#grudge and buttons are there too:)))

[shit-taster-connoisseur]

Making fiends Nah Making Friends :)))

Swear to god this au has been bouncing around my head for so long. IDK how to have made Charlotte look evil-er, since MakingFriends isn't exactly a personality swap but like a dynamic swap from what ive seen.

Charlotte is just secretly terrifying:))))))))))

[rowdydevs]

Is it possible if we could have any more dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Im literally obsessed with the family dynamic atm!!

Hi bb 💕💕💕 of course!! Thank you for your ask. This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au. Thank you for your ask!!

+18 -> smut | on prom night, a very protective rafe wrestles with old grudges, growing pains, and the realization that letting go might be the hardest part.

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: pet names, swearing, praise, dirty talk, fingering, cum tasting, older rafe, roughish, semi-public male oral <- in a car with tinted windows, he is driving, intentional texting errors, ⚠︎ smut cross-posted on my nhl account. ⚠︎

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You’re standing out in the front yard with your camera, doing everything you can not to cry while your daughter twirls around in her prom dress—glowing, radiant, almost too beautiful to look at.

Her boyfriend’s got his arm around her waist, holding her like it’s second nature. They keep catching each other’s eyes and laughing over nothing, cheeks bumping, sneaking little kisses between whatever secret they’re whispering like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It’s sweet. It’s perfect. And honestly? It’s a little brutal. Because no matter how grown she looks, she’s still your baby.

Your husband’s next to you, taking pictures with his phone, but you can see it clear as day—he’s tense. His smile is forced, fingers stiff around the edges of his phone. He hasn’t said more than two words to JJ, who’s mere feet away. It’s awkward… painfully so. But what’s new between the two of them? Your husband never forgot how much he hated him. And now? Now that guy’s kid is dating his baby girl.

It’s hard to imagine this would be a bigger deal… And it would be, if the kid wasn’t a literal angel: polite, gentle, thoughtful, smart; a D1-bound quarterback. He’s good. But try telling Rafe that.

Your daughter squeals, adjusting her corsage, leaning into her boyfriend with the biggest grin on her face as the limos pull up. She gasps, eyes snapping to you. “Oh my God. Mom, I forgot my clutch!”

You look over at Rafe, lost in his own world as he looks between the young couple and his archenemy, going through his own existential crisis; jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together like this is all somehow a personal attack on him. “Baby…”

“Mhmm…” He grunts as his eyes continue to survey the scene.

“… Baby?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, meeting your eyes before drawing a deep, pensive breath.

“Just take a second. Take a breath… Get the purse.”

He gives you a look, lips drawing to the side, wanting to protest like he’s afraid if he lets his guard down for a moment the thoughts that he’s been stewing on will manifest. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, then turns and stomps toward the house.

You watch him disappear through the front door, then turn back to your daughter. The yard is buzzing with excitement, teens gathering their things as they wander toward the rented cars.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You look down at your phone, rolling your eyes as you see three back-to-back text messages coming in. “Where’s the purse, baby?” You mock his deep voice under your breath as you unlock your phone. Not surprised in the slightest that he’s stalling to prolong the inevitable.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The twins are bouncing with excitement, already changed into their pajamas, stuffed animals hugged tight.

Sarah’s in the kitchen grabbing snacks for movie night, laughing as your son climbs all over him like he’s part jungle gym, part superhero. Meanwhile, your daughter’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, Cameron-pout on full display—a full-blown daddy’s girl—not thrilled in the slightest about him leaving.

“C’mon now,” Rafe says, gently tugging her closer. “Be right back, princess. I’ll kiss you on the head when I get home, okay? I’ll be there in the mornin’ when you wake up.”

She narrows her little eyes at him, her buttoned-nose furrowed in frustration.

“I heard mommy’s makin’ blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Rafe adds as he cocks an eyebrow, hoping for the best, his smile widening as her face lights up over something so simple.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“I am?” you ask through a laugh as you loop your arm through your purse, pulling it on your shoulder.

“She is,” Rafe confirms, shooting you a smile and wink. “Isn’t she the best?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as he kisses your daughter’s forehead and sends her off.

The you both step outside into the quiet; the cobblestone driveway glowing under soft light. Rafe reaches for your hand as the front door clicks shut behind you. You barely get a step down the private lot before he loops his finger under your dress and tugs the hem upward with a cocky smirk.

“Rafe!” You gasp, swatting his hand as your skirt falls back down, looking back toward the house with a smile.

“They didn’t see, pretty,” he murmurs, totally unbothered. “Besides I needed a distraction. My brain was spiraling again.”

“You’re not gonna lift my dress every time you start panicking about your daughter growing up.”

“I mean…” He steps a little closer, stuffing his hand in his pocket, the other draping around your shoulders as he dips down to press a kiss on your head. “I could just pull it down next time, get a glimpse of these,” he hums, reaching over to give your boob a playful squeeze, “for balance.” He lets out a sleazy little laugh as you giggle.

Rafe spins you around and pulls you in for a kiss: deep and sweet. The kind that says ‘sure, I might be losing my shit, but you’re my favorite way to come back down’. He opens the passenger door for you, still grinning as you slide into the car.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you sit side by side at a table on the water. The twinkling lights strung from the patio of the Island Club swaying in the breeze. Dinner was delicious, drinks were flowing, and Rafe… was present.

You could see it in the way he stared out at the water for a second too long. The way he blinked back to you like he’d just remembered where he was, and even so he wasn’t deep in thought. Almost like he wasn’t clenching his fists or checking his phone every two seconds or trying to crack a joke to distract himself from the ache in his heart.

But even still, he was there with you. Holding your hand, letting you finish your wine without interruption. He ordered your favorite appetizer before you could, stole bites from your plate like it was his job, kissing you tenderly after every lingered glance.

At one point, you were both leaned back in your chairs, full and content, watching the last sliver of sun bleed into the horizon when he said, “She told me they’re headin’ to Lexi’s after prom.”

“She did?”

He nods, sipping his drink. “She didn’t need to tell me that… She’s seventeen. Fuck, baby, I mean I woulda lied for the hell of it. I sure as shit wouldn’t have told Ward where I was goin’. And she just told me—didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yeah, baby?” You hum as you tip your head on his shoulder; Rafe’s fingers twinning in yours. “What else did she say?”

“Bonfire, snacks; some movie, I don’t know.”

“What about Jackson? Are juniors and seniors gonna be there?” You question this time, feeling your own unease rise about her possibly mingling with upperclassmen.

“Just juniors. She said ‘he didn’t care… He just wanted to be with her.’”

“Sounds familiar,” you smile as you squeeze Rafe’s hand.

He gives you a look—the one he always does when he’s caught remembering being seventeen with you. “Hmm… Sounds about as much, sweetheart.”

“They’re sweet,” you say quietly as you snuggle in a little closer. “We raised a good one, Rafe.”

“She’s everything,” he breathes. “My stubbornness and your heart—”

“We get to do this all over again in a couple years.”

He groans like it hurt, but he smiles anyway. “Twins too… Better start stocking up on wine now.”

You glance down at your phone, thumb tapping the screen as you check the time. It’s late enough. The twins are definitely asleep by now—if not completely passed out in a pile of stuffies and blankets, at the very least curled up on the couch mid-movie with drool on Auntie Sarah’s shoulder.

You look at Rafe, swirling the last sip of his whiskey, that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sees the twinkle in your eye; the man no doubt thinking about taking off the lingerie you teased him with earlier.

“So?” You ask, soft and suggestive as your foot brushes against his under the table.

“That time, huh?” He smiles as he pulls out his phone as well, checking it.

His brows furrow slightly. The smirk slips a little. Not in a full-blown way, just enough to make your stomach flip.

“What?” You ask as you lean in. “Did Sarah send something?” Rafe doesn’t answer right away. “What’s going on, baby?” You press again; still no answer.

You reach across the table and snatch the phone from his hand before he can stop you. Your eyes flick to the screen to check what’s going on, eyes widening on the screen as you see the flashing pin on a tracking app. And your daughter’s car, not where she said she’d be.

You stare down at his phone, then up at him. “Why are you tracking her, Rafe?”

“I don’t just track her, sweetheart. I track Max too… It’s a scary place out there, okay? Ya’ll are all I have,” he stammers. He takes a deep breath, blowing it out his nostrils as he tries his best to collect himself. “I’m trackin’ her because of this—”

“—Because she’s at the beach?” You question, letting your annoyance bleed through each word.

“She didn’t tell us she was going to the beach,” he says, voice tight. “So yeah, baby—that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“Well, what now?”

Rafe tilts back in his chair, pushing out a shaky, uneven breath. “Guess we’re takin’ a trip to the beach—”

“Rafe…”

“If anything we’ll check and leave—”

“—Baby.”

“We will check. And, we will leave.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. Rafe stands and tosses some cash on the table before looking down at you.

“Nothing more, baby. I swear. I’m not gonna enjoy my night if I don’t know that she’s safe. Just a piece of mind.”

“And what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

He stops in his tracks looking at you like you just dropped a weight on his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

You arch a brow as you take his hand, rising to your feet. “I mean… you found a condom wrapper in her bathroom, Rafe. So again—I ask—what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

Rafe runs a hand down his face, letting out a long, deep breath. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you pull into the quiet parking lot, headlights cutting through the soft fog that’s rolled in off the water. It’s dark but not deserted—distant voices, the occasional pop of laughter, the soft flicker of firelight down by the shore.

Rafe leans forward, squinting out the windshield. “They’re probably hidin’ somewhere,” he mutters, tone edged with something sharp. “Thinkin’ he’s bein’ slick.”

“Mhmm…” You flick your hand lazily in their direction, spotting them almost instantly, right in plain sight.

The two of them are sat side by side in front of a small fire, shoes kicked off, a blanket pulled over both their legs. Winnie’s head tilted on Jackson’s shoulder.

Rafe exhales through his nose, and it’s not quite relief, but it’s not disappointment, either. And at that moment you realize he didn’t want to be right—he just didn’t want to be wrong either. You take out your phone, open your messages, and type:

You: Hope you’re having a good night sweetie. Be safe.

Barely ten seconds pass before your daughter’s phone lights up on the sand. You see her glance down at the screen, smile, and start typing back. Then your phone buzzes.

Winnie: we’re having a great night!

Winnie: we left the party because it got kinda crazy. Jax was worried it might get busted.

Winnie: we’re down to the beach

Another second later, she sends a selfie—her cheek pressed against Jackson’s, both of them grinning, firelight flickering. No red cups. No chaos. Just two kids who genuinely like each other, making a smart choice together.

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he looks at the photo. He leans back in his seat, sighing as the guilt hits him square in the chest.

“Goddamnit.”

“Mhmm…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—I don’t know. This shit is hard,” he huffs.

You smile and reach over, lacing your fingers in his. “Why don’t we get out of here, baby… Go for a little drive on our way home.”

Rafe nods and pulls out of the lot, his jaw set, one hand tight on the wheel as the silence stretches between you. The engine hums low, but he doesn’t say a word.

He’s still wound up—his whole body carrying the weight of everything he’s been trying to hold back. The guilt, the stress, the slow ache of watching his little girl grow up. On top of that, work’s been brutal lately, you know it’s been eating at him, even if he won’t say it out loud.

You watch him quietly, the way the dim streetlights flicker across his profile: strong jaw, furrowed brow, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms you’ll never get tired of looking at.

Even tense like this, he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—and all you can think about is how badly you want to help him relax.

He glances over at you, still high-strung, blue eyes heavy with thoughts he hasn’t shared quite yet. He shifts in his seat, spreading his thighs a little wider, fabric stretching over them—and your gaze drops without hesitation.

Your breath hitches. All you can think about is straddling him right there in the front seat, grinding against him with your skirt bunched around your waist, the windows fogging, and music muffling your moans—

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” He asks, voice low.

You turn to him slowly, letting your voice drop into something warm and wicked. “You.”

His eyes flick to yours in surprise. “You’re thinkin’ about me?” He says, almost like he doesn’t believe it himself, half-expecting to be in that doghouse you were talking about earlier.

You smile, reach for his hand resting on the console, and guide it toward you. He exhales sharply, shoulders finally starting to drop, the tension melting into something else entirely. “You’re not mad at me, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, baby. I like when you’re protective. Can’t fault you for that. Maybe just calm down a little… Just a little.”

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want.

“Wanna help you forget all those thoughts distracting you from me…”

“Distracting me from you? My girl? Impossible… But, please,” he says with a smirk, “make me forget.”

You lift his hand from your thigh, slowly, and press a kiss to the top of it—light and teasing, just like he would.

Then, with your eyes still on him, you part your lips and slip two thick fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips. Rafe’s breath catches. He flicks another glance at you, then another, making the car sway gently.

You reach over, trailing your hand down his chest, feeling the heat and tension thrumming through his body. Your nails drag lightly down his shirt’s crisp, white fabric until you hit his thigh, scratching just enough to earn a quiet exhale from him.

Your fingers graze over his bulge—growing thick and heavy beneath his designer pants—and he shifts again, jaw clenched tighter, not from stress, solely to keep his eyes on the road and avoid them rolling back.

You lean in closer, the scent of his rich cologne washing over you. Your fingers work open his belt. The metal clicks softly before you slide the zipper down. Your heart pounds with the bass, excitement swelling in your chest as he barrels through the night.

He shifts in his seat, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants and boxers down. “You sure, baby?” He asks through a crooked smile as you grip his thick dick in your fist—hardening fast in your palm, long, pulsing with need.

Your mouth waters as you stroke him slow, teasing, your thumb brushing over the head. “I need it… Is that alright?” You ask coyly. Rafe’s cock twitches in your grip, his breath stuttering as you swipe your thumb across his tip, rubbing in a bead of precum.

“Fuck,” he moans as his head rolls slightly.

“You like that?” You ask.

“Yeah… Yeah, fuck. Keep goin’,” he mumbles, his eyes on the road, but barely.

Rafe reaches over; fingers slipping under your dress. He groans at how wet you are, teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of his fingers inside. The pace you set with your hand mirrors his—slow and purposeful, a shared rhythm that leaves you both panting.

Click.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide across the center console. Before he can even register what’s happening, next you take him into your mouth; his cock hot and heavy on your warm tongue.

Rafe’s whole body jerks. He draws his fingers from between your thighs, slicked with your wetness, and sucks them into his mouth, the corners of his lips curling into a smile at the taste.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” His voice is thick and hoarse. “You’re perfect. Too fuckin’ good to me.” His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sting sharp, and your moan vibrates around him as he spanks you.

A second later, his fingers knot in your hair, guiding you, controlling your pace. “Atta girl,” he groans, hips lifting gently. “Fuckin’ take it—so desperate, huh? Couldn’t wait ‘til we got home?”

You hum in response, lips and tongue working him while your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach. His moans start spilling out, competing with the music in the car.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he pants. “That’s what you want, huh? Gonna swallow it all? Don’t wanna get dirty, baby—” he mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as his leg bounces beneath your hands, breath rough and ragged, chest rising faster now.

“Shit, baby… I’m gonna cum—” You suck him harder, throating his cock until he’s cursing and twitching, praising your name as he slams his big fist against the steering wheel, spilling down your throat.

His body unwinds in the seat and his hold loosens on your hair. You pull off slowly, watching his cock throb still as he tucks himself in the waistband of his dress pants, hissing in sensitivity as he zips back up his pants, covering himself slightly with his jacket. He shakes his head, unable to wipe that wide smile off his perfect lips.

You sit up and smooth your hair in the visor mirror, licking your lips, catching the last of him as you giggle dizzily. He chuckles, low and lazy, as he rolls his head on the headrest, locking eyes with you. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

And then just as you lean over to press one last kiss on his lips the car’s screen lights up with an incoming call.

Deputy Shoupe

Rafe fumbles and swears under his breath on his way to accept the call, already assuming the worst. “Shoupe? Everything okay?”

“Rafe. We got a little situation down at the yacht club. Someone called in a report—female screamin’. Thought it might be a domestic or worse. Turns out… Uh, well… We found your son and that Thornton girl entangled on your yacht.”

Rafe freezes; eyes beating a few times slow as he takes it all in. “Max?”

“Yes, sir. A bag of weed, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, and a pocket full of Magnums—”

“—Dude. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me right now,” your son snips as he cuts the officer off. “You’re seriously cockblockin’ me? This is harassment. We’re on my boat. S’Private property. I can’t help it if we got a little loud, alright? That’s between me and her.”

“I’m fine… Obviously,” Topper’s daughter sasses as well, her Cali-girl, vocal fry that pours through the car speakers like nails on a chalkboard.

Rafe’s jaw is locked, one vein in his temple pulsing so hard you can practically hear it. Rafe stares straight ahead, dead silent.

“You gonna arrest us for lovin’ each other now? Is that where this country’s at? You people are fuckin’ sick—”

“Tell him to stop talkin’,” Rafe sneers.

“Want me to tase him a little?” Shoupe chuckles.

Rafe mutters something under his breath making Shoupe laugh. There’s a beat of silence as you stare at Rafe, your husband staring right back at you. His features soften—the man hit with yet another wave of guilt—he was so hyper focused on your daughter that everything else flew out the window.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper.

