous hallway entrance. Rich people of course, luxurious decor, expensive paintings, every inch of this place spotless surely thanks to a 24 hour live-in maid service.

“There’s still one last thing I need to fix for you.”

Jeno walks backward, facing you with that blank faced mask on, arms prominent and flexed in the confines of his tight shirt. “That’s why we’re here Teddy.”

What could that even mean? One last thing to fix for you. Nothing can be fixed anymore.

“Come here baby.” It’s dark up here, darker in the room he tugs you inside of, immediately pinning your body to the wall, digging his fingers into your waist. “How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you?” He grunts, turning you around to press your breasts to the wall, stroking your hair aside to kiss your nape and toy with the leather choker there.

He says that offhandedly sometimes while you’re lazing around in bed after waking up. It’s so hard to keep his hands off of you, he has no idea how he’ll manage once you give birth.

That’s why you’re here, surprised he even bothered to find a room to hide you away in. Among the many things Jeno likes, he loves to show you off, love for everyone to know you are his.

He doesn’t waste time to strip your panties off, dropping them to your ankles to squeeze your ass with his heavy thick palms. Holding you apart to watch your wrinkled rim flinch and tighten up. “Not tonight sweetheart. Gotta fuck your pretty pussy, you know that. Have to make sure your womb stays full.” 

He still runs a thumb across your rim, just to watch your hips jut back, so needy.

“Stay still okay?” Jeno says sweetly, pointing to the door. “And don’t look away.”

He steps back for a minute, letting the cool air circulating around the room roll shivers up your back, chewing on your lip in anticipation.

You think you hear a click, something else familiar that you can’t exactly put your finger on before the warmth of his body returns and presses against you. 

“Now where were we? My poor teddy, already making a mess.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, hand slipping between your thighs to rub the wetness around that's smeared down. “Should I fuck you now? Make my teddy feel real good?”

“Y-yes..” you whine, keeping your gaze locked on the door like he commanded. It’s not good to disobey Jeno, and you don’t intend to.

“Beg for it better than that..” the weight of his size smacks against your ass, hot and heavy. Letting you know he’s fully hard and ready to fuck. “Come on.”

“Please Jeno.. wanna feel f-full..” you do your best to sound sweet, docile and small. Anything to not spend another minute without him inside of you. 

“Is that all I am to you? A big cock to get yourself off on? Huh?” He seeps between your thighs, gripping onto your hips firmly. Rocking his hips forward, the clap of his skin hitting the perk of your ass resounds. Your skin sticky from body shimmer and lotion, moistening up as he ruts between your thighs.

“N-no.. love you, love your cock too.” You whimper, having to bite down on your hand to not scream when he slaps your hip and lets out a deep pleased grunt. 

“That’s what I like to hear sweetheart.” Without bothering to warn you, he pushes in, pausing a little more than halfway only to savor the wet trickle of arousal drenching his length. “Fuck, that’s how much you love my cock? Dripping this fucking much already.”

“Yesyesyes!” You nod into your hand, bumping your head against the wall. Biting down harder on your fingers as impending screams rise up your throat. Muffling the one that breaks free when he pushes into the hilt.

Jeno’s cock always feels like the first time everytime, so big and fucking thick. Penetrating deep in ways that don’t even seem humanly possible. He always makes you cum, makes you want to go again even when your body needs a break. 

“L-love h-how full you m-make me!” You blabber, reaching to grab onto the wall as he builds up speed and starts to thrust faster. Palms slide up your waist to fuck you the way he wants, pulling out to the tip each time and diving the entirety of his length right back in to really make you feel and take every inch. 

“You love it?! You love me?” He growls, sliding one hand lower to find your clit before you’re able to respond. He knows you’ll choke on your next words, making your pussy gush out more around him as he rams up and fucks you vigorously. “Answer me!”

“Yes yes! I love you!” You wail, bounced up and down fiercely. The angle placing the tip of his cock right under your navel. “Ah! Ah f-fuck!”

“Yeah, keep fucking saying that sweetheart.” He roars, biting at your shoulder, swiping your clit side to side. Thin fingers play you like a fiddle, stroking and pinching your clit until you’re clenching around him. Toes pointed off the ground, neck tossed back in ecstasy. 

Jeno reaches so deep, he fills you up so so good, he stretches you open in a way you’ve become addicted to. Clawing at the wall on the brink of your orgasm, chanting repetitive begging between your moans. He eats it all up, groans against your skin, shoving his mask off as the door opens.

“That’s it Teddy,” fisting your hair, he shoves your cheek against the wall, maneuvering your face toward the stream of light that enters. “Milking my cock so fucking good.”

Haechan’s eyes meet yours, wide and bewildered, quickly scanning from Jeno back to you. “Cum for me, let him see how you really take it baby. Show that bitch who you fucking love.”

It hurts. The pleasure between your thighs taking over your lower half as your heart pinches and aches, the two powerful emotions crashing head to head. And Jeno thrusts in hard, swiping his fingers rapidly along the sides of your clit until you’re crying out, slapping the wall with a shout.

“That’s my girl, that’s my fucking girl.” He rasps behind you, cupping your face to bite down on your jaw. Through your dazed euphoria you think that’s your broken voice spewing out a song of IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, eyes rolled back as the cool chill washes away from your skin with an overwhelming wave of heat. 

Jeno sport’s the biggest and most wicked smile, watching Haechan’s face fall. The last thing his old best friend could snatch away from his life, successfully crushing the relationship you ever had with him. He watches his old friend back away disgusted, and he cums, filling you with a hot stream of white, exclaiming how much he loves you.

“Love you so much baby,” he’s never sounded so honest, so enthralled and at ease. Drawing your waist back with his ripped arms, wrapping a safe hold around you to keep your limbless body against his. “Love you enough to give you my baby.”