He shakes his head ‘no’ and rolls his eyes, tipping his head back against the headrest.

“What do you two want me to do about all this?” Shoupe asks through another amused laugh.

“Fuck… Bring ’em into the station. Take the weed if you have to,” Rafe adds. “Leave the bottle.” You raise your brows at him and he just shrugs. “Kid’s a pain in my ass but he’s got good taste,” he mumbles. “I’ll be there in two-three hours,” Rafe finishes. “Got some shit I need to handle first.”

“Copy that.”

Click.

“We’re not gonna go get him?” You ask through a laugh as you glance back at Rafe.

He smirks, letting his hand slide higher up your thigh. “He’ll survive, baby. Might even learn somethin’… Right now, I need to take care of my girl.”

@rafesthroatbaby | @matthewssweetheart | @slut-4-rafey | @blair-bears-blog | @iikximii | @akobx | @gri959 | @ch4rrykisses | @st8rkey | @laniirackssss | @barnesboo1967 | @justdamnpeachy | @dylsdaily| @rafesheaven | @my-name-is-baby | @wtfisastiles | @skye-44 @taliescapes | @anothershorthuman | @rafeslovergirly | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @maybankslover | @frankoceanluvr11 | @rcameronlova1 | @lhhlver | @yourmomdotcom42069 | @cameronsprincess | @kdoll-7 | @angelicameron | @imsiriuslyreal | @alphabetically-deranged | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @hyperfixationgirl | @faephoria | @wtfdudesblog | @rafesdoll | @yasmin-oviedo | @lizzysmith110 | @ietss | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @lilithblackkk | @premiumshitt | @littlelamy | @prettybabyyyy | @star017 | @hannieskzzz | @biascriptum | @laylalovesbmth | @aris-void | @rafesbabygirlx

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 | Javier Peña x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Javier needed a vacation, badly.

author's note | for writing through the seasons, hosted by @guiltyasdave (happy birthday bby!!) & @sizzlingcloudmentality. such a beautiful challenge and i really enjoyed writing something a little lighter for javi. and a big thank you to @kedsandtubesocks & @hauntedhowlett for helping me plan this out.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, post narcos s3, old partners, holding grudges, enemies to lovers, javi in shorts, drinking, less than subtle flirting, shower sex, unprotected piv and creampies, some feelings at the end <3

word count — 7k

Being forced out of Colombia had been a blessing in disguise, really.

With an asshat like Javier Peña as the attaché and taking that power to clean house, you had been an innocent casualty among the masses. There were about twenty of you, some lower staff, some agents - like you, but it was all the push you needed to switch gears.

The passion you initially started with had waned slowly, desensitized to every drug bust and dead body; young, old. It was draining, debilitating on some days. Taking a job at the inn had rejuvenated you and washed away the heavy weight of the DEA and all the baggage that came with it.

As for Javier, he spent weeks searching for a proper place to use as his getaway, constant whispers and recommendations from friends about a small island off the coast of Hawaii - discreet, quiet, a place where he didn’t have to be known. He wanted to exist away from home; the occasional spotlight—he wanted to disappear.

It was perfect, walking up the lone inn on the tiny island with a deep, relieving breath and his bag slung over his shoulder, approaching the desk with his natural swagged, the gentle sway of his hips in those figure hugging jeans, fit perfectly to his muscled thighs and a peach colored button-up to match.

Not beach attire, but easily clocked. Your face is buried in the laptop you swing around to the front desk, a faint clearing of a throat coming a few inches away and up, catching a glimpse of the watch, then the plush lips pushed out under a thick mustache, yellow-tinted glasses that hid those pensive fucking eyes.

You both realize it at the same moment.

What the fuck are you doing here?

It’s said in unison, laptop snapped shut as you take in his cliche attire.

In the year since you’ve been let go, he hasn't changed a bit.

“I’ve got a room booked for the weekend,” Javier continues despite your pinched expression, the strong wave of bitterness returning as you glare at him, staring up at the clock that read a quarter ‘til five, only fifteen minutes left on your shift before your next break.

Maybe if you waited him out you could send him on his way, knowing very well there wasn’t any other possible booking on the island and he would have to find a flight back home.

Fuck him. God, fuck him.

As good as you had it now, it didn’t lessen the sting of a career you had worked so hard for, crumbling to nothing with a flick of pen and someone's shitty opinion, crossing your name off like it meant nothing, like you hadn’t done enough grunt work for him to even earn a simple thank you.

You existed around him, not with him.

Even now, he’s staring at you like he’s waiting for you to spin on his axis, tap your fingers delicately against the work computer and handing over his room key with a smile. Practiced, forced.

He could find somewhere else, surely.

He doesn’t realize he let the thought slip audibly until you’re replying with an amused tone, “No, you can’t,” It was cocky, but oozing a venom that Javier knew to steer clear of, “we’re the only place on the island.”

Silently you type in his name, knowing that despite your immediate distaste that returns like a natural, learned behavior—you had a job to do.

But, it doesn’t stop your mouse from hovering over the cancel button for a moment too long, watching his expression turn from smug to pitiful.

It was a glaring dichotomy, personalities swapped, watching a once confident man shrink in shame as he scratches his cheek and looks away, your fingers typing quietly at the keyboard before you eventually disappear without a word, fetching the room key.

It was a pricier suite, unsurprising. Room 213. You swing the key ring around your finger and double-check the information, seeing that he had paid ahead of time and handled all the necessary additions over the phone with a different employee.

“This what you do now?” He asks - it was a question of genuine curiosity, but it comes out judgmental, at least, it reads that way. He takes the key from your extended finger and ignores the obvious tension that was weaving around you both like a tangled mess.

“It’s surprising how hard it is to get back onto a job at the embassy when the head attaché fires you without proper reasoning—overstaffing, was it? Budget cuts?” You tilt your head slightly, staring him down with a polite smile as you slide the paper receipt across the counter, “I guess we’ll never know, huh?”

“Hey, that’s—”

“I don’t care, Javier,” You reply honestly, interjecting before he has the chance to spit out an excuse, whatever it may be, “Yes—this is what I do now.”

So much for anonymity, he thinks.

Just like that, his entire vacation had soured.

And for you, it was the only sliver of peace you had here.

Gone. Vanished.

You watch his walk of quiet shame as he glances over his shoulder briefly before boarding the elevator, his jaw tense and tight as you lock eyes, doors closing slowly before you release a breath you didn’t realize you were still holding.

Fuck.

It was time to take your fifteen.

–

You liked Fridays because it meant relaxation—and drinks, beachside and under the soft, soothing tune of whatever was playing through the bar speakers, the crash of waves on the shore and a misty spray that kissed your skin, sipping silently at your drink as your finger circles the wet ring on the surface of the table.

The sun was setting by now, a few hours since you hated spoken or seen Javier Peña.

It was hitting you now, realizing you never quite processed how hard the lay off had been to process, how blindsided you had been, or how little appreciation was shown in the aftermath.

Right—it only mattered if your name meant something, if it was attached.

You were like mice, rats—taught and trained, scattering to find evidence and intel, return and filter it through your superiors and still somehow manage to not get murdered or discovered in the process and all the while, expected to complete your paperwork on time. 

You were used to people taking the credit from you, but with Javier, it was different.

He had a way of making you feel special; always calling you by name, never letting you feel inferior when he needed something, making sure to comment on your appearance in a respectful manner, greet you like you’ve been friends for ages, a mere effort to keep up with his title.

But, you had built a strange kinship over long late night stake-outs, shared nonsensical details about your life - like how you despised the taste of liquor but toughed it out for the sweet aftertaste, enjoyed drinks for the aesthetics rather than the feeling.

Javier was a messy eater, too. Not careless, but rather ravaging. He’d tear into his fruit like an animal finding the first spec of food in a week, juices covering his fingers and oblivious to the obscene sounds he’d make as he chewed, sucked, and licked. It was irritating, but inherently him. He didn’t like music much either, opting for silence instead. It drove you insane on particularly long nights.

It didn’t matter that you had shared nights in each other’s apartments, grueling over dead-ends and lackluster information, sharing meals that would end with both of you falling asleep in heaps, never mentioning them as you woke.

Neither of you had ever crossed that line, too vehemently aware of his title.

Both professional and rumored.

So, when he was the one who signed off after you were ordered out of the office, badge and gun returned by end of day, you didn’t know how to react.

And it was only as he resurfaced now, a year later, that you find all of those bottled up feelings and resentments boiling at the surface.

“Osita,” You hear him greet with an estranged fondness, hating the way it rolls off his tongue like it was normal, “you’ve changed.”

You sip on your drink with disregard, hearing the silent squeak as he takes his seat a couple seats away and orders a plain tequila - nothing fancy, just liquor and a glass.

“Actually, make that a double,” He adds, tapping his wallet idly against the surface of the table as he waits, offering a reserved thank you as the two glasses are slid in front of him.

You pointedly turn away, hoping the fleeing sun and shifting color of the sky; a soft oceanic blue into tangerine skies and the flock of seagulls circling overhead. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough to block out Javier, who when he needs or wants something, is going to get it.

And currently, it was your attention.

“You know that was never my decision,” He deflects, “I’m fed a list and if I don’t sign it I look like I’m not willing to do my job, if I could have suggested they take you off—”

“You should have,” You bite, “if you felt so passionately about it, but as all things go in Peña’s world–if it doesn’t hurt you, then who cares, correct?”

You had only ever known Javier as the serious figurehead above you, not the one of tales told by co-workers, how mischievous he used to be, how daring. Los Pepes had really done a number on him apparently.

“I’m trying to apologize, alright?” He offers weakly - and Jesus, when had he downed the first glass of tequila in the time you had started talking to him? He quickly throws back the second glass and pushes them aside, “I came here because I heard it was a good place to disappear, that I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone knowing my name—and you just happened to be here, I’m not trying to invade, but I’m sure we can just…exist around each other for a weekend.”

When it came down to it, you knew there wasn’t much Javier could have done—sure, a word or two would have been nice in your defense, given how closely you two had worked together toward the end of your career in Colombia, but even then it assumedly wouldn’t have done any good.

You received a good pension and are living nicely now, making enough money to live comfortably somewhat off the grid—you could hold a grudge, it was easy. But, you don’t.

“Yeah,” You offer lamely, “apology accepted, can you leave me alone now?”

“I retired,” Javier slips as he shifts in his seat, “thought you should know.”

This motherfucker—he knew how to reel you in; hook, line, sinker.

“You? Retired?” You scoff, “Who roped you into that? Is someone blackmailing you?”

Javier makes a face of incredulous disbelief, “Blackmail—the fuck? No. I got tired of all of it, all the work we’re doing and half of the government is under the cartel’s dominion. From one extreme to another and there was no change in sight, it was pointless.”

He wasn’t wrong; you constantly put your life on the line for a cause, fruitless and impossible to change, it was like chasing your own tail half the time.

As you finish up your drink you order a beer politely, the bartender offering a flirty smile that Javier catches with a keen eye, but he files it away for another time. The subtle buzz of alcohol was already filtering through your head as you sip from the beer slid into your hand and Javier makes a motion with his finger, ordering a third drink.

“I see you haven’t changed,” You comment slyly.

“You either,” He remarks, eyes shifting toward the bartender.

As much as Javier had his indulgences, so had you.

It was unspoken how you both hid the trauma and stress under alcohol and sex, just never with each other, but this - Javier was reading it completely wrong.

“Oh, gross,” You grimace in disgust, “He’s a friend and I’m almost certain I am not his type.”

As the words leave your mouth, your friend approaches Javier with a third drink, mirroring his earlier actions with you but adding a subtle once-over with his eyes, admiring Javier’s toned physique and tanned skin, years of chasing after cartel members keeping him fit.

Though, his posture is slacking, slumped in his seat as he works on the third glass of tequila, still dressed in his earlier attire and it almost transports you back to the nights spent in his car, a glass of liquor tucked between his legs and his phone and binoculars resting on his thighs.

“Please tell me you brought more than just…that,” You inquired, eyes pointedly dragging over his figure in a less subtle manner, “like—actual vacation clothes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Javier defends, a confident smirk gracing his face as his hands spread over his knees and curls, gulping down the last sip of alcohol, “it’s fine—ladies love it.”

“Sure, if you’d like to stay stuck in the eighties for the rest of your life,” You jest, “I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in shorts, actually…I don’t think I’ve ever seen how you dress outside of work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love to know,” He teases, watching as you wobbled to your feet and grabbed your wallet and room key, “wait—you’re leaving already?”

“Yes,” You answer blatantly, “I don’t need you pestering me the rest of the night when I could spend it alone, in my room, like I do every night.”

“That eager to run off, huh?” Javier retorts, “God, you must really hate me.”

“Since when do you care what I think about you?” You ask him, genuinely curious. “I haven’t seen you in over a year and you show up here and expect me to fall to my knees and worship you like I did back in Colombia? You’re not my boss anymore and we’re not chasing after drug lords. Go fuck yourself, Javi.”

Truthfully, Javier Peña was only a shell of what he used to be. 

He’s softened, far less rigid than he used to carry himself. Working with his father had led him to live a quieter life, enjoy being around his family, and come to the realization that what didn’t want to be stopped, couldn’t be. He’s let things go, moved on, but for some reason—with you, he’s finding it difficult. 

He grabs your wrist as you intend to walk past, standing from his seat and turning to you as your body shifts toward his, like being transported back to the work office with the buzz of noise and voices around you, blaming the alcohol in your system for the way your eyes linger on his face, blinking as you take a stumbling step back.

“At least let me walk you back to the inn,” He suggests.

“Worried I can’t handle myself?”

“No,” He answers quickly, fully aware of how easily you could, “I’m just—let me, alright?”

“Fine,” You relent after a long pause, “whatever, but—don’t talk. Your voice is annoying.”

“Oh? Is it?” He responds with a chuckle, quickly realizing that you had no intention to wait for him as you’re already fleeing by the time he turns around to grab his wallet, jogging to catch up with you.

“Keep up, Peña.” You mock him, a subtle grin on your face as you hear his rushing footsteps in the sand, “You’ve really let yourself go, huh?”

Javier scoffs in amusement at your words, but doesn’t answer.

For once, he listens and keeps his mouth shut.

–

You take the scenic route, unusual for you, but with Javier at your side you try to remind yourself to be a decent tour guide—he was here for a vacation after all. There were a few locally owned shops that you suggested for breakfast and souvenirs, home-grown and made with love.

He takes them into consideration, noticing how much lighter you sound as you talk, the alcohol taking your body hostage, aware of how little you needed to consume before you were spilling unnecessary information and giggling yourself into tears. But, in the current moment, it was a quaint relaxation that washed over.

The sun had set now, both of you traveling in the dark as you approached the inn. Javier shared very little about how life has been for him back home, more interested in hearing your stories about crazy guests and cute, older retired couples who needed a week away from the city.

“When I first got here I would spend all of my time in the water, or near it,” You admit, fishing for your keys without much luck, reaching your room on the first level of the inn, “it’s so nice here, Javi—I mean, you think about all the stuff we endured back in Colombia and you wonder how the fuck we survived and suddenly you’re relaxing on the beach like none of it ever mattered.”

“It’s hard to let that shit go,” Javier admits, “still…wakes me up at night, you know?”

You knew well, nodding solemnly as you fumble to find the correct key, swaying on your feet before Javier decides to put you out of your misery and step in, gently prying the keys from your hand as he sifts through to find one similar to his own before he hands it back, shaking your head in amusement as you laugh quietly.

“Still terrible at handling your liquor,” Javier comments, hands hovering around you as you stumble forward, ready to catch you if you fall, luckily you stay on your feet, “wait—do you like, live here? At the inn?”

“For a stretch of time, yeah,” You answer as you step into your room, immediately toeing off your shoes and turning on your heels, hand gripping the doorknob as you face him and rest the knob against your hip, staring him down from a couple inches away, the threshold forcing the distance, “I have a place further in town when we close down for a couple months—you worried about me, Peña?”

He can’t explain why his stomach clenches at the words, an instinct to agree swirling in his gut.

He’s thought about you since your departure, but as he moved back home and forced himself to let go of that part of his life, things had started to fray around the edges of his mind, slowly disappearing.

His non-answer is telling, analyzing your features like you’ve seen him down a hundred times. Usually it was for signs of deception or misleading information, constantly on edge of a possible mole or betrayal. He never fully trusted anyone, but he knows he never sensed that with you.

“I’m a big girl,” You assure him, “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” He replies, his right hand curling around his belt, thumb rubbing against the mix of denim and the leather band, his left hand rubbing over his mustache and chin, “so—I guess I’ll see you ‘round, then? If I don’t, I can’t say I’m upset—I got to see your face again.”

“Cute,” You smile genuinely, head tilting against the doorframe, “All’s forgiven, I guess. I think I’m starting to realize how much of that shit was out of your control.”

“You were a good partner,” He says lowly, a grit to his voice that makes your insides quiver, “If I had a say, you would’ve stuck around.”

His brown eyes were a dangerous weapon, his face softening into that boyish charm he liked to use on you when he needed something inconsequential; a coffee, something he’d forgotten at his desk, or when he needed you to pick up the snacks before a stakeout.

You were definitely going to regret your next words.

“A few friends of mine are having a bonfire tomorrow,” You tell him, “It’s small—but I think you’d enjoy it. Plus, Elio would murder me if I didn’t extend the invitation.”

“Elio?” 

“You know,” You tease him, mocking the less than subtle grin and eye drag of your friend back at the bar that makes Javier chuckle, “that Elio. The Peña charm works down here in Hawaii too, I guess. He usually cuts people off after two drinks.”

“It’s about all you can handle,” Javier retorts, your relaxed, drunkish grin growing as you shove weakly at his chest, his hand winding around your wrist with ease, less urgent this time.

Your eyes drag to the touch, lingering for a moment as Javier’s thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, the rhythmic thrum of your pulse under the surface as your mouth salivates.

You hadn’t felt that touch in months, a gesture that shouldn’t hold so much weight, but brings you back to the constant idiotic decisions you would make with no regard for your safety. 

As reckless as you knew Javier to be prior to Escobar’s death, he had changed somewhere between then and when he met you, his touch was the only thing that grounded you in many high stress situations and instances when you felt impulsive - impatient.

But, this touch—it’s different.

“I’m not inviting you in, Javi,” You tell him steadily, eyes still locked on your wrist as his are on your face, “I do still have some respect for you—us, whatever that was before.”

“Sleep well, chiquita,” He says after a beat, turning your wrist in his hand as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand and departs for the elevator, leaving you in a drunken haze.

You almost change your mind, opening your mouth to beg him to stay.

The words never come out.

–

You never told him the exact details of where the bonfire was happening, but as he peeks out of his window the following night - forcing himself to spend the entire day away from you rather than sniffing around for you like a lost, helpless puppy - the fire was enough of a tell.

And you knew you wouldn’t need to tell him, either.

Elio is smirking as he glances over your shoulder, the soft tuft of sand shifting behind you as you peer up, finding a shockingly dressed-down version of Javier sans his tinted sunglasses that were almost a trademark to his look, sitting perfectly on his aquiline nose.

“So, you do have legs,” You tease, catching a glimpse of his uncovered shins as he takes a seat beside you on the towel laid over the sand, greeting your friends politely and shaking hands as they approach him, nodding as one of them shoves a beer into his hand.

 “Thank you—” He only processes your words after his first sip, brow furrowing in confusion, “hold up, what the hell does that mean?”

“I’d almost believe you were some type of robot if I hadn’t,” You joke lightly, the teasing falling completely flat as Javier glances down at his legs and bare feet, “sorry–bad…bad joke, it was something people used to say around the office. You never took a break, people thought you were some kind of machine or something.”

“You have not changed,” Javier reminisces, shaking his head with a chuckle to match.

It was your turn to share in the confusion, waving goodbye to a few friends who were wandering off for the night, shooting him a similar expression.

“Fumbling over your words, bad jokes, terrible conversation—”

“Oh, fuck you, Javi,” You shove his shoulder and he chuckles louder, “I can still kick your ass,”

“I don’t doubt it,” He agrees, sharing a brief exchange of eyes that makes your face heat and you’re internally willing the feeling of adoration away.

Not him, not now.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask in an effort to change the subject, “Only about twelve hours left, right?”

“And I’m sure you’ve got your countdown going,” Javier remarks, “It’s been good—needed it more than I realized, it’s so fuckin’ quiet out here.”

As your mouth opens, you catch sight of your friend who had been particularly interested in speaking to Javier—or more specially, Javier Peña. “Oh, right,” You interject, introducing him to your coworker turned friend, “he had a few questions about Escobar, figured you wouldn’t mind answering them.”

Javier didn’t necessarily mind, but he knows you’re doing it to irritate him.

As his attention turns away from you, you turn toward Elio who was relaxing nearby, talking amongst a few of his own friends but still vehemently aware of your presence, “If you two don’t just fuck each other already,” He remarks with a flippant, dismissive smile, “—missed opportunity, seriously.”

“Mind your business,” You retorted with no bite.

He shrugs in a matter-of-fact way before disappearing as Javier turns to you again, distraction gone as you meet him with a smile, “I’m gonna walk the beach for a bit.”

“Is that an invitation?” Javier inquires, casually you reach for his hand and tug him along.

The silence that grows as you walk alongside each other vaguely resembles the comfort that those late nights would bring, the gentle ambience of crashing waves that wash over your feet and the low roar of a boat engine as it passes by.

“They’re still trading,” Javier beings offhandedly, “—right in my fuckin’ Pop’s backyard.”

“Boats?” You surmise, never having sniffed out that type of activity on the island, relatively clean from the cartel’s reach. “There’s too many hands in the mix, you know? You were never going to stop that on your own.”

“Tried,” Javier retorts grimly, “Just ended up chasing my own damn tail in the end.”

Eventually, you find a spot closer to the inn - an incline in the sand that you both move to sit and perch, far enough away from the shore that you don't have to worry about getting wet.

“You made the right choice,” You assure him, “I think some of that resentment was only aimed at you, not necessarily my job. I’m happier here, but you—I just—”

Javier’s eyebrows raise in encouragement for you to finish, unsettlingly quiet.

“I think I was starstruck for a time, seeking your approval,” You admit, “but then I realized that we don’t mesh. We work well, but outside of that…I couldn’t match up with the others.”

It was a kinder way of saying that you didn’t like the locker room talk that happened often among his colleagues, often on the outskirts as you listen to them dig into the nitty gritty details that were never work appropriate, bragging and talking over one another. Javier was usually subdued, but he did occasionally make comments that reminded you exactly why you swore of men like him or them.

“You know what I appreciate about you,” Javier begins after a dragging silence, your eyes locking on him curiously, “You didn’t need the approval to do a good job, you just did it.”

It was easy with you.

Regardless of how badly you did want the recognition.

“A thank you would have been nice.”

Javier cracks a weak smile, swiping a few grains of sand from your knee before he squeezes your leg and offers a genuine, “Thank you.”

It was better than nothing, you suppose.

“Also, serious question,” Javier interjects quickly, “What did you mean by mesh?” 

You turn to him with a bigger grin, raising your finger to press against the center of his chest, between his unbuttoned neckline, “You - are not my type. At all.”

Javier guffaws at that, genuine disbelief, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“Good thing I don’t have one.”

“C’mon—not even once?” Javier presses, sensing there was more beneath the surface.

You almost considered letting him inside of your room the first night he arrived, some half-assed excuse about respect that Javier knows you could care less about, more-so setting a boundary for yourself, reminding you that this wasn’t something you should allow yourself to have.

Javier was enough of a gentleman to respect that and throughout the entirety of your partnership, had never attempted to make things weird, despite how he may feel.

You were beautiful and he could tell you that to your face, a striking personality and witty humor to match—and he’s never prided himself on respecting the rule about workplace relationships, having dabbled in enough bad behavior with interns and receptionists that filtered through. 

You scared him—not in a bad way. But, Javier’s never been quite so intimidated. 

“Let me change your mind,” Javier says jokingly.

There’s a brief flicker as he says it, a blip of miscommunication before you realize his tone and you pray Javier moves on—of course, he doesn’t.

“Let me,” He tries again, his voice softer as you find your bodies gravitating toward each other, his hand nudging your chin up like he’s done it before, a practiced motion before your lips are pressing together gently, a small noise behind Javier’s closed lips as you return the gesture tentatively, “I’ll give you a reason to change it, chiquita.”

“Javi,” You plead, not asking for more or less, but rather begging for an excuse; a reason to deny him or a thousand ways this could go badly for the both of you, “we shouldn’t—”

His hand slides down your cheek to your neck, guiding your chin up to allow room for his mouth at your neck, placing wet and open-mouthed kisses against your skin as your fingers wrap around his wrist, a sigh pushing out of your throat as you relax under his touch.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to—”

“Don’t,” You interject quickly, sounding breathless, “don’t say that—just…stop talking.”

Javier chuckles, nosing his way up the side of your face before his eyes peek open, locking with your own as his right hand drifts down your neck to your waist and squeezes, pulling you in with a cocky grin, “Tell me to stop touching you, then.”

“You haven’t changed,” You retorted fondly, the tiniest trace of venom in your tone.

The lack of acknowledgement to his direct command makes his grin grow stronger.

The exchange of lips gains an edge of intensity as your hands reach for him almost on instinct, his right leg slotting between yours where they were spread, a hand wrapping around your thigh as he moves over you, back pressing against the sand while your own hand moves along the back of his neck and through his hair at the nape.

You sigh into his mouth, lips parting as his tongue traces teasingly and slides along your own, silently pushing at the loose fabric of your shirt as it moves up your abdomen, the gentle breezing hitting your skin and you make a small noise, your own fingers curling around the collar of his shirt, fingers fanning out over the tanned, freckled skin of his shoulder.

“Forget the bed,” Javier huffs against your lips, “let’s do it right here.”

You giggle at his insistence and shake your head, nose rubbing against his with the motion as you part, hand against his chest to force some distance as he sits back with a flushed expression, similar to how he’d look after a foot chase but his eyes darkened with pleasure.

“You can’t be serious?” You inquire, a boyish shrug of his shoulders as his teeth peek through his smile, hearing the faint chatter of friends a distance away, both of you perfectly hidden from view. Still, you weren’t that reckless.

“Still have that whole respect thing for us going on?” Javier teases, eyes flicking briefly toward the darkened inn, most of the patrons already tucked in for the night. 

You roll your eyes with an obvious fondness as you shove him away, moving to your feet as you brush the sand away, casually holding out your hand as he mirrors your actions, “Not tonight.”

You were almost positive you would regret it later, but for now, you acted on the impulsivity.

–

Javier was as eager as you expect, on you the moment your door clicks shut, holding you close as you stumble backward into the bathroom and flick on the light, equally trading touches as he strips you naked without a word, down to your underwear before you can push him away for long enough to turn on the water.

He strips as you adjust the temperature, “Be honest, was it because I was your boss?”

You give him a look of irritation that is quickly quelled by his touch, wet hand fumbling to grip his shoulder as he strips you down to nothing, stepping quietly out of your panties as he drags them down your thigh, tilting your head down as he stays kneeled for a moment.

“Not even close,” You remark, feeling the emphasis of his intention with every press of his lips; one at your shin, knee, two on each thigh before he presses one gentle kiss at your mound, his bottom lip catching against your skin as he slowly moves to stand again.

Javier strips himself the rest of the way as you step inside of the hot shower, closing your eyes as you wet your hair under the gentle spray, his lips attaching to your throat as he climbs inside and shuts the curtain, hands pressed against the curves of your body, cradling you.

You shiver despite the warmth of the water, your skin tingling everywhere Javier touches. His hands roam your body with a reverence that makes your breath catch. 

"Then why?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky.

You turn in his arms, pressing your body flush against his. Water cascades over both of you as you look up into his dark eyes, clouded with desire.

"Because I knew if we did, it would only make things worse,” You admit, “Sex always complicates things, I like how he worked together without it.”

“Well,” He chuckles, both hands spreading out over your back and down to your ass, gasping at the way he squeezes so greedily, teeth digging into your skin gently, “we’re not partners anymore.”

“No,” You breathe out in a shaky attempt at grounding yourself, his hardened cock nudging at your stomach, “we’re not.”

Javier’s hand slides lower, wrapping around the back of your knee as he guides you back against the cold tile wall in the tight space, gasping at the cool to touch surface and the hand that hikes your leg up, Javier’s foot raising to rest along the edge of the tub.

The hand not occupying your knee slides teasingly between your folds, releasing a shaky sigh as you tilt your head back, the water soaking Javier as it hits his back, dripping down his hair and along his nose, carefully examining the subtle changes in your expression as his fingers graze your clit before he slips his middle finger inside of you, hooking the digit in a way that has you squeezing your hands as they reach for his shoulder.

“Tell me you want this,” He growls, an inflection in his voice you’ve heard before but have never felt aimed at you. It makes your head spin, suddenly dizzy.

Instinctively still, you know what to say.

“I do. I want this. Want you, Javi.”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, all the pent-up desire from months of working together finally unleashed. You reach for his cock, taking a moment to admire him. It shouldn’t strike you how endowed he is, thick and resting just at his belly button, a couple inches more than you’ve ever encountered before and cut, a protruding vein running along the side of his cock from his shaft to just underneath the head of his cock, running your thumb along the ridge and over the weeping slit, suddenly dying for a taste as your mouth watered.

Javier was too impatient, though.

There’s a exchange of unspoken communication, a simple and subtle head nod as Javier fists his cock, rubbing the head between your folds before he pushes inside of you, a palm flat against his chest as you hiss at the faint sting, a stretch you weren't accustomed to and the nails that dig into his skin shouldn’t turn him on like they do, but he leans into it, shallow thrusts inside of your cunt until he’s fully sheathed and your fingernails are biting into his skin, tiny rivulets of blood washed away by the water overhead.

Javier’s movements are slow and deliberate, using the leverage of your unsteady position as you stretch onto your toes of the foot still pressed against the floor of the shower, the other leg held tight at his hip as he fucked into, careless of the water splashing to the floor where the curtain was set askew by his knee pressing into the fabric.

"God, you feel so good," he groans against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so perfect. Knew you’d be perfect.”

“H—how - fuck - how often have you thought about this?” You ask, licking away the droplet of water from your lips as Javier smiles, the kind that only carried mischief, as he noses at your neck.

“Every damn day,” Javier admits, lips dragging along your ear as he fucks you with a newfound furiosity, “—mierda, she’s squeezin’ me so tight—all the time. At the office, those late nights in the car. Thought about—fuck, jus’ bending you over the trunk and fucking you there.”

His hips snap into you with force, driving you back against the tile wall. A gasp rips from your throat, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, scrambling as you slipped but Javier is already there, steadying as he adjust his position to lock your legs at hips, suspended in his hold as his cock brushed deep inside of you, eyes rolling back.

“All you needed was some attention,” Javier surmises, “someone to tell you how good of a job you were doing, right?”

It would have been nice during your tenure, but now, it feels taunting. 

“You’re good,” Javier tells you, “so fuckin’ good—”

“Oh, god,” You moan, hands tangling into his wet hair as his lips find your neck again, the faintest scratch of stubble against your skin, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives his hips into you relentlessly, “Jav—Javi, please—”

“That’s it, baby,” He groans, a soft release of breath, “let me hear you.”

The deep, coiling heat in your belly twists as he presses you tight against the wall, releasing your leg haphazardly to drag his thumb over your clit, the franticness of his movement matching his desperate need for release as he moves his finger in quick, hurried circles over your clit.

Your soft cries are muffled by his cheek as you press your mouth against him, drawn so close that it was near suffocating, “S’right there, Javi—I’m close,”

His groan is deep, hips stuttering with your words, “Where?”

Your eyes connect for a stretch of time - another unspoken acknowledgement as you tug at his hair, walls squeezing tight around his cock and nod, his jaw clenching as his orgasm approaches and he brings you with him.

It’s a sensation that makes your body go taut, his hips slowing as he pushes his seed deep inside of you, moaning brokenly into your shoulder as he eventually pulls out and lowers you back on steady ground.

"Fuck," Javier mutters, breathing heavily as he pushes away from you and notices your sated expression, a subtle smile pulling at your features. There's a softness in his face you've never seen before, a vulnerability.

You continue the shower in a comfortable silence as you both settle, like a well-oiled machine with how easily you both move around each other and with, watching as Javier quietly pushes the damp washcloth between your legs and cleans up the mess he’s made.

As you dress, he’s more subdued. Solemn. Brooding.

This was the Javier you remembered so well.

He’s waiting for the words, fingers working slowly at the buttons of his shirt before you fingers wrap around his wrist, dressed in a thin satin slip you had pulled from your drawers, sticking to your wet skin in all the places Javier’s touched, the remnants of his touch still stuck on your mind.

“Stay,” You insist—watching as he succumbed so easily to your touch, shirt half-buttoned and hanging from his frame, “if you want.”

Nobody ever asks him to stay, always on the other end, begging for a moment longer.

For me, your eyes plead.

For the night, he knows.

But, the words strike deep.

“You’re gonna make it impossible to leave,” Javier comments, smiling at the giggle you let out.

“Good,” You tease him, dragging out the syllable, “more of an excuse to come back.”

Not for his own selfish reasoning.

For you, Javier tells himself.

[vienssunshine]

Raising the Stakes

pairing: Sylus x fem!reader nsfw: highly suggestive, ostensible dry humping wc: 3.2k author's note: this is based on the midnight stealth mission, but there are definitely artistic liberties taken. maybe i will write a part two, though would need to do more research as i haven't actually played this game haha description: you're willing to do whatever it takes to win sylus' bet. read part two here

He’s home.

If not the sudden tightness in your chest, the gentle close of the front door confirms it.

You’re on your feet and with one last look around his gloomy bedroom, shit, you left the bedside drawer open. You slam it shut, louder than you would’ve liked. Then, you’re out of there, taking care to close the bedroom door much more quietly.

Fuck. The brooch isn’t anywhere in his room.

Stupid bet. Stupid Sylus. Stupid you.