His palms glide down, ending in their new favorite spot right beneath your navel. Kissing up your neck softly, murmuring about the future. “You’ll never be able to get rid of me now Teddy. We’re one now, you and I.”

There’s a hint of threat laced in his words, gently petting the area where he’s imagined a small bump will begin to show soon. 

They day you met Haechan and lost him broke your heart. The day you met Jeno turned your life upside down, discovered the shattered pieces and put them back together again, finally showing you what you’ve always secretly wished for.

“I love you Jeno.”

“I know.”

[sylusgworl]

TIDES ft. rafayel

content: fluff, f!mc!reader, mc comforts rafayel while he's in an art slump and his feelings are all over the place, use of pet names (baby, princess)

a/n: wrote this while listening to sound of waves on yt, really helped me immerse more into the scene. ik rafayel is so complex, much more than others lis, so i hope he's not too ooc here. wc. 1033 . rbs are much appreciated <3 . m.list

the sun’s waning light over the horizon tints the sky and sea water in a golden and warm colour, no sounds could be heard except for the lulling crash of the waves against the shore.

rafayel sat alone on a rock, his bare feet dangling down, hovering a few inches away from a small puddle, while a white canvas sat on his knees, unblemished.

he shifted the pencil between his fingers, his gaze too focused on the setting sun to bother with anything else around him.

rafayel was left with a blank mind, for the first time in so long. his hands itched to paint something, anything. but inspiration is not something one can improvise, and rafayel knew it all too well.

the sound of waves mixed with that of his heavy sighs created a symphony like no other.

he furrowed his eyebrows, tapping the tip of the pencil against the canvas, as if that action alone would fix his art block.

“agh, seriously…” he muttered to himself, this time setting the pencil down and just giving up, fixing his attentive eyes on the cradling sea, wondering why it felt so close yet so far away.

and as engrossed as he was, he almost didn’t notice you as you plopped down right next to him, your summer dress fluttering with the breeze, as you settled in silence, glancing at him with a smile.

he widened his eyes. no matter how many times he looked at you, it’d always be like the first time. your beauty so ethereal, no one could surpass it, at least not in his eyes.

he studied your reddened cheeks and heavy breathing. he could understand you’d run there.

“hey raf, missed me?” you teased him, and he simply scooted closer, resting his head on your shoulder while clutching his art materials tightly. “mhm,” he breathed out, closing his eyes while being lulled by the waves and your heartbeat, feeling peace washing over him and erasing his previous distress.

“couldn’t sketch anything today either, let alone paint,” he mumbled, his tone mocking his helplessness, while knowing your attentive ears were there to listen.

you raised a hand and slowly ruffled his soft locks, caressing him gently as he let out quiet, relaxed breaths.

“i wanted to paint you, but i feel like my hands aren’t mine anymore, and my mind just doesn’t listen to me like i want,” he complained, nuzzling in the crook of your neck as you wrapped an arm around his torso to steady yourself. you felt his heightened body temperature under your touch, the only thing separating your hand from his hot skin was the thin fabric of his favourite white shirt. the sleeves were rolled up until an inch away from his elbows, exposing his pale forearms and blue lines sketched under his fair flesh.

“it’s okay baby, take your time,” you comforted him, your tone so sweet and voice so candid, it sounded like a siren’s melody to rafayel’s ears.

“call me that again,” he demanded, almost in a broken voice,

“baby,” you repeated, a smile tugging at your lips while your hand still stroked gently his purplish hair.

“again.”

“baby.”

“again.”

“baby, baby, baby.”

oh, you were unaware of the bliss he was in each time your voice called out to him, you were unaware of how his heart made leaps when your soft lips let out his name, you were unaware of how you made him feel.

he suddenly let go of his canvas and pencil, dropping them who knows were and raised his head abruptly from your shoulder, bringing your hand to a stop.

his hand clasped yours as he brought it closer to his face, grazing his cheek against it and closing his eyes in pleasure.

“again,” his voice sent shivers down your spine, but you didn’t disappoint him.

“baby.”

and in half a second, the very lips who called out to him so lovingly were claimed by his, almost in possessiveness, as each of his hands cupped your cheeks.

he closed his eyes, and you did too, relishing in the warmth he brought, as your cheeks flushed more. you circled your hands around his neck and tugged him even closer. rafayel was now all over you, his tongue claiming yours in a dance battle, your breaths quickened by the sheer exertion. he nibbled at your top lip, while you claimed the bottom, sliding his right hand to your nape as his fingertips dove through your locks.

“do i deserve someone as perfect as you, mhm?” he asked you when the two of you separated, resting his forehead against yours while looking at you with something unknown veiling his eyes.

you could understand rafayel’s tender heart needed to be embraced, lulled, and healed. and you’d do it all.

you pressed a kiss on the back of his hand, entwining your fingers to his, the gesture alone revealing a promise that would never be broken.

“you do baby, and i appreciate that you think of me as perfect, even if i’m lacking in so many ways,” you uttered, kissing his hand again.

“you deserve all the good things in this world,” you whispered, and he averted his gaze, blushing so slightly you thought you might have mistaken it. his face basking in the warm golden rays softened, his frown now relaxed. he tightened the hold on your hand, and for the first time that evening, a small and quiet smile tugged at his rosy lips.

“thank you, princess,” his voice sounded almost flirtatious, and he noticed what the pet name does to your little heart, as your breath hitched in your throat.

he left another peck on the corner of your mouth, too short for your liking, and got up.