If you don’t find it—you look down to your watch—within the hour, you’ll lose your lead on the Aether Core. That can’t happen, you won’t let it. You have to find that goddamn brooch.

There’s only one place left to check.

You find Sylus in the hallway, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase and setting it on the entryway table. A wet umbrella leans against the wall, and though it’s too dark to see out of the window, you can hear the gentle rainfall outside.

You saunter up to him, hands clasped behind your back. You’re hoping the smile you have on your face looks warm rather than contrived.

“Hello, Sylus,” you greet him as nicely as you can. Things might be a little tense after yesterday, so you hope he isn't the type to hold a grudge.

He spares you a glance before closing his briefcase and setting it on the table next to the folder.

“Someone’s cheerful,” Sylus says, “Did you find what you’re looking for?”

Of course you didn’t. The asshole knows that.

You smooth those thoughts out to return a seemingly content, “Oh, not yet.”

His hands go to the collar of his coat, but you intercept him, and though you’d meant to only touch the fabric, your haste causes your fingers to end up on his knuckles. You swallow and continue anyway. “Here, let me."

"You want to help with my coat?" he asks.

You nod, your smile tight-lipped.

His puzzled expression is replaced by a incredulous smirk and he returns his hands to his sides, allowing you to be the one that pulls the heavy, black coat from his broad back.

You fold the it over your forearm and smooth the fabric down in a subtle attempt to feel for any hardware hidden within the coat or its pockets.

Sylus turns around and leans back on the entryway table. “Something else must have you in a good mood then,” he observes, "What is it?”

“Just…happy to see you,” you say. You’re laying it on a little thick, so you supplement with, “It’s nice to have someone else to talk to, the twins have been driving me crazy all day.”

There’s nothing in the coat, so you hang it up. Damn it.

“Have they?” Sylus says, “I’ll be sure to speak to them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, they’re harmless,” you say, eyes falling to the burgundy vest sitting atop his black button-down. “And now that you’re here, it’s better.” You step towards him and your hands go to the top button, “I’ll help with this too.”

Sylus doesn’t stop you, simply watching with a lazy smile as your fingers undress him in his entryway. Even if he is suspicious of your actions—he hasn’t forgotten about the bet—you're certain that he will indulge in his own amusement every time. This personality quirk is evident from his thrilling lifestyle—better dangerous than boring—and one you’ll push to its limits if it helps you win this bet.

You pop the final button open, revealing his button-down in full. You push the vest over his shoulders, leaning a little too close to his chest to get it off his back. When the fabric is recollected in your hands, you look up at him, and he holds your gaze, waiting for whatever excuse you’ll make next. It's clear to both of you that it's too obvious if you search the vest in front of him.

“I’ll go take care of this,” you end up with. You’re not sure what ‘take care of this’ even means since you don’t know if his labyrinthine mansion even has a laundry room. In fact, you still haven’t discovered how your dirty clothes have been disappearing from your room only to magically show up cleaned and folded on your bed the next day.

“All right,” he responds, “I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

“Okay,” you say, pivoting with the vest tight to your chest and walking down the hallway. When you turn the corner, and take a few more steps—just to be certain you're out of Sylus’ sight—your stroll turns into a sprint until you get back to your room.

Breathing rapid, you throw the vest down onto your bed and rifle through it, checking every pocket and fold once and then twice. You scowl. Nothing. The brooch is still on him.

Your fingers twist into the soft threads of the vest, crumpling the jewel-toned fabric. Time is running out. You need a new plan, but your head’s empty. You’ll just have to find him and hope something comes to you.

On your way out, you go to toss the vest onto your desk until, in a strange lapse of judgement, you instead bring the fabric to your nose. Its scent is dark and multi-layered, complicated but grounded by the standout note of an earthy musk. You pause. You've enjoyed this scent before, when wandering around the halls, but that was because you thought it was from the mansion's foreign plants, not Sylus.

You shake your head. He smells nice, so what? You throw the vest onto the back of the chair by the desk. Soon you’ll be out of this place, and then all this strangeness will end.

You make your way to the study, resigned to your fate. You need to check his button-up and the pockets in his pants, they’re the last places the brooch could be.

Arriving at his study, you rap gently on the door.

His gravelly voice answers, “Come in.”

You push the door open and Sylus looks up from the papers strewn about in front of him. The dim glow of the lamp on the desk casts his form in a soft, warm light, allowing you to notice two small changes since you talked in the hallway; there are thinly-framed gold glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and his black shirt has a few more buttons undone, showcasing his strong collarbone.

He looks…good.

“How can I help you?” he asks and it snaps you back to your mission.

You enter his study, strolling by the chair you’re meant to sit in and then past the desk, fingertips grazing the spines of a stack of books piled up next to the lamp.

“Weren’t you just at work?” you say, leaning on the corner of his desk, “And now that you’re home, you’re working again?”

He puts his pen down and sits back in his chair, eyes roaming your figure against his desk. “Work is work. It never ends.”

“It’s too much,” you say, standing up and placing your hand on the back of his armchair. “Want me to help you relax?”

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

Sylus chuckles, “What did you have in mind?”

“You look so tense all the time.” You run your hand from his shoulder up to his trap. He’s warm, and that familiar musky scent wafts up to your nose. “A massage might make you feel better.”

“Really?” he says, his brows furrowing, “You want to give me a massage?”

Yes, it’s true that with narrowed eyes and a snarled mouth you tried to shoot a bullet through his chest yesterday. And yes, that same you is now offering relief for his poor, sore muscles today. He must not understand that debasing yourself for a mission is not beneath you.

“Mhmm,” you confirm, “I’ll give you a massage…if you want one.”

“All right then,” he says, “I’m all yours.”

“Great,” you say, eager to step behind him. The way he was looking at you was twisting your stomach up. And he says such strange things.

You turn your focus to kneading your fingers into his thick traps, pushing down and into the hard muscle. Damn, he’s really tight. Is being the leader of Onychinus that stressful of a job? Well, it must be, it’s a crime ring after all. Spying, stealing, killing, it must wear someone down. And really fuck them up—makes them the type to strike a wager where you have to hunt down a little brooch in a huge mansion.

Sylus lets out a soft groan and the noise fills your face with heat. Your fingers stall for a moment, but you swiftly recover, instinctively repeating the action that got you such a nice sound. You wonder if he’s ever gotten a massage before.

“You’re good at this,” Sylus says. His fingers are gripping the sides of the armchair, veins coursing out from underneath his sleeve to thread through the tops of his hands. They look tired too. You’ll move to them once you check the collar of his shirt.

“Thank you,” you respond, “I’m happy you like it.”

You pause, and lean to the side so you can look at him when you ask, “Is it okay if I massage your neck too?”

His blood-red eyes watch yours intently and you don’t miss how his mouth hangs slightly ajar, his breath heavy. “You may,” he permits.

You right yourself quickly so he can’t see the smile on your face. It has to be pinned on the inside of his collar.

“Tilt your head forward for me?” you ask, and he complies, revealing the thick column of his pale neck. You press your two thumbs to the top of his neck, right where his silver hairline starts, and drag them down, following the natural guidelines of his spine.

He sighs again, but you don’t indulge, focusing on drawing your thumbs further down his neck to his collar, pushing it down and away with the palms of your hands. The fabric folds over easily; there’s no brooch hidden underneath.

Fuck.

You repeat the action a few more times to keep up the facade, sparing a glance to your watch. 15 minutes left. You need to speed this up. There’s a few more places to check—his sleeves, his neckline, and…his pants.

One last drag of your thumbs down the column of his neck and you walk around the chair again. You move his papers and folders out of the way and sit on his desk, bringing his right hand into your lap.

“I’ll do your hands now, since you’ve been writing so much. They look tired to me.”

“They do?” he says, amused. “Then I’m glad you’re taking such good care of them.”

You work your thumbs into the palm of his open hand. His skin is softer than you expected a criminal’s would be. Guess he doesn’t actually do any of the dirty work.

You turn his hand over in your lap and unbutton the cuff of his black sleeve. Sylus raises an eyebrow.

“So I can massage your forearms, too.”

“Of course,” he says, letting you to roll up the sleeve to his elbow. Your hands linger there for a bit longer than you would’ve liked, but you had to confirm it—there’s no brooch pinned to the inside of his cuff.

Returning to your ploy, you begin to drag your hands down his forearm, only to notice how large it is, it’s hard to wrap your hand around.

“Do you work out?” you ask, thoughtlessly.

He chuckles. “Yes, I do.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with forearms like these.” Your eyes trail back down to the sizeable hand resting between your legs. “Hands, either.”

“Do you like them?”

“Hm?”

“My arms…my hands?”

Why would he care what you think of him? He certainly didn’t weigh your opinion when trying to force you to resonate.

“I-I don’t know,” you say, clumsily escaping the question. “Here, let me do the other hand.”

He pulls his hand back into his own lap and offers his other out to you. You take it and start to massage.

Sylus leans his head back against the plush velvet of his armchair, allowing his eyelids to flutter closed. He seems to really like what you're doing, and it's making you grapple with the indecipherable, tingly feeling skating underneath your skin. This is pretend, you’re playing a role to get what you want, but it feels like your ploy has actual stakes, more than just getting the brooch. You push it down, you shouldn’t get distracted from your goal.

Checking his left cuff reveals nothing.

You bite back a frown, tilting your head down to hide your displeased expression.

It’s here, you know it. Just where exactly?

While you work at his palm, your eyes roam around, looking for any unusual shapes or pulls on the fabric of his shirt. You do the same to his pants, but his pockets seem empty, though you can’t be sure from just looking. Then a weight settles over your body.

His eyes are open now, and he’s staring.

You drop your gaze back down to his hand, hoping to look focused and dedicated to your work.

“I think that’s enough,” he says, bringing his hand back into his lap.

No, damn it, you need more time. But before you can come up with another dumb excuse, Sylus says, “I feel compelled to return the favor,” as he rubs his wrist, “Especially since my hands are feeling so much better now.”

His shirt and his pants. You’ve gotta look.

“Do you really want to?” you ask.

“I do,” he says, reaching for your hand. You let him hold it, but then push off the desk and into his lap, straddling him.

You. Cannot. Believe. You’re. Doing. This.

“Oh?” he says, “Getting comfortable now, are we?”

“Is it okay?” you say. But it's not like his feelings should matter; he’s the one who’s hidden the brooch so close to heart.

“More than,” he responds, returning his eyes to your hand, beginning to knead your palm. It feels good.

You let your uncaptured hand settle on his chest, right by the line of buttons traveling down his shirt. As slowly as you can, you move it to one side of his chest, then the other, searching for the pin.

“Feeling around?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“Uh, no, just…steadying myself.” You look down. “Your massage feels nice.”

“Does it?” Sylus chuckles. “I’m glad.”

You steal a glance at your watch, which thankfully encircles the wrist of your free hand. 5 minutes left. You both know it. The question is, how far are you willing to go to win?

Previously hovering, you sit your weight down into his lap, committing. Sylus continues the massage, tracing the lines of your palms with an enjoyable pressure.

You can’t feel anything underneath you outright, so, through clenched teeth, you begin shifting your weight around in his lap.

That’s enough to get his attention.

“What are you up to now?” he says.

“Do my forearm,” you say, pushing it into his grasp. “It’s sore.”

4 minutes.

He complies, pressing his fingers into your flesh in skillful, slightly distracting ways, soothing the muscles tight around your forearm. Damn, he moves like he knows what he's doing.

“What has gotten into you?” Sylus says with a smirk.

Your response doesn’t need to be believable, you just need him to let you continue. So you say, “Keep going. You feel…good.”

You can’t pay much mind to the breathy noise from his throat because your focus is on the opening of his shirt, hand skimming the left side of his neckline, fingers brushing against his bare chest. It's a highly intimate action, but even worse is the way you’re pressing down on his pants. You’re practically grinding on him, and your body is reacting accordingly, that giddy sensation warm and alive in the depths of your stomach.

You push it all away, prioritizing the search, moving your fingers to right side of his open neckline. You’re a Hunter. You can do this.

And then you feel it. Two things. At the same time.

Your fingers wrap around the cool metal of the brooch while the underside of your pelvis settles down on something hard pushing through his pants.

“Looks like you found it,” Sylus says.

Your breath hitches. Though your fingers are on the brooch, you look to Sylus’ face. His glowing red eyes are lidded and his pale face painted with a gentle pink blush. His lips are curled in an all-too-familiar condescending smirk. And you want to kiss them.

This has become too real too fast. Yes, it was pretend, a way for you to get the brooch, but now it’s his hard cock pushed up against your clothed cunt.

Your face burns. No, your skin is on fire. This is all too much.

“I-I’m sorry.” you say, before pushing yourself up off of his lap. “I can’t. I can’t…do this.”

Sylus releases your forearm. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine, really. It’s my fault,” you say. The backs of your thighs crash into the desk and you stumble.

He reaches for you, calling your name gently, and the sweetness of his tone only makes you feel worse.

You don't take his hand, stumbling around the corner of the desk and heading towards the door. You worked so hard to get the brooch, but you just can't do this. So you take one last look at him and his outstretched hand, and flee from the room.

The flickering lights of the candles mounted on the walls fly by as you sprint through the hallway. You turn a corner and nearly run into the twins, a quick step to the side saving you all a collision.

“Jeez, what’s gotten into her?” one of them says after you give a quick apology and continue your escape. You get back to your bedroom, and slam the door behind you. You lean up against it, panting hard, the saliva thick in your mouth.

That was too much.

You stagger over to your bed, collapsing down onto it. Though it’s been the best bed you’ve ever slept in for the past few nights, tonight, it’s hard and uncomfortable. You pull your knees to your chest, curling up in the fetal position.

You shouldn’t have let it get that far, let your mind and body get so confused with what was actually going on. Goddammit you tried to kill him yesterday, and now you’re bouncing around on his lap like you're on your honeymoon. Even if it was for a mission, what were you thinking?

You could ask the same of him. He might have been playing along, but you felt him against you, big, hot, hard. No, he must’ve liked it, for real.

And you? Did you actually like it? It felt nice. Him touching you. Him liking you. At the same time, it was so scary. These new feelings. You thought you hated him. And now you're all mixed-up on what's real and what's not.

You groan. Your thoughts are going a million miles a minute, and your heart rate hasn’t slowed down. You need some time to think this over, to process. Maybe you can avoid him for the next few days.

Only, the auction is still tomorrow…and you don’t know if you won the bet or not. Yes, you found the brooch on time, but did you have to take it from him to win? God, it’s all so confusing.

The moonlight shines on the ruby fabric draped over the desk chair and the scent reaches your nose once more.

You on his lap. His hands holding yours. Blood red eyes studying you.

You get under the covers and turn away from your desk. Hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow.

[t1red-twilight]

one bed

summary: one bed trope with bobby😩🤚💜

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, forced proximity, pining, jake seresin plotting

wc: 0.8k

masterlist b. f. masterlist

the crew had decided to go on a road trip, and conveniently, jake booked one room short. you had insisted that you’d just find another motel nearby, seeing as they were a dime a dozen in the area you were in. bob, the sweetheart he was, insisted that you stay and he leave.

and, of course, jake “solved” your problem by introducing the concept that you two stay together. the glaring issue being that neither of you were confrontational enough to say no to the other. you did not want to hurt bob’s feelings, at all. before anything else could happen, jake shoved the key in your hand and sent you on your way.

another issue quickly presented itself: there was only one bed. cliche, and way too convenient for this to be a coincidence. you weren’t blind to how seresin (teamed up with bradley, on some occasions) sat you and bob together. it did not help that you turned bright tomato red when in the same room as bob either.

who could blame you? he was so sweet and kind, and incredibly easy on the eyes. you were surprised that bob hadn’t caught on yet but you weren’t going to push your luck.

you pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, only to be met with one queen bed sitting proudly in the center of the room. the pieces slid into place: of course jake would pull so thing like this. you could practically hear jake cackling at the idea.

put the nervous wreck with the very reason they hyperventilated in the same room and expect them the share a bed. hilarious.

“i can take the floor,” you said. the motel looked clean, but did not have a couch. only a sad cuck chair mocked you from the corner.

bob looked at you incredulously. “what? no you’re not. i will.” you shook your head in protest.

“no, bob. it’s fine, i promise. don’t worry about it.” you had already moved to grab a blanket from the closet, only to see that there wasn’t one.

you felt bob encroach on you from behind. “this place is too cheap for extra amenities, go figure. not that i’d let you hurt your back on the floor anyway,” bob stated. he was much closer than you anticipated. you could practically feel the vibrations from his voice on your neck. “if it’s alright with you, i’m fine sharing the bed.”

you turned and tried to keep the flush on your face to to a minimum (even though you knew the effort was fruitless). “yeah, um- that’s fine with me.” that was mostly a full sentence, good enough.

you traded off getting ready for bed in a mostly comfortable silence. when time came to actually address the awkward elephant in the room, bob had a simple request. “can i take the bed by the door?”

“yes, that’s fine. i don’t mind.” you slipped into the side by the window and laid down stiffly. the bed dipped as bob slid under the sheets. the mattress was fine enough.

a few minutes passed. the only to be heard was the hum from the clock on the nightstand. “i’m going to turn the heater on, is that okay?” you asked. the chill from the night air has seeped into the room and begun to sink into your bones.

bob hummed in affirmation before responding, “that’s fine with me.”

you walked over the the heater unit under the window and fiddled with it. nothing. you rapidly pressed the power button, still nothing. the temp screen was blank, even after you assaulted the “increase” toggle. you exhaled exasperatedly.

“everything okay?” bob asked.

you pinched the grudge of your nose. “it’s broken. it won’t even turn on.”

“you mind if i check?” you mumbled a quiet ‘go ahead,’ and bob walked over. you sat on the bed as he, more patiently than you, messed with the machine. “yep. it’s definitely broken,” he stood with his hands on his hips.

you had begun to shiver at this point. “i would say that we could ask for a room change, but i doubt they have enough rooms for that.”

bob paused for moment, clearly in thought. “if you don’t mind, we could just…share body heat?” your jaw tensed at the thought of getting to be that close to him. “sorry, that might be weird.”

“no!” you said, a little too quickly. “no, that’s okay with me. but only if it’s okay with you.”

“i’m perfectly okay with it,” if it wasn’t so dark, the look on his face might have seemed like he was…smiling?

bob walked around the bed and got underneath again, you mirrored him. he held one of his arms out, gesturing you toward him. tentatively, you scooted over. you laid down on his chest and his arm curled around your back. your torso was up against his, legs brushing against each other.

you’d never admit it out loud, but he smelled quite nice. fresh like laundry and eucalyptus. each of his breaths tickled your scalp, and lulled you into a trance-like state. “are you warm?” he questioned.

“yes, thank you,” you responded. he pulled you in just a little bit tighter and your breath hitched. quickly after that you fell asleep, bob following soon after.

[fortunxa]

❝ HOT & COLD ❞

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: Jinx and you are over—officially. But the lease says otherwise. Add a blizzard, a broken heater, one very unfortunate bed-sharing arrangement, and too many grudges to count. The blanket is thin, but the line between hatred and muscle memory is even thinner. Who knew emotional repression could be this warm?

contents: soft angst & fluff, exes to… something, forced proximity, only one bed trope, accidental intimacy, domestic tension, mutual pining, yearning, idiots (still) in love, poor communication skills, sleepy confessions, romcom fic, modern AU.

wc: 4.4k

Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

Jinx and you broke up.

Like, broke up broke up.

With tears, screaming, one shattered mug (accidental), one shattered phone screen (less accidental), and silence, in the end. Not the peaceful kind—just the kind that buzzed with all the things you didn’t say and probably wouldn’t.

It was Jinx who muttered, “Fine. We’re done,” and you who said nothing in response.

Not because you agreed, but because you didn’t want to beg. Again.

But, in your infinite brilliance, neither of you remembered to check the lease. Or maybe you did remember—just silently hoped the other would cave first and move out.

Because rent was hell, and pride was worse. And if you left, Jinx would win.

She was absolutely thinking the same thing.

Weeks passed. Two months, technically.

Two long, passive-aggressive, emotionally charged, death-by-a-thousand-paper-cuts months of sharing the same apartment like strangers who knew exactly where the other kept their trauma.

She holed herself up in the bedroom, headphones always on, voice rising in chaotic bursts during gaming streaks or mechanical rants to no one. You took the couch, curled into yourself at night, watching bad movies on low volume, mouthing along to the dialogue just to feel less alone.

It was the kind of breakup that involved changing the other’s profile picture on Netflix to their least favorite character just to push buttons, arguing about mugs that were mysteriously “stolen” (Jinx still maintained that the “World’s Okayest Girlfriend” mug always belonged to her), and a dramatic declaration from you that you needed “space to grow without someone damaging your Minecraft village every night.”

You coexisted in a very passive-aggressive ceasefire, held together by sheer spite and a mutual agreement to pretend the other didn’t exist outside of kitchen-related war crimes.

“STOP EATING MY CEREAL” became a recurring sticky note on the fridge.

“STOP BUYING SHITTY CEREAL,” Jinx wrote back, underlining shitty three times.

You labeled your food with threats like a deranged librarian. She responded by using your fancy almond milk to water your plants.

“You poisoned my fern!”

“She was a bitch anyway.”

One particularly tense morning, you found all your movie posters defaced with crudely drawn mustaches. Jinx’s crime was marked by the signature blue Sharpie and the fact that she cackled for ten minutes straight when you discovered it.

You retaliated by unplugging her gaming setup mid-boss-fight.

The scream could probably still be heard echoing down the hall.

She logged into your shared Spotify account and replaced your sad indie playlist with Yodeling Kid remixes.

You bought a life-size cardboard cutout of some D-list actor she hated and propped it up in the hallway.

She put googly eyes on it and called it her new roommate.

It was a cold, petty war. Very stupid, but livable.

Until the blizzard hit.

It came out of nowhere. No gentle snowfall or cinematic build-up—just a sudden, blinding white wall outside the windows, like karma finally cashed in all its receipts. Within the hour, the entire city went quiet, like someone had unplugged the world.

And then came the outage—lights gone, Wi-Fi dead. The fridge stuttered to a halt with a shudder, and everything fell into a hush thick enough to taste.

You were in the kitchen, standing over a sad bowl of reheated soup—portion for one—trying to stir some kind of comfort into it. The only light came from your phone’s flashlight, its narrow beams cutting through the room like a lighthouse in a sea of passive-aggressive clutter.

Jinx emerged from her room like a startled raccoon, squinting at the sudden dark. She blinked blearily, purple hoodie half-zipped, screwdriver still tucked behind one ear, and a half-disassembled drone clutched to her chest like a wounded animal.

“Hey,” she muttered, “did you pay the—?”

“It’s the storm,” you said, not even bothering to look at her as you angled the flashlight toward the stove. Your tone was flat and practiced. The tone of someone who had once shared a bed with her and now shared nothing but bills.

She paused. Processed.

“Cool,” she said flatly. “I love the apocalypse.”

“You would.”

There was a beat of silence. Then she scratched her neck, the way she always did when she was about to say something either vaguely important or incredibly stupid.

“So, uh,” she began, rocking back on her heels, “the heater’s dead, too.”

You turned your head slowly, deadpan. “What.”

“It was making this noise like eeeeeeeeeeeck—” She flailed one arm vaguely, mimicking an engine dying mid-scream. “Then nothing.”

You stared at her. “I told you we should’ve bled the radiator last week. It was already wheezing like a dying Victorian child, gasping out its final confession.”

Jinx just shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, well. He died doing what he loved. Making terrible sounds and being a nuisance,” she shot back like a stubborn teenager before realization hit. “Wait—were you just speaking to me like we’re still on speaking terms?”

“No, I was speaking to the other emotionally stunted idiot I share rent with.” You rolled your eyes, but your jaw tightened.

She blinked at you for a long second, eyes catching the flashlight. “Must be a crowd in here, then,” she finally muttered under her breath.

The tension had been simmering all evening—quiet, sharp, inevitable. You and Jinx stood in the darkened apartment like two ghosts who hadn’t figured out how to leave the place where they died. Wrapped in too-thin hoodies and thicker layers of resentment, you both waited for the other to break first.

“We could light candles,” you offered eventually, voice clipped, arms folded across your chest like armor.

Her head turned slowly, eyes glinting. “You mean my candles? The ones you took from our room after the breakup?”

You scoffed. “You don’t even like vanilla sugar cookie.”

“I like spite,” she snapped back. Then, of course, she went and fetched them anyway. She lit each one like she was performing a ritual—striking matches with far too much intensity, her face flickering in the flame’s glow like she was summoning a demon instead of basic warmth. You watched her set the candles down on the windowsill, the kitchen counter, and the old coffee table stained with memories.

The room was suddenly full of soft light and the scent of synthetic sweetness. It clung to the air like nostalgia—unwelcome and too familiar.

You pulled on another hoodie and cocooned yourself in a blanket from the couch. Lukewarm soup in hand, you sat cross-legged in the living room, the spoon tapping gently against the ceramic bowl like a nervous tic. Jinx paced behind you like she couldn’t stand still for too long without combusting.

“Bedroom’s warmer,” she finally muttered, not looking at you.

You raised an eyebrow without lifting your gaze, watching the soup swirl in your bowl like it held some kind of moral high ground. “Because you hoard all the blankets.”

“It’s called survival instincts,” she replied, leaning one hip against the doorframe. “Sorry you weren’t born with any.”

“I was too busy being born with emotional maturity.”

“Boring,” she tossed over her shoulder and turned on her heel, feet thumping softly against the floorboards.

But she left the bedroom door open.

You stared at it for a while. At the golden light pooling in the hallway. At the shape of her shadow disappearing inside. At the crack in your own will widening with every second.

Eventually, logic won.

Or loneliness did. Hard to say.

Ten minutes later, you stood in the doorway like a reluctant truce offering with crossed arms and toes curling into the icy floor through your fuzzy socks.

“You’re hogging the whole bed,” you said, trying for annoyance and landing somewhere closer to exhaustion.

“You weren’t in it,” she replied from somewhere under the blanket, her voice muffled.

“You left one pillow.”

“I am one pillow.”

“Gross.”

“True.”

You climbed in anyway.

The mattress creaked beneath you like it remembered things you didn’t want to. The blanket was warm in the places she’d already been, cold everywhere else. She didn’t move to make room, and you didn’t ask. Just shifted into the empty space beside her with the kind of caution reserved for old battlefields.

The silence between you was immediate and loud, only broken by the wind hurling itself against the windows like it had a vendetta. You lay stiff and awkward, the air filled with unsaid things and the scent of faint shampoo and stubborn memories.

“I’m still mad at you,” Jinx muttered into her side of the bed, her voice muffled and sullen, breath fogging faintly in the frigid air.

You didn’t bother turning around. “Then don’t cuddle me.”

“I’m not cuddling you,” she huffed defensively, indignation wrapped in shivers.

After a muttered argument and one poorly constructed pillow wall that collapsed under the weight of pettiness and shared body heat the moment you moved, the two of you ended up back-to-back, pressed together beneath the blanket like awkward divorcees forced to share a hotel bed at a family reunion. Two ex-girlfriends, one blizzard, zero dignity. But a whole lot of silence, tension, and regret.

Then, softly—reluctantly—she mumbled, “…Move closer, dumbass. I’m freezing.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it could’ve powered a generator. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, but you scooted back, just a little. She moved, too, slowly, like she wasn’t totally desperate for warmth. Or the smell of your hoodie. Or the shape of you.

Her toes bumped your calf, and you flinched. “Your feet are ice,” you hissed.

“You’ve got the warm ones. Share, frost witch.”

You kicked at her half-heartedly, but she just tangled her legs into yours like it was nothing. You both squirmed, adjusting awkwardly—arms crossing, knees knocking, elbows bumping into ribs—until you landed in a mess of limbs that felt more like a habit.

Jinx’s nose brushed against your shoulder—accidentally, on purpose—and neither of you mentioned it.

A long pause settled over the room. The kind of silence that comes after too many almosts and not enough apologies.

“…Are you still mad at me?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, like the question had snuck out before she could stop it.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, then exhaled. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words leaving your mouth half-formed, like they didn’t want to exist outside of your chest.

Silence settled again. Not cold, but careful.

“I saw you crying during Finding Nemo last week,” she blurted out, trying—and failing—to keep the amusement out of her voice.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glare half-heartedly. “That movie is devastating. He literally loses his son.”

She grinned in the dark. “Yeah, but I was emotionally dead inside before the stingray scene.”

You let out a short, reluctant laugh—sharp at the edges, but real. “You’re the worst.”

“You love it.”

“I did.”

The air shifted.

Not just the temperature, but the weight of everything unsaid, and you could’ve sworn you felt the mattress dip with the gravity of it.

“…So. Past tense,” she said quietly.

You shifted beneath the blanket, fabric brushing against her leg. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Her voice was too innocent.

“Make it sound like I’m the villain in your sad indie song,” you murmured.

Jinx blinked. “I would never.” Then, she smiled. Softly, almost fond. “Your vibe is more… tragic lesbian who dies in Act III.”

That earned another huff of laughter from you, but quieter this time. Sadder.

You turned to face her—just barely—and your noses nearly touched. Her breath was warm against your mouth. You didn’t move, and neither did she. The space between you was almost nothing, but still everything.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other in the half-dark. Breathing the same cold air, wearing the same old ache, still pretending the word love wasn’t curling in both your throats like smoke.

Her eyes fluttered. You could see her trying to stay present, to stay with you. But every few seconds, her gaze would soften, blur a little, until she blinked hard again and refocused on you—like your face was something she didn’t want to lose track of.

Your chest rose, and so did hers. In time.

It was around 3:00 a.m., though neither of you knew it. Because Jinx was curled against you like she forgot you broke up and lost the right to touch, and you didn’t remind her.

Maybe neither of you cared.

You fit together the way people who’ve fought and fucked and forgiven each other a hundred times always do—like old puzzle pieces with frayed edges, soft from use.

You weren’t really awake, but not quite asleep either—somewhere in the middle, suspended in that liminal space where your body acts before your brain does.

So when you stirred beside her—shuffling closer, sighing softly into the crook of her neck—it felt natural to respond. Familiar, like muscle memory. Her arm curled instinctively, draping over your waist like it used to.

You didn’t flinch. Simply exhaled, deep and steady, while your nose brushed against her collarbone in the dark. A second later, your lips followed, grazing soft skin—too lightly to be deliberate, too precisely to be random.

“You still grind your teeth when you’re about to fall asleep,” Jinx mumbled suddenly, her voice low and heavy, half-buried in the pillow between you.

You smiled into the dark—one of those worn-in smiles that surfaces from memory before thought. You didn’t mean to. It just happened, the way muscle remembers softness even after months of tension.

She exhaled, her breath warm against your temple, slow and even like the rhythm of a tide she couldn’t resist. Her lips brushed skin—not purposefully, not quite. But close enough to blur the line.

It wasn’t a kiss.

But it wasn’t not a kiss.

More like an echo.

A ghost of the old days, when goodnights always came with kisses and mornings meant shared coffee—too sweet, made one-handed while you still wore your blanket like a cape—and legs entangled in sleepy domestic knots.

An entire life lived in tiny routines.

You shifted slightly, voice drowsy as you murmured, “You’re breathing on me.”

“Can’t help it,” she mumbled, her words slurred with sleep. “You’re warm.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“Probably,” she hummed in response, a quiet, contented sound. The words melted into the quiet like honey in tea.

You moved again, slowly, thoughtlessly—half-lost to sleep yourself. Your nose brushed the curve of her cheek, skin to skin in the dark. “You’re soft.”

Jinx didn’t respond to that.

Because what could she say?

That she knew?

That she’s only ever soft with you?

That the word soft coming from your mouth made her want to cry in a way nothing else ever did?

That she missed being called that more than she’d miss breathing?

So, she said nothing.

She just leaned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss to your forehead—so light it could’ve been imagined, so instinctive it didn’t feel like a choice at all.

Not even thinking.

Just moving. Reacting. Remembering.

“I still set the kettle out for you,” you whispered suddenly, voice barely audible in the dark.

She stirred beside you. “What?”

“Every morning. I don’t know why.”

She went quiet for a long moment. The kind of quiet that meant she was holding something between her teeth, turning it over.

“I still charge your phone when you forget.”

You blinked, eyes stinging suddenly, inexplicably. The quiet pressed in around you again, heavy with all the things you hadn’t said.

“…We’re so dumb,” you said, almost laughing. It came out cracked.

“The dumbest.”

Another silence, but not empty.

Never empty.

Then she shifted, just slightly, like her whole body braced for impact before the words even left her mouth. “You know,” she said, quiet and careful, “I didn’t stop loving you. I just got tired of trying to become someone you could stay with.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t respond right away. Not because you didn’t have words, but because none of them felt like enough—not for this, not for her, and not after everything.

But slowly, tentatively, your hand found hers under the blanket. The touch was gentle, almost shy. Yet when your fingers slid into hers, they fit the same way they always had. Like nothing had changed. Like everything had. Like love learned how to hold on even when you tried to let go.

Your thumb brushed over her knuckle once. “You were always someone I wanted to stay with,” you whispered. “I just didn’t know how to stay with you and not lose pieces of myself in the process.”

Jinx’s grip tightened, just a little. Just enough. “I would’ve given you space,” she murmured.

“You didn’t know how,” you said, not unkindly, just true.

“I do now.”

Silence again.

Then, slowly, she tilted her head. Her mouth brushed the edge of your jaw—featherlight, slow, like she wasn’t sure she had permission. Like she was trying not to wake you. Like the memory of loving you was still rooted in her muscle memory, twitching to life in the dark.

And you let her. Turned into it, just slightly, because you were too tired to pretend you didn’t miss the way her lips used to know exactly where to land.

You met halfway.

The kiss was nothing like the ones you used to share. No urgency, no hunger, and no frantic pulling at clothes or gasps between apologies.

It was soft and short and not entirely awake—it happened so gently, so sleepily, you didn’t even realize you were kissing until it was already over.

Just a peck. The kind people don’t mean to give—like a sigh, or a yawn, or reaching for the light switch in a room you haven’t lived in for months but still remember.