“let’s go, princess, we can continue this inside,” he winked while motioning to the small villa the two of you rented.

you understood his intentions and widened eyes and mouth in disbelief, his playfulness finally making you feel relieved.

he’d finally calmed down, the previous torment — which had been lasting for days — finally transformed into glee, as you followed him back inside, ready to cradle him into your arms, and soothe his pain, the way only you could do.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

[muletia]

the mention of Obsessed! Predaking in one of your posts about Shockwave has been rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken,,,, his breeding kink would be to big it could compete with Megatron's my golly god,,,,

[𝐭𝐟𝐩] 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝!𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

headcanons

cw: obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, valveplug/sexual content, mention of body harm (marking you), manipulation (you manipulate predaking), breeding king, dub-con (not nsfw)

word count: 800

an: was freestyling the whole thing and it probably shows but y'all don't understand how much I crave feral characters

He is not a thoughtless, barbaric beast. Has proven time and time again that he transcends such measures, that he is more complex and multidimensional. His ambitions surpass primitive instincts; he is made up of many different facets. Before he met you, he made every effort to present himself to others as proud, powerful, and cut from the same fabric as the rest of the Cybertronians. Yet his pride crumbles in an instant when he forms a deeper bond with you, revealing primitive, predatory needs. He succumbs to them easily, and they quickly become his entire world, haunting him whether you are near or far. To feel, to experience, smell and touch. His body craves you at every hour of the solar cycle, and then his processor is left battered, defiled by desire, consumed by the need for physical closeness that claws at him from within, demanding release. All he lacks is patience and restraint; once he has had a taste, no force in the universe can take you from him.

Predaking might maintain honor among the Decepticons, but when you come into view, insatiability displaces dignity. Jealous of every living being, he refuses to let anyone get close to you. Like an agitated dog, his optics constantly scan the surroundings for potential threats—or worse, rivals. His primitive, wild side emerges, and in his need to protect his chosen mate, he does not forgive even a lingering glance, paranoid about every gesture and word. The simplest conversation becomes a challenge for you, as it sets off growling, smoke escaping his mouth, and ultimately ends with him nibbling at your neck, biting your skin to leave an unmistakable mark of his emotional state. Your autonomy has come at the cost of your untouchability.

By unofficially naming you Predaqueen, he intends to show everyone that you are taken. That you already belong. Your body becomes a canvas for bite marks, pinched skin from fangs that could so easily kill you, pierce too deeply, and sever an artery. Yet despite his wildness, he can show tenderness, never torturing you for too long or too harshly. When blood appears, he meticulously licks the wound, purring apologies that reveal his hidden morality and gentleness, though they are not entirely trustworthy.

He clings to you without respite, demanding physical contact. He rests his head on your back to share warmth, further enhanced by the flame that escapes his throat on command. He knows he is crushing you, pinning you down to the point where you struggle to breathe freely, but he wants you to stay with him. For your familiar scent to always surround him, calming him when he needs it, keeping him grounded. Soft, delicate skin caresses hard metal, stroking him after he impresses you; equally fascinated by his biology as he is by yours. It’s easy to lose yourself then, letting your thoughts drift into dangerous, erotic waters. They are deceptive but enticing, and Predaking does not deny himself pleasure within the bounds of morality.

+18 content / valveplug

Interfacing perfectly reflects his nature. It is wild and sharp, focused on pleasure, but reproduction is at the forefront. The primitive need, well-known to both humans and him, becomes undeniable when you first let him in, letting him feel how soft and slick a human can be. Something clicks in his processor. He is extraordinarily fortunate that the first valve he has ever tasted belongs to you, for he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Compatibility on such an intimate level raises the question of extending the species. Is it possible? Were you really so similar? Overwhelmed by your scent, your softness, and the bliss he experiences, he concludes that if his spike so effortlessly slides into your core, it couldn’t be otherwise.

Knowing his needs, you can easily control him. Convincing him that if he wants offspring, he must follow your commands; otherwise, nothing will come of it. You hold the leash on a wild, unpredictable creature so fixated on you that he is willing to submit, to please you, even as his processor drowns in his own needs. To adapt to you, to the pace you set, to the position you choose.

However, there are certain actions he undertakes reluctantly. He won’t refuse, but he will make it clear that he is focused on one thing: breeding. He’ll give you pleasure, savoring the taste of human ecstasy or letting you explore him, popping a cherry in his valve. But the end is always the same: he strives for a sparkling, naively believing it is possible, that it can be done. And perhaps it’s better that he believes. For when he hugs you to his chassis and shares his warmth, babbling about what a wonderful mate you are, the entire charade feels worth it.

[inexplicifics]

A Witcher ficlet for the @domaystic 2025 prompt #4, "the dream", also on AO3:

There’s a little cottage in the woods somewhere. Where doesn’t really matter, except that it’s far enough south that it won’t get too fucking cold in the winter, and far enough north that the plants that won’t grow without winter can still prosper. It’s far enough from town that no one will come to visit without a damn good reason, and close enough to go in for market days.

There’s a garden around the house - an enormous garden, at least a full acre - divided in half; half is for plants used in alchemy, and the other half for herbs and vegetables. There’s a little orchard, too, with a couple of apple trees and a cherry tree and a pear tree. All around the edges of the clearing are berry brambles, half defense and half decadence.

There is a little pen for chickens, with a well-built coop, and a fenced-off field for a milch goat and her current kid. There aren’t any horses; the little cart stored beside the house is made to be hauled by a person. The goat, being a goat, occasionally gets out of its field, which is why the more valuable plants have little wardstones nestled at their bases, sparking with faint Chaos.

Behind the cottage, a safe distance away, there’s a well-built shed with a long stone counter in it, and big windows with cheesecloth covering the openings so there’s ventilation but nothing is going to blow in, and every sort of useful alchemical tool stored on sturdy shelves or lined up on the counter. There’s a shelf specifically for grimoires, and a selection of glass vials that would make a perfumier weep.

Inside the cottage, there’s a kitchen fit for a master cook, with a deep fireplace and a bread oven and another long stone counter, bowls and spoons and pots and pans, an entire cabinet of spices. There’s a sturdy, battered table near the hearth, large enough for two people to sit comfortably with their feet tangled together beneath it, and two comfortable chairs with straw-stuffed cushions on their seats. On the mantelpiece there’s a basket of raw wool and a pair of carding paddles and a drop spindle; on a shelf far enough from the fire to be safe from sparks, there’s a leather roll of woodcarver’s knives and a half-dozen unfinished carvings, mostly of animals, some amusingly obscene.