Like coming home for three seconds in the middle of a snowstorm.

And then, without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose. Barely a whisper of contact. Just enough for her to breathe in sharply, like even now, even half-asleep, your affection still caught her off guard.

Then a third one—this one landing a little off-center, a little clumsy, brushing messily across the corner of her mouth.

A hello.

I remember you.

This still lives here.

Jinx made a small, involuntary sound—something between a sigh and a whimper—low and soft against your lips, like her body remembered you before her mind could. Your noses bumped lazily, and you smiled into it like it hurt.

When you finally paused for air, foreheads pressed together, you whispered, “This doesn’t mean anything… right?”

She nodded against you. “Right. Just… survival. Warmth.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, breath puffing against her lips. “Like penguins.”

She cracked a smile. “Exactly.”

“So if I kiss you again—”

“It’s so I don’t freeze to death,” she finished for you.

“Obviously.”

Another kiss.

This one lingered—longer than the last, warmer, steadier. There was a quiet kind of certainty in it.

“Penguins mate for life,” you whispered against her lips, the words soft and teasing, but not without weight. Like you tried to make it a joke so you didn’t have to admit it sounded like a promise.

Jinx blinked, caught mid-breath.

“…Shit.”

You laughed, breathless, and buried your face in her neck again, smelling her body wash and deciding not to comment on the fact that it smelled suspiciously close to yours.

Her arms slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. “Sleep,” she murmured, voice raspy with exhaustion and something far too tender. “Before we say something even dumber.”

“Too late,” you mumbled back, the words muffled against her collarbone.

You fell quiet again, tangled up in heat and history and every part of you that never quite let go, her thumb tracing something lazy into your spine.

“We’re a mess,” she whispered.

“Always have been.”

“Still want toast in the morning?”

You smiled, eyelids heavy now, the weight of the moment pressing down like warmth. “Yeah.”

Jinx’s grin was lazy and crooked, her voice slurring at the edges of sleep. “I’ll burn it just how you like.”

Outside, the storm continued.

Inside, two idiots kept forgetting they ever broke up, suddenly remembering how to be soft again.

And maybe the heater would come back.

And maybe you’d go back to hating each other in the morning.

But the body doesn’t lie the way the mouth does.

Because love doesn’t vanish—not really.

Sometimes it just moves into the living room and leaves sarcastic sticky notes.

yippeee i haven’t forgotten how to write softness!!

[muniimyg]

if this aligns w the bed chem universe..

probably when the rest of the group reacts to them dating or them seeing these 2 as a couple now or something. their friend group is so iconic !!

♡ 04: dinner and friends

series m.list // taglist unavailable

note: hangry vibes LOL

//

wednesday nights are for home-cooked meals.

as in: sleeves rolled up, veggies sacrificed, egos bruised. what started off as a sweet bonding tradition quickly devolved into a survival sport. a test of how many times the boys can push jungkook’s buttons before dinner is even plated. it used to be lighthearted. funny.

then jungkook started dating you.

and now? it's less who can piss him off first, and more how can we interrupt this weird domestic romance before we all throw up.

tonight, you’re running late.

not terribly. just enough that the boys are halfway through the prep, and jungkook’s slipped into his notorious silent treatment—head ducked, brows pinched, knife working like it owes him money. the onion he’s chopping is probably filing a restraining order.

he doesn’t look up when the door clicks open. doesn’t greet you. doesn’t soften.

instead, he just mutters, “took you long enough.” 

wow! it’s like he didn’t scroll through your texts four times waiting for your last message.

you smile anyway, dropping your bag on the counter and walking straight to him. your hand brushes along the slope of his back. gentle. grounding. he doesn’t flinch. just shifts a little, the smallest tilt, like he’d been saving that space beside him all night.

his hand finds your waist like it’s done it a thousand times before.

firm. steady. routine.

“careful,” he murmurs, still focused on the cutting board. “oil splashes.”

you blink, reaching for the salt beside him—and immediately feel him tug you back by the waist, slotting your body behind his like a human shield.

“i was just grabbing—”

“and i’m just trying to keep you alive,” he says, tone flat but hand protective. “sorry for caring.”

his fingers don’t leave your side until you’re holding the salt.

“wow,” jin says from the stove, spoon in hand. “didn’t you threaten to stab taehyung 15 minutes ago for breathing too loud?”

taehyung gasps, scandalized. “you said, and i quote, ‘look at my knife and look at your life.’ now you’re—fondling someone at the stove? betrayal. pure betrayal. all for what? a girl?”

“for my girl,” jungkook corrects, not missing a beat.

you snort.

yoongi doesn’t look up. just brushes past you to grab a stack of plates, muttering, “you two are a food safety violation.”

you pout. “i just got here. what’s with the hateful energy?”

namjoon points at your boyfriend, spoon dripping over his wrist. “ask your boyfriend. he’s the one with rage issues and a god complex.”

“he called me a butter fingers 10 minutes ago,” jimin says solemnly. “i don’t disagree but it still hurt… and now he’s being handsy and gentle? pick a personality, jeon.”

“hmmm. sounds like you’re being a dick, baby,” you agree, tossing in your vote for public shaming. “hangry?” 

the boys howl.

jungkook doesn’t defend himself. doesn’t even pretend to care. he just rolls his eyes like they’re all beneath him—and then gently guides you in front of the soup pot like the world’s grumpiest sous chef.

he hovers. doesn’t speak unless it’s to correct your form.

when you chop tomatoes, he adjusts your grip with a firm hand over yours. when you stir, he tucks your hair behind your ear.

“it’s gonna fall in and i’m not fishing it out.” 

when you reach for the apron, he wordlessly takes it from you, ties it himself. his knuckles graze your waist. linger there. 

and the thing is—you know him.

jungkook isn’t a patient man. he’s snappy, sarcastic, and occasionally evil when hungry. he’s got a fast mind, a quicker temper, and a long list of grudges taehyung is definitely at the top of. but when it comes to you?

he simmers.

“why are you standing like that?” you ask, peeking up at him.

“like what?”

“like you’re trying to merge into my personal space.”

he doesn’t even blink. “it’s our space.”

“you have your own counter.”

“yours has better lighting.”

you raise a brow. he raises you a soft smirk. 

challenge accepted.

you lean in, press a kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, and catch it—that moment. the buffering. the breath he forgets to take, the slight hitch in his chest, the twitch of his fingers.

he glares at the cutting board like it offended him. “can you not do that when i’m holding a knife.”

you grin. “does it distract you?”

he mumbles something.

“what was that?”

“...obviously.”

and then—

the teasing does not stop.

“look at him,” jin points with the ladle. “she kisses him and he forgets he has opposable thumbs.”

“he cut onions faster than that earlier,” jimin adds. “now he’s like… stirring with love or something.”

“he asked me to move my elbow five times,” namjoon deadpans. “she bumped into him twice and he said ‘it’s fine, baby.’ i feel like crying—”

“fuck.”

a small ouch breaks through the kitchen chatter.

you turn instantly. “what happened?”

jungkook holds up his finger.

it's just a shallow nick, but it’s already reddening. he’s not panicking, but he’s definitely blinking like he can’t believe it happened. the room stills.

you step closer. “let me see.”

“it’s fine.”

you grab his wrist. “you always say that when it’s not fine.”

he lets you inspect it. lets you tug him toward the sink and run water over it, thumb brushing over the back of his hand, jaw clenched as he watches you work.

the room is silent.

“babying him now?” yoongi mutters, but it’s weak. even he’s watching curiously.

you dry jungkook’s hand with a paper towel, inspecting the cut again. “it’s not that bad. you’re lucky.”

“i’m always lucky,” he says, voice low. “i have you.”

you stare at him.

taehyung actually gags.

“can you kiss it better?” jungkook asks, way too earnestly. “baby, it’s ouchie.”

he says it too fast. 

way too fast—like his mouth jumped the gun before his brain could catch up. there’s a beat of silence where no one moves, like the kitchen collectively paused to process it. then it hits him.

his cheeks tint a slow pink, crawling up to the tips of his ears. he clears his throat once—twice—eyes darting to the floor as his thumb rubs against the side of his cut finger. you watch the way he fumbles for recovery, eyes scanning for a way out, but nothing lands. he’s already too far in.

and then—your lips press against the tiny scrape on his knuckle, gentle, like a whisper.

just once. soft and quick.

that’s when the teasing starts.

“it’s ouchie?” jin repeats, blinking like he’s trying to make sense of a foreign language. “you really said that out loud?”

jungkook glares. “i was in pain.”

“in your soul, maybe,” jin mutters.

taehyung leans against the counter, arms crossed, expression exaggeratedly solemn. “you’ve changed, man. you used to be cool. i used to admire you. the whole tsundere thing was really working for you—but ouchie? holy fuck.”

jimin’s already grinning, eyes flicking between you and jungkook like he’s watching a very slow, very romantic sitcom. 

“so all i have to do is get hurt and i’ll get kissed too?” jimin says, holding up his palm with an invisible wound. “look, i think i have a paper cut. right there.”

“i think i pulled a muscle reaching for the soy sauce,” taehyung adds, clutching his side with a dramatic wince.

“you guys suck,” jungkook mutters, quieter now, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. “don’t forget i’m a chem major. i’ll poison you all.”

he says it without much bite.

mostly embarrassment.

regardless, his gaze flickers to you like he’s checking whether you’re laughing at him or with him.

you try to hold it in.

you really do...

but your shoulders shake a little, a quiet smile curling at the corners of your mouth. it’s endearing. all of it—his flustered attempt at asking for comfort, the way his ears haven’t cooled down since, and the petty threats he tosses out to keep from completely combusting.

he sees it. 

sees the way you look at him and don’t tease, just soften.

and under the edge of the counter, almost like it’s second nature, you feel it—his pinky hooking around yours.

[lonelystarrs]

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮’𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 prt 1.

Barou Shouei x FemReader (slight x Nagi Seishiro in prt 2)

it all started because he bullied your brother, it all started when 12 year old you kicked a ball into his face. Growing up with your eventual sweetheart wasn’t all smooth sailing, life was full of lessons but through the rough and smooth one thing Barou always knew; you were always his girl. Sometimes though even a king needed to lose his throne to realise his true royalties were what built it.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI + virginity loss (both 18+) + angst with eventual comfort + fluff + long fic / Tugs & Texts expansion + established relationship with Barou + smut +

Word count 11.4k

Barou was always king of the field since he started at 6 years old and discovered how good it felt to win, how natural he was at this sport and it was his domain; it was where he belonged. 

This discovery meant Barou dominated the field wherever he went, crushing anyone who crossed his path for the next six years.  

Until one day he happened to crush the wrong person. 

He’d kicked the ball hard towards the goal aiming for it to be a score but some brave kid decided to block the strike. 

He walked over, looming over the boy as he curled into himself holding his face, blood and snot gushing from his as is skin burned bright red. Barou’s hands shoved into his pockets as he half leaned over him. 

“Tsk, what a donkey thinking you’d block that, learnt your lesson?” 

12 year old Barou with his new lingo, new insults to throw at people, left the field and thought nothing of it, just another who got in his way and learned to stay out of it; until the next day he met his karma. 

“You!” 

Barou had been taking part in his strict training routine in the rain, at 12 years old he set his mindset and goals high; creating a routine that he researched and put together through PE, his favourite subject in school.

Red eyes turned to the girly voice that called out angrily in the rain but instead of meeting who was calling him, his face was met with a ball, smacking him clean in the face and actually making him take a few steps back. 

“You asshole! Thinking you can treat people like you do, you hit the wrong boy yesterday Shouei! I’m gonna make your life hell!” 

He never even seen you coming, a mere voice in the rain and suddenly blood gushed from his nose; his hand clamped over it to stop the bleeding. 

Eyes wide he pulled his hand from his face to stare at the fresh blood, even his damn teeth were hurting. 

Barou met your eyes for the first time in his life, shocked to the core a freaking girl had kicked the ball that hard.

“who the hell you supposed to be, the babies girlfriend!?” 

“That was my brother and he’s only 8 you idiot!” 

Barou straightened as he took you in, you looked roughly around his age definitely not as young as the kid yesterday. That fire in your eyes was burning but what Barou was more impressed with was the accuracy and strength of your strike with the ball. You stood in the rain, practically steaming as it hit you because you were so angry. 

Then you spun and disappeared leaving 12 year old Barou with sore teeth, bleeding nose and pounding head. 

Perhaps even his heart thumping more than it should be.  

—0—

You certainly kept your promise; making Barou Shouei’s left hell for the next four years. Although at this point he was convinced it was just habit, no one could hold a grudge for this long surely?

The fact he could see that damn gleam in your eye, those lips twitching in a little smirk when you pushed his buttons, when he squared up to you pressing his forehead to yours and you only pushed back was proof you were enjoying it. 

So he tried to not feed it.

He was the better person, walking away or ignoring you. He did best to avoid you, but found him you always did!

The only one really brave enough to bother him, to get in his space was you. Girls were too scared to approach him in person, deflated by love notes left in his locker; he simply threw them away never even opening them.  Even the guys stayed away from him unless it was his soccer team. 

He became a bit of a loner, seemingly content in his own company or focusing on his football dream. His arrogance and ego grew into something rather ugly, adopting manners of being a king, everyone being a peasant or a donkey.

You’d stood up to Barou from day one, the only reason you survived it was because his patience and morals were incredible; he didn’t believe in hitting girls. Even if you standing up to him wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

However, being sixteen and hormones arriving changed things up.

Where things remained very much the same for you towards him, Barou’s teenage boy mind was starting to mess with his exchanges with you. He’d started to really try to stay away, his gaze noticing things in you he hadn’t before and it disgusted him.

Like how you standing up to him, never backing down and being just as stubborn as he was shifted from annoying to endearing. He argued back less, unable to form insults when eyes dropping down to your shirt that was getting too tight on your chest, your skirt dancing on your thighs, how your waist dipped showing curves.

He was successful for a time, keeping distance from you and avoiding any heads butting. But this week, much to poor Shouei’s dismay, the teacher thought it was a good idea to pair you both together for a project. 

even the whole class fell silent, awkwardly looking between each other. No other teacher was brave enough to pair up you both, but this one seemed to twinkle something mischievous in her eyes over it.

Barou had been unusually quiet with you for the last two weeks and he had been avoiding you like the plague. 

Why? You had no idea. 

You didn’t really care either.

“Get into your pairs and decide what you’re going to do for the arts project.” 

Barou’s eyes darkened as you stood from your seat knowing he wouldn’t move towards you, the rest of the class moved and chatter started throughout the room making sure they had distance from you both. The occasional side glances to see if you’d killed each other yet.

You slid into the high stool next to him with a little too much sass, red eyes glancing down at your school skirt riding up, thigh high socks squeezing the tops of your thighs and he groaned, turning away to glare at the wall and fight the heat crawling up his neck. 

“So Barou,” you sang, he inhaled deeply arms crossing tighter against his chest that was getting bigger every passing month, it was impressive how the guy had shot up like he had. He was so freaking tall and growing more muscle by the week.

“What’cha wanna do with your favourite subject?” 

“Like hell I know. You do it, keep that shit off me.” 

He hated arts and crafts because it was so damn messy, he was already glaring at the paper on the table and the different pencils, charcoals and paints lined up to use. 

“Awh c’mon!” You grabbed the charcoal pencil and started to press it hard on the paper, gathering a nice little patch of black dust before placing it down and pressed your index finger into it. 

Barou actually gritted his teeth at the mess, eyes tearing from the page to look else where whilst you started to draw something with the charcoal. 

You were always good at portraits or forms of the anatomy, he’d seen you work with charcoal a lot and despite its mess the end results were always good. 

He’d give you that.

“So, I’m surprised you haven’t kicked off being paired with me.” 

“You’re good at the subject, you’ll get us a pass. I’m not foolish enough to not take the best in here, means I don’t have to touch this shitty stuff either.” 

Your silence and lack of work on the paper made him turn to look at you, only to see you looking at him suspiciously. 

“The fuck you starin’ at?!”

“Where’s Barou?”

He scoffed and looked away realising he’d just somewhat complimented you to your face. You laughed and scratched your cheek with your finger forgetting about the charcoal coating the pad. 

“I’ll get us passes useless Barou! Don’t you worry!” 

You returned your attention back to the paper and Barou’s eyes moved to you when you weren’t looking. Red gaze watching your face, your tongue sticking out a bit as you concentrated with a small smile on your lips. Eyes beaming with joy at you setting your skills on something you enjoyed. 

Damn it you’d grown up so much, he wasn’t the only one who’d shot up. You started to lose that baby fat on your cheeks, your hair had got longer and you always smelled so damn good. Your shirts were always ironed and perfectly white, he’d notice the material hugging you more as your breasts had started to grow, the shape of you changing as you both hit 16. 

His eyes moved to your face again, noticing a few strands of hair had fallen from your successful attempt of a messy bun to stop it getting in the way whilst drawing. 

He then noticed the black smudge on your cheek and he glared at it, his hand twitching already to remove it. 

How had you got that on your face so damn quickly! 

“Ta-da!!!” 

You held the page up, a dust of black cloud flying off causing Barou to shoot from his seat quickly. 