On the wall beside the shelf there hang four swords, two silver, two steel; one set are northern longswords, their pommels simple rounded things, the other set southern shortswords, their pommels shaped like single gleaming fangs. Their scabbards are old and worn, well cared for but much abused, and there is dust upon the hilts, as though they have not been drawn in many days.

The whole back half of the cottage is taken up by an enormous bed, its curtains thick enough to block out the noonday sun, its mattress extravagantly well stuffed, its sheets worn soft with time and many washings. There are a slightly ridiculous number of pillows heaped atop the mattress. A bronze mirror hangs on the wall beside the bed, with a little shelf of toiletries below it - a beautiful wooden comb, and two straight razors, and a bowl for shaving soap with a badger-hair brush beside it. The frame of the mirror is carved to look like a climbing vine; if someone were to look very closely, they would see very tiny cats and wolves peering out from behind the leaves.

Sometimes at night, when it’s cold and wet and miserable and yet another inn has refused to rent them a room, when yet another alderman has shorted their pay and yet another tavernkeeper has spat in their ale, Aiden will curl up on Lambert’s chest in whatever shelter they’ve contrived, sturdy canvas strung over them between two trees or shallow cave surrounding them, and say, “Tell me about our cottage.”

And Lambert does.

[f4th0usecat]

𝗶 𝗮𝗺 𝗮 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂

ft. reader, mark grayson & his variants.

tags : angst, tragedy, only sorrow prevails in this short story.

tw! : reader has superpowers(blood manipulation), lower case intended.

song recommendations : all i need by radiohead, exit music (for a film) by radiohead.

blood, your blood. it drips, making a splattering mess on the cold floor you now claim as a canvas, your state being one of the many grotesque pieces to the mangled city before you. a city you once called home.

a groan escapes beneathe your lips.

what happened?

ignoring the jolts of pain and the swivels in your head, you muster the remaining strength to lift yourself from all the debris around you.

you can barely stand straight. cupping your left arm, it felt different, it felt deformed, it felt severed. you take a few steps into the open, having been caved in from a sidewalk along the streets of chicago.

you begin to walk mindlessly, in hopes of encountering citizens near you. you almost pass by a window, or the remainder of a store you knew all too well. you can only reminisce it’s warmth, being welcomed by the smell of freshly baked pastries, the soft chatters of customers reduced into background noise, a small radio by the cashier playing it’s tunes.

you glance at the window, a distorted image of yourself staring back. a very ugly one. a huge cut on the middle of your left arm, an open wound with your skin stretched far apart. mimicking the image of your forearm hanging loosely from your elbow. not to mention the amount of blood that trickles out of the wound.

you grimace at the sight of you, before disappointment seeped, curling your brows and huffing in frustration. you can only imagine all the blood you loss.

you take a good look at your surrounding, finally taking in the image of the debris, the buildings in flames, the lifeless bodies trapped under rubble. the sight made you flinch, taking a few steps back as your face contorted into pure horror.

bits of memories before the city fell flashes in your eyes. you and mar- invincible’s argument, avoiding the press, the short encounters of you and your fellow heroes(colleagues), your contract with cecil, running away from home.

right, you weren’t supposed to run back to the one place that might’ve salvaged what’s left of your hope in making things right again. your impulse on running back to the familiar house of a dear friend, or was, the grayson’s.

“fuck.” a curse slips between gritted teeth, if only you had held your ground.

“stay put.” cecil’s raspy voice rung through the earpiece. it was not a question, nor a command, he demanded you stay put. as the scene displayed on your tv pivot between cities being burnt to the ground, the ludicrous images spotting her mark grayson, in different twisted and unforeseen costumes.

you scoffed at the thought, as if mark would put up with those mismatch colors.

and you were right, because your mark would had shown off his new costume, your mark would have wasted no time saving countless of people’s lives knowing he is risking his. except, these floating figures weren’t him, they weren’t your mark grayson.

and they never will be. they were only fragments of different dimensions. different broken pieces of glass put into a mosaic they call a time stream.

you were pushed back into the present as you hear footsteps on pavement, paranoia kicking in. you were in no shape to fight were it a villain, or worse, a variant of mark.

you hurry on light footsteps, hiding in the shadows of an alley. thankfully there still is one despite the city’s ruin.

you muster any surge of strength into using your power. you manipulate your own blood. it pools itself back into your massive wound, splitting some of it into concocting a makeshift patch, quickly drying into a rough wrap. this will hold off into losing more blood, for now.

while you were busy tending to your own injury, you didn’t notice a tall and lean figure that stood down the opening of the alley.

a cough interrupts your thoughts.

your attention turns to the source of the only noise that has rang loudly in the silence that befell this city by far.

you suddenly felt sick, looking at the man before you. the face of the man you have grown to long and yearn for over the years. the difference only being that the man before you, had blood on his hands.

“not that i expect you to come running towards me, but i had hoped you wouldn’t look at me like that.” a different pitch to mark’s voice, suddenly felt too loud for you.

he scoffs at you. clearly having no clue of what to say in this bizarre scenario, a scenario you had anticipated to be in the form of a battlefield.

before you can even form a tought to a snarky reply towards the variant, his brows scrunch into concern. it only took him one glance to your left arm, before he started walking towards your figure.

you can finally see this mark up-close, his costume had kept the bright yellow, replacing the navy blue with black. and for whatever reason, his suit was clad in a cape with the same bright yellow.

for a moment you would had giggled, if not at the fact that the mark grayson before you isn’t entirely the invincible you’re hopelessly in love with. this mark wore an unreadable expression, yet let off as if something sinister hid behind that stupid mask.