“Watch it you slob!” 

You looked over your shoulder with a dry expression, 

“You’re such a princess Barou,” 

“Piss off.” 

You blew him a kiss and looked back at you work, your photographic memory paying off as you grinned at it.

“Hmm, just needs a title, how about….” You pondered for a second before lighting up and grabbing a pencil, scribbling down before sliding it to him. 

‘The King’s Strike.’

Barou stared at the page, you slid in front of him. The perfect striking pose, shirtless with just shorts, his long socks, shin pads and soccer boots. Muscles drawn perfectly, the twist of the body and shadowed with the charcoal. The ball moving towards the goal, every detail was there.

Then his hair.

It was him. Striking a goal. 

“It was you at the game last week,” you said boredly, “-s’yours if you want it.” 

“You were there?” He looked at you finally and you shrugged, looking off across the class. 

“Since last year,” 

“Every game?” 

“Uh -yeah. The girls like watching you lot, I find it boring but seeing you prance around like a show pony is midly entertaining.”

Shit why did he suddenly feel so hot? He didn’t even give a shit that you’d insulted him, he was so focused on the fact you’d been watching him and he never knew.

His hands got clammy, his heart accelerating in his chest like it did after he scored at the same time he felt fucking nervous. The bell ringing broke his gaze on the drawing, you jumped down from your stool and turned to leave. 

Barou had other ideas, grabbing your wrist before you got too far you spun back and looked at his grip on you to him. Frowning you opened your mouth to say something but Barou dragged you down with him to grab his bag. 

“You scrub you can’t just leave like that, you’re gonna get that shit everywhere! You’re fucking filthy!”

Pulling out a pack of cleaning wipes you stared at him like he’d grown three heads, before snorting a laugh, then it went full blown. 

“You carry those in your school bag?! Hahahahaha!” 

“Shut it you slob.”

Heat crawled up his neck but he battled it down, his hand lifted your wrist to clean your fingers with the wipe. What the hell was he doing?

“It’s even under your fucking nail -ugh this is disgusting.” He was grumbling to himself and you froze staring at him, he was surprisingly gentle actually, you thought he was finished until he grabbed your cheeks, pushing them together causing your lips to perk and pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched in your throat as the closeness.

Reaching up with a new wipe to clean the smudge on your cheek. 

“I gotta game Saturday,” he grumbled, voice deep and gruff, refusing to look at you longer than a glance. You were worried he could feel your heart thumping in your chest, or how hot your cheeks felt under his fingers. 

“You comin?” 

You nodded dumbly your eyes taking in his features being this close. Completely forgetting if you even had any plans this weekend, you felt blank at the moment, heat stirring in your chest and you actually rubbed your thighs together.

When did this guy get so damn handsome? His eyes were so… red, his hair looked so soft, he’d grown substantially and he absolutely towered over you now. 

“Front row on our teams side,” 

His eyes flicking to your mouth before locking with your eyes. 

“-got it, girl?” 

Barou released your cheeks and grabbed his bag, throwing it over his shoulder and leaving the room; you stood dumbfounded at what the hell just happened. 

You looked to the table, he’d taken the drawing. 

Unknown to you, the old lady art teacher was chuckling in her seat, fingers pressed together and her glasses glinting watching you both. 

“I knew it.”  

—0—

You’d attended his game, sitting where he told you to and you watched how each game turned him more into an asshole on the field. He was cruel, selfish and egotistical yet you couldn’t stop watching him. 

You’d made a mess more often in arts because he couldn’t stop himself from cleaning you up, accidentally spilling things on your hands and making art class extra messy. Even when you weren’t paired together he’d storm across the room when everyone left.

You’d make sure your tie looked off when you seen him and he’d straighten it because it drove him mad. It amused you endlessly, weirdly liking it each time he got closer to you. 

It all started from Art classes, graduating closer to you, using the excuse he knew you’d make a mess. It started simple, minor until it progressed into pairing with you for projects. Glowering down at whoever was next to you and getting them to move. They were scared whilst your eyes twinkled in amusement up at him, until he glared at you for staring at him.

Where it began it arts to spread to each class he shared with you, seating next to you or keeping you as a study partner. You didn’t find yourself questioning it, a light tease every now and then which he found himself not biting to.

The day he caught you walking home in the rain without an umbrella he let you stand under his, belittling you the entire walk home for being a dumbass and forgetting it.

Your heart racing when you seen his shoulder wet, hanging out from the umbrella to keep you dry. So you made him a bento as a thank you, he was skeptical at first, looking at it with disgust and you didn’t think he’d eat it, until he handed it back clean and empty the next day.

That one walk turned into him waiting at the gate no matter the weather, he’d listen to you ramble on about absolute bullshit wondering why he tolerated you above everyone else; perhaps your amazing bento boxes he had daily now were the reason.  

The morning he caught you running on the weekend during the summer; those shorts riding fair too far up your thighs and ass leaving nothing to the imagination. He couldn’t shift the image of your sweat glistening skin, chest heaving as you sucked air back in, your sports bra pushing everything up and playing on his teenage mind.

He started running with you, leaving his headphones in whilst you had yours in. Every weekend morning he’d be waking you up at stupid times to run and you kept up with him. You’d both stop at a shop to buy a drink on the wall home to cool down. 

“My feet are buzzing!”

“Get better trainers then you idiot,” 

“I did! They haven’t arrived yet.” 

“Then why are you fucking running if they’re hurting?” 

You pouted and prodded his bicep,

“-and miss our morning dates, getting all hot, sweaty and out of breath with you? Pft!” 

Barou handed you a cold bottle of water, pressing the cold bottle to your forehead whilst gulping down his. You side glanced watching his Adam’s apple bob with each swallow. 

His shirt was off, tucked into his waist band of his shorts and sweat dripping down his body. The temperature was already getting unbearable this early in the morning. Ditching his empty bottle he started to walk forwards, glancing over his shoulder at your slower pace and fiddling with the bottle. 

“Don’t say a damn word,” He sighed in annoyance and stopped, crouching to his knee he glared over his shoulder. “-up.” 

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, wrapping them around his sides and feeling you press your body flush against his back, arms wrapping lazily around his neck and resting your head on top of his.

People started gossiping, started suggesting that Barou had his eyes on you, the mutterings and the rumour of being Barou’s girl started circulating around. 

It was all talk, nothing had actually happened between you both but you’d noticed the change in him as much as you had yourself, it was slow but each week over the last year progressed into something. From enemies to practically seeing each other daily, to him eating your bento boxes and being at each game. 

Then a day came after you both turned 17 and attended a certain game that changed it all, sat at the front on his teams side like you always had done for the past year since he first told you to. 

This time you weren’t alone, some guy was sat next to you and you were polite enough to speak with him when he tried to talk with you. He was funny, polite and kept you company. You laughed with him, probably flirted a little bit because you were a natural flirt, what? It was fun! 

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the red eyed king on the field. Anger boiled in Barou each time his focused slipped to you and by the end of his match he was seething despite winning the scores, his usual fans screamed and wailed for him but it did nothing to distract him of that image with you and that guy.

Barou ignored his team cheering, stomping over he removed his jersey from his last game, sweat and muscles grabbing eyes and girls squealed at the view. 

Before you knew it a sweaty ass jersey had collided with your head, scrambling to remove it only hearing Barou’s pissed off voice.

“Oi, you fucking donkey get lost, she’s taken.” 

Stunned and embarrassed by the show in front of crowds you were left gawking as Barou made his way off the field with his team behind him.

The next day had you stomping up to Barou whilst training, he was warming up by himself as usual taking up his strict daily work out routine. 

Jesus even in that baggy hoody he was wearing he looked massive, his back looked huge as you stomped up to him, inwardly feeling your confidence shaken as you drew closer suddenly feeling smaller with each step. 

“Oi! King douche!” 

Barou grunted and looked over his shoulder at you with a bored expression, eyes giving you a once over before half turning to you; the only one he’d paused his warm up for even if it was only a few moments.

You marched to him, gripping his hoody at the front and pulling him down to your height. 

“What the hell was that about yesterday huh?” 

Barou glanced down at your hand gripping his hoody before meeting you again, eyes bored he cocked at eyebrow. He could have easily pulled back but he remained half bent to your height. 

“Mind telling me who exactly I’m taken by? Cause I seemed to have forgotten that happening.” 

“By me,” 

You sputtered at his bluntness your grip loosened on him and you leaned back. 

“What? You- I- what are you talking about? That’s a two way conversation Barou! You never asked me an-“ 

“Date me then,” 

“Will you stop being so blunt! At least act like you’re actually interested!” 

“Date me, I can tolerate you.” 

You deadpanned at his lazy bluntness and released your grip on him, stepping back you went to leave. 

Barou heard your grumbling about him, his eye twitched at you walking away from him. 

“Always so fucking stubborn.” He sighed, his hand grabbing your wrist he spun you back, other hand threading through your hair into a grip and pulling you to him.

His mouth pressed to yours in a movement too smooth for someone as belligerent as Barou to pull off, but he made up for it with how roughly he kissed.

You could taste the mint on his tongue, his lips were so damn soft, he was uncoordinated and rough, teeth biting your bottom lip too hard and his tongue running over it as if it was apologising. Greedy, messy, impatient and rough yet some kind of softness under it all —exactly what you’d expect from him.

His hand at the back of your head kept you from leaving as he pulled back, his lips shining from spit and your lip gloss. He pressed his forehead against you, eyes peering into you as he towered over you. 

“Got it, girl?” 

“Barou, was that your first kiss?” 

The heel of his hand pressed to your forehead replacing his and he pushed you backwards. 

“Get lost I have training to do.”

It totally was, you snickered and turned to leave, failing to see Barou’s thumb swipe his bottom lip, tongue following savouring the taste of you and your lip balm. A smirk twitching on his mouth as he looked over his shoulder to see you walking away with a little bounce in your step. 

 —0—

Baron always thought the act of kissing was pretty disgusting, the germs and how unclean it was to swap spit, eighteen years of that thought it was all thrown out the window when he realise the taste of your lip balm was addicting. That subtle hint of cherry lingered more than your usual strawberry flavoured one and he groaned into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip. 

The little moan that left you made his hips roll up into yours, that bulge in his shorts running painfully tight against you, his hands gripping your hips with the intent to bruise. 

You’d come over to his house surprising him in his room when he returned from a shower, the little running shorts you had on were far too short, the loose fitting white sports top and red sports bra underneath left little to the imagination also. The towel thrown over his shoulder, stood in his gym shorts and listening to the giggles of his little sisters signally they were the ones who let you in. 

The distance between you lasted seconds after his door slammed shut, he only half turned around to see you’d strode up behind him, throwing your arms around his neck and jumping up knowing he’d catch you. 

It hadn’t taken him long to walk to his bed blindly, hands gripping your thighs and you kissing him like you hadn’t seen him only yesterday. He turned, fell to his bed and let you straddle him as he sat up, you’d been kissing since, rolling your hips against his.

“So birthday boy, you’re finally eighteen,” 

Barou sneered, rolling his eyes as you lowered your lips to his jaw line, rolling your hips against the bulge in his shorts causing an airy moan to leave him.

“You’re little over a month older, stop acting so superior.” 

You laughed against his neck, straightening yourself and leaning back, his hands sliding up to your lower back to aid your angle, you hands linking behind his neck. 

“Speaking of which, did you know our star signs are the best match?” 

“Don’t start with this shit again, its bullshit-“ 

You laughed, eyes gleaming and his softened watching your pure amusement above him, skin still glistening with sweat from your run here, lips plump from kissing him so hard. 

And his poor heart kicked in his ribs, a sudden burst of emotion swelling up his chest and it spread like heat. 

“I was thinking of what to get you for your birthday-“ you wiggled off him, his grip on you a little reluctant to let you go but your hand pressing against his hard cock made his jaw clench, “-you locked the door right?” 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

It was finally happening huh? It wasn’t often Barou felt himself caught off guard, or any confidence shaken because he was pretty grounded, but his nerves jumped not showing it in his expression and yours didn’t falter either. 

You’d both decided to wait until you were eighteen, given you’d turned that age a little over a month ago he didn’t think you’d be so literal in the agreement when he turned it.

When you dropped to your knees between his, hands gliding up to the waist band of his shorts that were doing very little to hide his dick, you tugged and he didn’t move for a second, red eyes looking down at your pouting face, his hair still down from his shower as it draped over his broad shoulders. 

His hand cupped your chin locking gazes with you. 

“Ain’t no pressure or rush, shouldn’t be doin’ it just cause its my birthday,”

“Your dicks literally flexing under my hand-“ 

“That ain’t the point!” He seethed, other hand gripping your wrist pulling it from his cock and you pouted at him, actually fucking pouted and he sucked his teeth, his self restrain faltering for a second at your pouty ass face.

“You even know what you’re fucking doin?” 

“Kinda, but it gets me off trying it for the first time so, think of it as a joint birthday present!”

You’d watched Barou’s jaw tightened, red eyes sliding off to look at his door in concern knowing his little sisters were running around due to his parents being out, his attention quickly brought back to you when you tugged at his waist band again. 

“I put frozen on for them and bought a bag of sweets -we have two hours.”

You heard Barou click his tongue and he stood, tilting his head down to watch as you leaned back onto your ass, knees still on the floor and looked up at him all doe eyed. His black hair falling to the side he tilted and his thumbs ran under the band of his shorts, pulling it down low enough so his little trimmed snail trail appeared before the head of his dick rested over the band. 

You groaned and licked your lips, reaching up to skim your fingers along his hips. 

“B please,” his jaw clenched, nervous for reasons he didn’t quite understand but he hid it well, his cock flexing at your tongue licking your swollen lips, eyes glazing with something he hadn’t seen before and your whiny little beg. 

“Take it easy-“ one of his thumbs pushed his shorts, releasing his cock with a heavy slap to his stomach, a sticky line of pre linking to his dick and your eyes widened, a smug smirk gracing his face and his ego soared at your shocked expression. Confidence taking over his concern at you faltering, his other hand went for your pony tail, twisting it around his hand and pushing your face to the hilt of his cock, “-I ain’t small so don’t get carried away.” 

His confidence faltered when yours overtook his in strides, tongue pressing to the gap between his shaft and balls, licking a thick, slow line up to the head of his dick before swirling your tongue around it. Barou watched the pre melt on your tongue, you moaned and he fucking melted. 

You laughed when he let out some choked noise at the feel of your tongue swirl around the head of his dick, before kissing the underside of it looking at him like you were in love. 

“Taste good B-“ you hummed against it rising a hand to wrap around his dick not even managing to touch your fingers because of his sheer girth, you pumped up and his body jolted forward the hand tightened around your hair, “-can I suck now?” 

“F-Fuck,” you took that as your go ahead and wasted no time in wrapping your lips around his cock sinking down enough so you were comfortable at your limit, his dick flexed in your warm mouth and when you moaned around his cock Barou was finished, both hands held either side of your face and you gripped him tighter refusing to budge.

“G-Get off, fuck- Hold on,-“ your name left his mouth in a such a whiny tone you looked up to check this was actually Barou, only smirking around his cock at his expression. Eyes blow and wide, mouth agap and he was damn drooling. 

Your eye contact with him, his thick cock in your mouth, hand wrapped around him and that little smirk would stick with Barou until his dying day he was sure of it, he came so quickly he didn’t even have to warn you, your expression changing to shock as thick ropes of cum spilled into your mouth so hard it shot to the back of your throat. 

Hips jolting, six pack flexing as he released his first orgasm with you, lasting less than five minutes in your mouth for the first time. 

You didn’t stop, spit and cum creating a sloppy mess down your chin, hollowing your cheeks and tongue rubbed against the head of his dick you bobbed on his cock; his voice broke as he tried to growl out your name, hand gripping painfully now on your hair trying to pull you off.

Looking back up at him you almost laughed, his eyes borderline cross eyed, drool now spilling to his chin and his hips bucking with each stroke of your tongue. You were overstimulating him and you knew it, you were clenching around nothing and you could feel yourself soaked through your running shorts. Spit and cum dribbled down your neck into your cleavage, knowing Barou would have a fit about it when he managed to uncross his eyes. 

His body recoiled and he sat back on the bed, panting like he’d just finished a soccer match and sweating as much. You rose your hand to wipe your mouth on the back of it, eyes glazed and looking at Barou like he was prey, red eyes drinking in the mess you made but unable to ignore you licking your lips. 

“Maybe the film I picked was too long-“ 

You shouldn’t have doubted Barou’s ability to recover, you shouldn’t have been snarky. He growled and your face faltered for a second, all amusement or taunting left you, blinded with being too cocky and confident with your actions to think that you’d had ever beaten Barou Shouei. 

“You’re dead-“ 

You stood up quickly, a little wobbly from numb knees on Barou’s bedroom carpet and turned to leave, hoping to seek safety in his little sisters downstairs, he was quicker, a thick, strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him with a half screaming leaving you.

“Shut the fuck up-“ his mouth pressed to your ear, his deep warning made bumps rise over your skin, his hand clamped over your mouth stifling your noise and holding you in place whilst the hand around your waist dipped into your shorts. Barou wasted no time in roughly sliding a finger clumsily down your clit right to your hole, your hips jolting forward and your cry was muffled under his hand. “-you’re soaking.”