“come with me.” he speaks with that condescending tone that keeps you from thinking he’s your mark.

you roll your eyes, you knew it was a command.

“if you think giving me an attitude helps, we’ll see if you can still give me one without those pretty little eyes of your’s.” a threat was spilt. you freeze under his gaze and the words that rolled off his tongue.

fear has wriggled it’s way down your spine. but you make sure you don’t let him see it.

despite the thoughts of compliance and subservience unconsciously floods your survival instincts. you hold the weight of his gaze, making an attempt to look unthreatened, silently sizing him up with the use of the anger apparent in your eyes.

“no.” you utter with a stern tone.

“hm.” he pauses, still no sign of any emotion drawn on his face. “i knew you would say that. afterall, you’re another variant of her.”

this piques your interest. you had thought by now you and this mark would be in a brawl out on the streets, but it has only took a few seconds for you to realize he hasn’t even laid a single finger on you. weird.

“ah, i’m guessing you and the me in this stupid fragile dimension, aren’t together?” he lets out another scoff, making you lean into pure confusion. together? you and mark were never together, you don’t even know whether he feels some type of way for you to begin with.

so you opt to answer the elephant in the room, the only viable answer to that question, “he’s with eve.” a slight crack to your tone. you aren’t aware if he notices the slight shift of tension in your body, but he makes no comment of it. letting your emotions play out.

“infact—what do i have anything to do with you? you’re probably just another mark with another eve.” you spat like venom, your emotions a blur as you ignore how reckless and stupid you probably look before him.

you didn’t even notice the lump forming in your throat, the way your jaw tightens as you continued to grit your teeth in resentment, your eyes turning glassy.

but he does.

“you’re my girlfriend.”

that makes you halt completely. suddenly every emotion you have ambitiously swallowed to a jar with pride, shatters as a tear drops. you could not believe what he had just said.

a mark from another dimension, in love.. with me?

at that moment, you could only think back to the argument that had happened way before mark and eve got together. the fight that had broken you, that had turned you into this vengeful mess filled with nothing but hatred towards yourself.

“—ah fuck, seriously?” another voice, or better yet, another variant of mark sporting a mohawk. looks as if he had walked in on or most likely had interrupted something between her and the sinister version of himself infront of her.

suddenly another voice of mark’s but in a different pitch joins in. “and i thought i was the only one who had thought of looking for her. i fucking hate you guys.” another variant with his mask clad in a mid-length cloth? or is it a rug?

“you just cant keep your hands to yourself, huh?" he huffs in clear amusement, before his lips form into a pout. as if he was throwing a tantrum towards how oddly calm and casual the scene is before him.

“fucking cheating bastard.” he mutters loud enough for the other variant to hear.

you couldn’t tell, but you couldn’t give anymore fucks to begin with.

only the realization dawns you, that there were other universes where mark motherfucking grayson may be or is irrevocably in love with you.

and knowing this universe’s mark doesn’t reciprocate the same feelings? only tears the last thread of hope. the unfortunate reality.

that in every other universe, mark grayson falls for you. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well.

(edits were made)

[sophie-looks-at-things]

Hi love! I hope you are doing well ☺️

If possible could I request a Aemond X reader? Maybe something where he takes notice of a hobby reader likes and surprises them with something related to it?

Piece de Resistance

Pairing: Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon your love for the arts, painting, drawing, sketching, and the like. <3

Warnings: none I don't think, Aemond being a cute and supportive husband. a good moment of domesticity :)

AN: Hello! I absolutely love this request! I hope I did it justice haha. Thank you so much for submitting it! The picture is from Pinterest! It's St Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne.

It wasn’t often you got a moment to yourself nowadays. With your husband acting as Prince Regent in his brother’s absence, you and he both were kept rather busy. Him with the Small Council and issues of the realm, you with the petty social gossipings and happenings of the Court. So rare moments of peace and quiet like this were highly coveted.

Your marital chambers echoed with emptiness as you entered and looked around. The curtains you had chosen fluttered in the breeze. Aemond had not wanted them, but ultimately he conceded, never being able to say no to you. 

He must be in a Small Council meeting, you thought. Or perhaps training with Ser Criston, letting off some steam. Your husband seemed to have an ever-constant knot of stress in his shoulders and neck. You’d tried to massage it out many a time, but it never seemed to budge, or it ended in a much different sort of activity –

Under your armoire, lay a dusty, maroon-red box. You bent down, moving to pull it out of its little hiding spot. You had snuck it under there after you had moved into Aemond’s chambers. The day after your wedding. Aemond had insisted that you move to his quarters as soon as possible. He didn’t like being separated from you more than necessary. If he could, he would have you seated on his lap in Small Council meetings or even when he sat on the Iron Throne. But alas, that was a touch too far, and people would talk. As they always do –

Your husband was kind and dotting, if not overprotective and possessive of you. You had known one another since you were children. Your house and family coming to visit the Court, your mother and the dowager Queen had been friends since their youth. They had hoped that you and Aemond would get along well, and you did, famously so. When he had lost his eye, you had come to the Red Keep, to offer him comfort and company. You had never left after that. 

Your fingertips graze over the top of the box, as you rest it on top of your bed sheets. Leaving an empty trail in their wake. The lock lay rusted and golden on the front, pulling a small key from the pocket of your skirt, you unlock it. A small, soft resounding click bounced off the walls. As you gingerly opened the lid, the stale smell of linseed oil filled your nostrils. Small metal tubes of colorful paint lay untouched in the box. Clean bristles and dirty brush handles scattered about, small rolls of blank canvas. All of which lay, unmoved, unbothered, from the last time you had used them. 

When you were little, you had complained to your mother once about the bore of your lessons. For your tenth name day, she had brought in a painter from Highgarden to tutor you. He had taught you how to mix colors and paint the prettiest flowers. As you grew older, he taught you more complicated things, like ladies in bushy skirts, and golden dragons in the sky. An odd prophecy of your future.

Taking some basic colors, red, blue, yellow, and white, some brushes, and a small roll of canvas, you set up shop at your dressing table. For the time being, altering it into a makeshift desk. Deciding to paint what you knew best, you began to sketch out a dragon among roses, with some charcoal that you had borrowed from Aemond.

He wouldn’t miss it, you thought. He had a small goblet full of charcoal and quills, hiding amongst the piles of books and scrolls on the table. Which he used to plot his war games, or occasionally take dinner with you. When you both grew tired of his family and their bickering. 

The dragon began to take form on the canvas, it looked slightly like Vhagar, large, old, and wrinkly. Her age showing in her face and eyes. Around her, you drew roses, peonies, daffodils, lavender, a great colorful bouquet. Once you had begun mixing the paints, on a makeshift pallet made of spare parchment paper. The other sounds of the world seemed to fade away, the monotony of the act being therapeutic. A much-desired mindless activity in the middle of the war you all found yourself in. You would never voice this to anyone, but it was silly to you. The hubris and hypocrisy of your husband's family was vast and great, and deadly at the worst. The blood of the dragon ran thick and hot, volatile and dangerous. 

You had become so absorbed in your work that you hadn’t heard the door open, the faint call of your name. Lost on the wind perhaps. Aemond stood, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, a small smile playing at his lips, watching you, intently. He knew and had seen you become absorbed like this in a book or some piece of writing, but he had never seen you do this before. Paint.

The colorful oils stain your fingertips and wedge themselves beneath your nails. The same stale smell of the linseed oil met his nostrils.

 An odd sort of smell, he thought. He crept a bit closer, as close as possible not yet wanting you to know he was there. He silently rested his sword on the bed, the sheets muffling any noise it may have made. You were humming softly to yourself. An old hymn your mother used to sing to you. 

As he crept closer, Aemond could make out the picture you were working on. The colors came to life before his eyes, the eyes of his dragon staring back at him. 

“Gevie (beautiful)” He muttered, under his breath.

Startled, you jumped a bit, smudging one of the petals on the peony you were working on. “Shit” you breathed out.

“Aemond, Husband, I had not heard you come in!” You stand, turning to face him, stepping in front of your work as if to hide it.

Aemond chuckled a bit, noticing the pink tinge to your cheeks, embarrassed at being caught. He lifted an eyebrow, and gestured to the painting behind you, 

“May I see it?” He asked, his gaze meeting your own. After a slight pause, you stepped aside. Aemond walked past you, placing a loving hand on your waist, holding you to him slightly. Aemond has developed a habit of always having a hand on you, as if scared you were going to be snatched away, stolen from him. 

Again, he muttered a “Gevie” under his breath. He turned to look at you, your face twisted in anticipation of what he may think. You had hidden the hobby from him not out of malice, but rather out of embarrassment. Other ladies and some lords of the court had mentioned that painting was a poor man's job and that someone of “noble blood” needn’t concern themselves with such silly things. You had been worried that he would have agreed with them, not liking it. 

“I didn’t know you painted. This is lovely,” The hand on your waist moved to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind your ear, it had fallen loose from your braids. 

“I was afraid you would disapprove –” 

“Why on earth would I disapprove my love? This is beautiful, you have a talent”. Your cheeks turned impossibly more pink at his praise and approval. 

“Actually, I would like it very much if you were to paint something on my sword. Vhagar perhaps –” He trailed off thinking, “Or maybe the seas or those flowers are quite lovely too–” You had placed a finger over his lips, laughing. Aemond stopped talking, kissing the digit instead. 

“Yes husband, I would love nothing more,” Your smile matched Aemond’s from before. 

“I would like to show it off–” He murmured against your finger, kissing it again. You moved your hand to his cheek, cupping it lovingly. This small moment of domestic bliss was needed, for the both of you. 

“Well then, go and fetch it, and I shall get to work,” With the excitement of a little boy, your husband retrieved his sword from the bed, unsheathing it, placing it on the desk in front of you. The previous painting moved to the windowsill, to dry. Aemond pulled up a chair, sitting beside you. 

He rested his elbow on the corner of the table, chin in palm. The only free spot on the table, not littered with paints and brushes. You began to work, and he watched you, with nothing but love and admiration in his eye. He could sit here, happily, forever, watching you work, with the setting sun twinkling on the ocean water outside of the windows. Your delicate hands painted the hard metal of his sword. He would let you paint the whole damn keep if it made you happy. And now, with the conqueror's crown resting upon his brow, maybe he would –

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr  @anukulee   @stuckinaf4nfiction

@darylandbethfanforever9

[cathedralofaudra]

LADS men finding out you SH

Part 3 - Rafayel

tags: self-harm (x2), angst, hurt/comfort (kinda), fluff & angst, kinda ooc, Rafayel takes good care of you

word count: 2648

!!By clicking ahead you are consenting to viewing media with disturbing topics!!

Rafayel is no stranger to pain. Mental, physical, social… Rafayel knows them well. Pain is an old friend, one you find at a random bar in the corner with a cigarette. The kind of friend that tells you the truth no matter how terrible.

When you enter his studio after a long day of work, he can see that old friend hanging over your shoulder. You collapse on his sofa, your legs hanging over the arm. Rafayel shakes his head, a melancholic smile on his face.

"Sit up for a sec," He requests, taking a seat by your head. When you comply, Rafayel scoots closer. He guides you down with his arm across your chest, your head landing in his awaiting lap. His other hand finds your head, his dull nails scratching your scalp.

"How was work, Cutie? Did you slay the mighty Wanderers to keep your beloved prince safe from afar?" With a teasing lilt to his voice, Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you with a crooked smirk.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, "Not quite, this Hunter was stuck doing paperwork all day."

"Gasp," His hand flies to his chest, "They put my bodyguard, the best hunter, on paperwork duty? Blasphemy!"

Shrugging, you roll over, burying your face in his stomach. Rafayel's delicate fingers caress your hair, pushing it out of your face. He can sense your upset through your bond, and apologizes.

"I'm sorry," He starts, catching your eye as he pushes his hair back. "Do you want to take a walk, Cutie? Sitting down all day isn't good, you're not used to it."

Arms wrapping around his back, you shake your head against his shirt. Rafayel nods, "That's fine. How about a bath, then?" Another shaken head. "Stay here for a while?"

You nod, turning your head to look up at him. He reads your eyes, wiggling to lay sideways with you. He pulls you into his chest, kissing your head.

Sighing, he closes his eyes, "There we go. Be prepared, Cutie, Thomas wants my head." You raise an eyebrow at him, making a small questioning noise. "I felt your distress through our bond, I wasn't able to focus at all. Well, not my problem. You're here now and you're warm."

A soft sigh leaves your lips. You settle on his chest, your head tucked under his chin. Rafayel's quick heartbeat resonates in your ear, giving you something to focus on. He moves his hand slightly, before settling it back over your shoulder blades. Candles strewn about the room light one by one, with many of them being your favourite scent.

Rafayel absently strokes your head, his nose buried in your hair. The sigil of your bond ignites on his chest, below your head. It resonates a soft warmth, soothing your headache. It doesn't take long for you to slip off into sleep, safe in the embrace of your lover.

Feeling your weight settle, he opens his eyes. His eyes fill with sadness as he gazes down at your sleeping face on his chest. His gaze drops to your thighs, where he'd felt phantom pain that morning.

The Lemurian bond of love is a powerful thing. Rafayel often finds himself overwhelmed by it. All of your pain, all of your stress, it carries over. This morning, he was woken up by the feeling of being carved open. He found no physical wounds on his thighs, immediately telling him that you were cutting again.

He can't bring himself to be upset with you. He understands. He has scars from his own blade as well. To be a Lemurian on land was to be lonely. Rafayel would express that loneliness on the canvas of his hips and arms. The scars have faded, now. Yet, he still finds himself running his fingers over the scars, feeling the difference in texture.

The number of times Thomas had shown up, only to find Rafayel bleeding all over the place, was terrifying. Thomas had kicked him to a therapist after he'd gone too far once. He'd be lectured as Thomas bandaged his wounds, and forced into bed to rest. Thomas had saved him, and now Rafayel wants to save you the same way.

It's dark by the time you wake up, your head still pillowed on Rafayel's chest. He's humming something, his eyes closed. There's a furrow in his brow that gives him away. Feeling you shift, Rafayel looks down at you. His smile is gentle, the sorrow behind his eyes betrays the comfort the smile gives.

"Good morning, Cutie." He says, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Well, good evening would be more accurate. It's…" he squints at the clock across the room, "8:14 at night."

You yawn, propping your chin on his sternum. "Good evening, Rafayel."

Reaching for your hand, he cups your palm, pressing a flurry of kisses to the back of your hand. "How do you feel?"

"Better than before," you lick your lips, "but still not good."

A nod follows your statement, his eyes softening as he presses his lips to your forehead. "Do you wanna take me up on my bath offer? I'll get out the nice salts for you, Darling."

The new term of endearment makes your ears warm, you smile softly. "I think I will." You respond, not thinking it through.

Rafayel mirrors your smile, extinguishing the candles with the flick of his wrist. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you up with him as he sits straight. "Aaaand… Up!" He stands, heaving you up with him. He adjusts his grip on you, linking his hands under you. You startle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing your thighs around his waist.

"Rafayel!" You gasp, clinging to him. The offender just chuckles, carrying you up the stairs and into the bathroom of his living space above the studio. He sets you down on the counter, kissing your temple. He turns to run the bath.

"How do you want the temperature?" He asks, looking up at you from where he's hunched over the luxurious bathtub. Lavender hair falls over his sunset eyes, making him appear boyish.

Humming for a moment, you think before replying. "Hot."

A nod follows, his lithe hand turning the nob to hot. Steam curls from the faucet, making Rafayel's eyes water. He plugs the drain and stands, wiping his wet hands on his trousers. He makes his way to the cabinet above the toilet, tapping his nails on the door while he holds it open.

"Do you want salts, a bath bomb, or bubble bath?" He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

Memories of your private bloodshed from earlier that day flood back into the forefront of your mind. You were so lost in the domestic bliss that you'd forgotten about the fresh cuts engraved in the fat of your thighs. Drawing your knees to your chest on the edge of the counter, you shrug. Your eyes glue themselves to the floor, your mood falling faster than Icarus.

"…Bath bomb?"

Rafayel hums, turning back to the cabinet. He carefully pulls a wicker basket of bath bombs off the top shelf, leaving the cabinet open as he moves toward you. He maneuvers the basket into one arm, rummaging around as you lower your knees.

"I've got the basics: lavender, milk and honey, cherry blossom, and rose. And then I have the ones that turn the water all kinds of fun colours." He lists, holding up a plastic bag with the logo of a kid's crayon company. "The coloured ones are my favourites."

You inspect the bag in his hand, finding a purple one. "Can I use two? One of the colour and one of the smelly ones?"

Rafayel nods, gesturing animatedly to the basket. "Which flavor strikes your fancy?"

Reaching for the milk and honey bath bomb, you place your choices in your lap. He nods in approval, pivoting to put the basket back in the cabinet. By now, the tub is filled just over half way. Rafayel returns to you, placing his hands on the counter by your sides.

He leans into you, pressing his lips to your shoulder. After a moment, he rises to rub your nose with his. He makes eye contact, briefly looking to your lips. "May I?" He whispers, his eyes finding yours again. Receiving a nod, he closes the distance.

The Rafayel who whines and teases you relentlessly is nowhere to be found. A softer side of him takes his place, caring for you with a soft yet forlorn gaze. Rafayel's kisses are usual playful, full of teasing nips and bites, with a little curve to his lips. This kiss is slow, careful. Your hands rise, one pressing against the bond mark on his chest, the other caressing his cheek.

Pressing a little bit closer, you move your lips against his. It takes a moment to adjust to the gentleness of his kiss, exhaling slowly through your nose. He pulls away, pressing the side of his nose against yours. You share breath for a bit, your eyes fluttering open to watch his eyes move under his eyelids. His long lashes tickling your cheeks.

Rafayel eases back, opening his eyes. His adoring gaze makes you shift, feeling undeserving of such love. He strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers, smiling softly.

"Come on, it's bath time." His voice is soft, his thumb following his fingers in caressing the apple of your cheek. He picks you up off the counter and sets you on your feet, kissing your forehead. He plays with the hem of your shirt, looking at you for permission to help you out of it.

You catch his hands, moving them from your shirt. "Actually, could you turn around? I… don't really feel comfortable in my skin right now."

"Of course, darling," Rafayel complies, turning away to turn off the faucet. He stays facing away, giving you space to undress comfortable. "Do you want me to put in the bath bombs for you before you get in?"

You hum in the affirmative, pulling your shirt over your head. You wait for him to drop the bath bombs in the water before unbuckling your belt and sliding your pants off. You hiss, the tight material of your uniform scraping against the scabs on your thighs. You bite your lip as you peel the fabric away, some scabs being torn away with the blood clotted in the cloth.

Finally getting them off, you take a deep breath. Looking over, Rafayel has taken a seat facing the wall, sitting on the floor with his back against the edge of the tub by the faucet. You shimmy out of your boxers and bra, leaving them on the floor to be washed later. The bath bombs fizz when you step into the tub, hissing as you lower yourself into the milky lavender water.

You lean against the edge of the tub, moving your hair out of the way. The hot water stings your cuts, you breathe deeply to calm the itch. You carefully run your palms over your thighs, washing away dried blood and partial scabs.

Unbeknownst to you, Rafayel feels everything like it was his own pain. His chest tightens, closing his eyes to calm himself. The pain itself doesn't bother him, it's something he had become accustomed to a long time ago. It's the fact that you're in so much mental suffering that you take it out on your skin. Hypocritical of him to be upset about you doing something he used to do himself.

"Love?" he calls, "Are you settled in?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." You sigh. The bath bombs have fully dissolved, turning the water an opaque purple. Feeling safer now that you know he can't see your cuts, you reach your hand over the edge of the tub to poke his head. "You can join now if you want. The water's opaque enough that you cant see anything."

"You sure?" Rafayel asks, he wants to make sure you're comfortable with him joining before he does anything.

"Mhm."

"…Alright then."

He stands, making quick work of removing his clothes. He turns to you, fully nude. He scrunches his nose playfully while gesturing for you to scoot forward. Glancing over his body, your eyes lock onto the dozens of scars lining the sides of his thighs, from the jut of his hip to his knee. He doesn't give you time to gape, stepping into the water and settling behind you.

Rafayel wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. Your back hits his chest, his heartbeat amplified by the bond mark under his collar. He rubs his cheek against the side of your head, humming contentedly.

The room is silent for a while, just the sound of breathing and water sloshing.

"…Rafayel?"

He turns his head, kissing your cheek. "Yes, cutie?"

Rafayel knew what you were going to say, before you said it. It wasn't the bond that clued him. He played aloof, but he saw the way you stared at his thighs. You were looking too far to his side for him to blame it on perversion.

You hesitate, biting your thumb's nail. "…Where did you get those scars? On your legs?"

A deep sigh brushes past your ear. He settles back against the edge of the tub, bringing you with him. "It's not a happy story. But then again, I don't really have any stories that aren't tragedies."

He shifts, crossing his arm over your chest to hold you tight against him. "All Lemurians that migrated on land are lonely. We're hunted for our scales, tears, and blood. We have to act like we're something we're not just to survive."

Rafayel squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. "I'd started cutting myself to feel something other than emptiness. It took a long time to kill the habit. Honestly, if it wasn't for Thomas, I probably wouldn't be where I am now."

Your breath hitches, out of all the people in the world, you never would have thought that Rafayel had a history with self-harm. He was such a goofball, always lightening the mood. Granted, he had his dark side, the incident at Hat Island had proved that.

"I had no idea…" You mutter, turning to look at him.

He shrugs, opening his eyes. "I know, nobody does, other than Thomas." He loosens his grip on you, turning you around to sit on his thighs.

"I need to let you know something," Rafayel starts, his eyes boring into yours, "When Lemurians fall in love with someone, all our senses are committed to perceive them, without question."

His hand makes its way to your hip, just above the highest cut. "Because of that, the bond that ties us synchronizes our wavelengths."

"Rafayel… You don't-"

"I feel when you're in pain. I feel what you feel. The only reason you don't feel mine is because you're human. But because I'm a Lemurian, I feel the full extent of our bond." Rafayel's eyes flicker down at the water, moving his hand to lightly graze the cuts on your thigh. "I felt you hurting earlier, I felt you cutting yourself."

You tremble, tears welling behind your eyes. You weakly hit your fist against his chest, a sob pushing past your lips. "You knew… Why didn't you tell me sooner!?" You cry out, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. "If I'd known that you felt it too, I never would have…"

Rafayel's arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you carefully as you cry. "I didn't want you to feel guilty." he mutters, his breath warm against your ear, "I knew that you would think of me first, despite the pain you're in."

You can't bring yourself to respond, only curling closer to his body in the coloured bathwater.

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A/N: I wrote the majority of this one at work. the zayne fic didnt have an a/n cause I wrote and posted it at work. This one is significantly longer than the other two and it's not just rafayel is my favourite. I was playing around with ideas before i went to bed last night and thought about raf having a history of self harm as well, its one of my headcanons that i included.