He growled into your ear, deep voice making you clench around nothing but Barou felt your pussy pulse against the pad of his finger resting at your entrance, he rolled it gathering slick to glide it back to your clit and the pace he set was cruel. You didn’t know if it was lack of experience or because he was trying to be mean, but he was rough with your clit, rolling circles around it with one finger your hips stuttering and legs threatening to give out from under you as you struggled to stand. 

You were begging him but his hand blocked any clarity from your words, your hands finding grip on his forearm across your chest trying to pull it from your mouth. It made you realise how strong Barou was, he was solid, unmoving and had you against him with no match on his strength. His finger suddenly dipped down to your hole and pushed in to the knuckle, your eyes widened and you screamed under his palm, his lips pressed to your temple, tears blurred your vision from the over stimulation and the need to cum.

“Not so cocky now are you?” You weren’t expecting him to roll his hips into your lower back, hard cock gliding along your spine above your ass, “You’re cryin’ from a finger, how you gonna take this?” 

“Mock me again and I’ll put you in your place, nod if you understand and I’ll let you cum.” 

Tears had spilled down your cheeks at this point, weaving between his fingers mixing with your drool under it and guilt hit him, his ego too large to back down resulting in him kissing your cheeks, kissing the tears away and giving you a shhh to try and sooth you. When you finally nodded he sighed and pulled his finger from your pussy, pad rolling back to your clit where he ran soothing circles around it. A relieved sigh left you under his hand, soft moans vibrating against his skin and his only sign before you came was your hips starting to roll desperately. 

“Nod if you’re gonna cum,” you did and he hummed against you, picking up his pace, “-cum f’me then.”

Barou groaned against you as your body stuttered against him, your hands gripping his thighs behind you to support yourself and he caught you when you went slack in his arms, pulling his hand from your mouth he hooked it around your waist to hold you up. The other from your pussy he rose it to his mouth cleaning his fingers off. 

“Shit, you taste good.” 

The slamming on his door made you both jump and his grip on you tightened in response.

“Big brother! Mummy and Daddy are home, so stop smooching your girlfriend!!” 

“Fuck-“

“Don’t swear big brother!”

“Get lost brat!” 

You heard some kind of grumble under her breath as one of his sisters stomped off back down the stairs, seeing Barou flustered was rare and watching him grab clothes to put on, hard dick bouncing with each stride made you cackle. Earning a glare over his shoulders as he pulled a top on. 

“Fuck you find so funny?”

You shrugged and adjusted your shorts before pulling your pony tail back to to tidy up. 

“You’re still hard-“

“Yeah? No shit,” 

Barou sneered under his breath as he sat on the bed to pull his socks on, dressing to go out on a run to match your attire because apparently that’ll hide the suspicion of both your flustered faces. You walked over and leaned down, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“I like your hair down, never seen it like this before. You’re real handsome you know that?” 

He blushed, Barou Shouei fucking blushed, you didn’t mock or tease him on it, your soft eyes looking directly at his and they had a teary glaze over them. He blinked at you in surprise before rolling his eyes and returning back to his socks.

“Know its my birthday but stop with the crap. Coulda just got me some damn cleaning stuff, I don’t need all the compliments n’shit.” 

His voice was low, trying to sound harsh but he just couldn’t, he just wanted to try and deflect that damn look on your face because it looked like some girl looking at the love of her life in corny romance show. His nerves kicked under his skin, his heart racing and he felt the heat in his cheeks but when he watched your eyes glisten and he hated it. 

He’d known you since he was 12, he’s bullied you, called you all sorts of names. Hell he’s seen other girls get nasty to you but you’ve never cried, you’ve never had those pretty eyes glisten with tears. 

He stood, rare concern suddenly fleeting over him and he cupped your face, thumbs wiping over your cheeks as the tears spilled down them, for a second he thought it was him -maybe he was too rough with you, too forceful and let his ego drive him. 

“M’sorry its so fucking stupid,” 

Barou Shouei was a deep thinker, his mind raced more than he let off and it started to, to the point a fleeting thought of you breaking up with him actually surfaced by his building paranoia. Even if it didn’t make fucking sense that you would, it still annoyingly crossed his mind. 

“What’s stupid?” 

“I think I’m in love with you, B.” 

Shouei stopped breathing, he froze, eyes widening as they locked with your glassy ones and you laughed through crying. 

“Happy Birthday, Barou!” You mumbled through silly tears, trying so hard to deflect it with your shitty humour but watching you laugh through tears almost made a smile form on his own mouth. 

“The hell you damn cryin’bout it you idiot?” 

You opened your mouth to respond but his covered yours before you could start blabbering something out to him, the kiss was slow and messy but it was his own way of responding to your confession. He could taste himself on your tongue, mixed with that cherry lip balm and he groaned into you.

“You’re my girl,” he spoke against your mouth before planting a kiss to your forehead and pushing you towards the door.  

—0—

Blue lock was a shock. 

It wasn’t easy to suddenly have Barou gone from your life when you were so used to having him around for the last seven years, but perhaps it was a good thing. Soccer was his priority and you knew that from day one, you never thought you were above it and quite frankly you didn’t care. Some of your girlfriends didn’t get it, perhaps they were more needy, wanting to enjoy their youths with boys and having that American dream. Driving in cars late and night, recreating the titanic scene with the steam window and hand prints. 

You used the opportunity to do the same as Barou and that was focus on yourself, you concentrated on your studies you perused what you wanted and you taught yourself not to rely on him. 

You sent him a text every Friday about your week, you sent him texts when you were horny, you sent photos, videos but there was never a delivered messaged, never a response. You tried to keep positive, you tried to not let his lack of existence bother you. 

But it was hard, some nights you teared up and called yourself selfish, sometimes you scolded him for not even trying to contact you. What kept you going was coffee and that his future was about to take off with the dreams he had. 

He simply had to do it and you knew he’d be recognised, he’d be successful. 

The day he called without much to say was the day you knew something was up with him. 

“Well, I’ll let you go king~ keep devouring, keep pushing yourself and keep learning Barou. You’re gonna eat them alive and when you’re back, you can eat me alive again~! Turns out that unholy mouth of yours really does show me heaven~!”

You laughed as you hung up and sure enough after he earned his phone back that day, after he asked for a photo of just you -nothing sexual, nothing crude, just a simple photo of you in a summer dress you knew he was missing you. 

He never told you he loved you back but you never felt unloved by him. 

He’d text you occasionally, sounding blunt and trying to come across like texting was taxing on his time, even though he was the one who often messaged first. Waking up at an ungodly hour to say good morning and texting before you even ate with a goodnight. 

When the two weeks off from Blue Lock arrived and Barou appeared at your new apartment, moving out of your family home and the visit was anything but tame. You’d still not had sex before he left and he was about to change it, hearing some of the guys talking in the lockers, seeing your messages and photos, missing you in general made for a messy and truthfully painful first experience. 

“Gotta let me in,” his third finger entered you, twisting before spreading them and you bucked up into him, panting as you gripped the pillows behind you, “-think I’m gonna fit if you're this tight around my fingers? Open up girl,”

His tongue pressed against your clit and your eyes rolled back, pussy spread out from his fingers exposing your hardened bundle of nerves to him. 

“M’cumming Barou!” 

He hummed against your clit, red eyes peering up at you from your pussy as his tongue swirled on you, watching your chest heaving, body stuttering as you came down from another high. 

Barou withdrew his fingers, wrapping it around his cock and he pumped a few times, spreading slick across the head of his dick before pressing it to your entrance. 

“You got the birth control, right?” 

You nodded dumbly, still panting from orgasm and almost too fucked out to process that he’d pressed his thick head to your already swollen hole, until he started to push forward and you tensed at the stretch. Barou clicked his tongue, eyes focused on wanting to watch his dick sink into you for the first time, it flexed at the thought of being the one to spread you open. 

But your struggle made something conflicting lurch in his chest. 

“I-I know you wanna watch b, I need your help though —it’s too big.”

He groaned at your pleading tone, damn well melting for you and sourly reminding him just how easily he’d put you first compared to anyone else in his life, including himself.

Barou shifted, one arm resting above your head to hover over you, the other moved down to press a thumb to your clit and your hips bucked at the sensitivity. 

“Look at me,” 

You did as he asked, teary eyes meeting his and you hiked your knees higher up his sides, one leg curling around his back, sitting next to your hand gripping his ass, the other holding his wrist to tug it off your clit, lacing his fingers through yours and placing it near your head. 

Pushing his hips forward until his thick head pushed through and you moaned, Barou inhaled sharply, restraining himself from just burying himself into the hilt. You were so damn warm and it was sucking him in, that moan was only spurring him to test his self control. 

“S’it, let her suck me in, she wants it, so let me damn well give it and stop being a fuckin’ tease.” 

He felt you relax and he took the opportunity, bullying the rest of his way in and pressing into you balls deep. Burying his face into your neck as his hips stuttered, airy moan breathed onto your skin. Your teeth met his shoulder, biting down on him muffling your pained whimper at the burn. 

He stilled himself, fighting himself to not cum as you clamped around him letting you adjust before he gave a test thrust, one turning into two before he set a pace that had your cunt squelching under him in no time. Your hips rolling to meet his and he realised watching your face, your expressions and doe eyes all fucked out was a better first image to have of you like this for the first time. 

Barou watched as your head tilted back, a noise he’d never heard leave you as you moaned in a way that was borderline unholy, it sent a pulse to his cock, flexing it inside you and spurred him to thrust harder. 

“Make that noise again-“ he felt you tighten around him, still keeping your head tilted and your body tensed, “that’s it huh? Right here?” 

You nodded and babbled at him, slurring words to encourage him not to stop, the slapping of his wet balls hitting your ass, cunt swallowing him sloppily as he hit that spot over and over until you came around him for the first time, your hands blinding reaching for him in support as you literally convulsed, eyes rolling back and toes curling. 

“Atta girl,” he groaned into your neck as your body fell slack, breathing heavy under him and his pace turned feral. Chasing his own end and using you under him to catch it, the only reason he lasted this long was because you’d sucked the life from him before this.

You always got so wet with his cock in your mouth, he loved how much you loved it, wrapping your arms around his thighs, sliding his thick cock down your throat like a pro. He’d cum so hard he ended up pushing you off him because you wouldn’t stop, finding it funny he was jolting under you from overstimulation, making a noise he’d never heard leave him before; some beggy whine that made you moan on his cock. 

He didn’t like mess, but hell he loved seeing his cock buried in your mouth with his cum drooling out. 

“B-Barou I’m gonna cum again! Don’t stop! There, there, fuck harder please! Cum in me, fill me up!” 

He groaned at your babbling, tears spilling down your cheeks, your breath hitching when he gave you a harder thrust that had you looking at him a little worried. 

“Who you think you’re barking orders at huh?”  He was panty, breathy as he spoke but his voice still so deep, little bite behind it as he felt himself about to cum. 

“You want me to fill you up? Best hold it in, don’t fucking waste it.”  You nodded dumbly, desperately at him. 

“Hah- I won’t, I’m cumming, I’m gonna -I love you, fuck you’re so b-big,” 

He smiled at you, heart hammering in his ribs; you were all his.

—0—

‘Rising star Barou Shouei and potential love interest sighted again!’ 

Barou’s career took off at 19, three years a now. Both at twenty two years old and you knew better than to be easily swayed by headliners. You ignored posts flying around the internet but this was the third time in a month a photo was posted with the same girl and this one was hard to ignore when she had her arm gripped around his bicep.

He hardly looked amused, if anything he looked annoyed but that wasn’t exactly a rare expression for him to present when dealing with anyone, even you at times you were sure of it.

You chewed the inside of your cheek between biting your nails, anxiety suddenly flooding you about how exactly you should handle this, you didn’t know his team mates to question them or ask if you should be worried, quite frankly you’d never met anyone in this new team of his. 

He wouldn’t do this.. it’s just not Barou. Cheating just isn’t his thing, he values himself too highly for it.

You ignored the notification bars at the top of your phone, pinging from different girl friends who were sending different emojis to express anger, guessing they’d forwarded the recent post to you to see. 

But when Barou’s caller ID came in, covering your entire screen you let out a yelp and flung the phone across to the sofa from where you were sat, holding your breath as it rang and exhaling heavily when it stopped. Placing your hand on your heart feeling it thumping against your ribs. 

Shit. 

Shit why did you do that? 

It rang again but you had frozen in your place, your brain telling you to answer him but your body just wouldn’t move, the only relief was when it stopped ringing. 

The pinging of texts began and you picked the phone back up, watching as Barou started to message. 

B > Answer your damn phone, 

B > Oi! Woman you wanted me to call at seven. 

You thumbs clumsily flew across the screen, your bubble showing as typing and it took Barou less than five seconds to hit the call button again.

“H-Hey B, sorry I-uh,”

“The fuck you sound like that?”

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re doing summit you shouldn’t be, you not been using that damn toy again have you? Told you not to use it unless I’m-“ 

“N-No! I wasn’t doing that, Jesus Christ Barou what if someone heard you!?” 

“Why? You with someone?” 

“No. Aren’t you?” 

Your hand slapped across your mouth when the words left you in a snarky tone, your annoyance getting the better of you before you could stop it, a heavy sigh left him breaking the tension, his gruff voice quieter than usual. 

“Ignore that bullshit online, she’s the new physio for the team, just clingy as hell.” 

“So, she just gets her hands all over you when I’m not there?” 

“Well yeah, she’s does treatment and sports massage, it’s no big deal. Stop with the crybaby shit, it ain’t like you.” 

Oblivious freaking idiot. Your phone tucked between your shoulder and head, because your hands wrung an invisible neck in front of you like Homer with Bart. 

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just me being a brat huh? M’gonna go Barou, I’m tired. speak to you in a few days when you’re not so busy with your team or new physio.” 

The line going dead was far from a pleasant feeling, heart dropping to his stomach he stared at the home screen of his phone, that pretty photo of you in a sundress he’d changed back in blue lock three years ago. Barou being shocked was rare, you were both twenty two now and you’d never acted like this in ten years. It felt different, his guy was screaming at him leaving it to sit heavy in his stomach. 

You’d never gone to bed without saying goodnight, you’d never got angry to the point where you’d literally shut him off and he needed more fingers to count the amount of times he had said something shitty. You usually fired back, that stubbornness you had and that he found always so endearing.

Opening up the chat of you both he stared at your name, but you never came back online. 

It didn’t stop him sending a text goodnight though.  

When he woke to no routine good morning text, despite you having read his goodnight text at 5am it gave a sour start to his day. He didn’t do anything wrong, you were throwing a damn tantrum over nothing so he opted to give you space.

“Heh, trouble in paradise aye?” 

Barou only side glared at snuffy, ignoring his attempt of conversation as the striker sat in front of the obnoxiously large tv playing whatever film took his fancy this evening whilst stretching himself out. 

“Showed in your training today,” 

“If you’re just here to talk shit then fuck off, I ain’t in the mood.” 

Taking a seat on the sofa behind Barou, he hummed and watched the tv. 

“Didn’t wanna say back along but kinda figured this would happen, girls are a distraction y’know?” 

“Didn’t see you looking troubled in the hot tub photos of ya with them girls, go preach to Aiku, my girl ain’t your concern.” 

“Wrong-“ Snuffy twirled the remote to the tv around in his hand, starting to flick through the channels, “-anything that runs a risk to my team playin’ is my concern. ‘Sides whilst we’re on the topic, you not thought about other girls? Instead of being with the same one? Haven’t you been with her for like, forever?” 

“Sixteen and no.” 

“Or not thought about how feels with you being away more than with her? Long distance is such a drag, you’re both missing out on life.” 

The statement didn’t trigger Barou to think about himself, he was living his goals in life and thriving, coming back to you was a reward, a comfort he’d always known so he wasn’t trouble by any of it. But he’d never once stopped to think about you and your life at home, waiting for him to come back whilst he was off travelling the world. You never complained, you never seemed sad and always supported him, but was it all a front? Was he stopping you from living as freely as he was? He hated the thought of someone else making you happy, someone else taking his position and being around you more than he was -someone else fucking you and seeing that dumb, love struck look you gave him. 

He’d never even told you he loved you back, he never felt he needed to because you just got him in ways no one else did.. but if he couldn’t even give you that, how could he give you the type of relationship you deserved? 

You deserved everything and more. 

“I guess we’re all different, I know I sure as hell couldn’t do it. one of the guys overheard your conversation about the new physio, the media has been in a frenzy about it so putting two and two together isn’t difficult. But fix it, it’s affecting your play and you’re headlining at the moment, don’t let this ruin your high.”  

—0—

You never called him back and he hated it. 

He really fucking hated it. 

But instead of biting the bullet and making the move himself Barou festered and festered. His focus on football made the days go quickly but the evenings were agonisingly slow and his red eyes drifted to his phone in hopes to see your name more than he’d like to admit. 

Despite his stubbornness in making the move, because Barou Shouei would never chase anyone, he was starting to wonder if this was for the best. Perhaps you’d both been together too long it just became a habit, something he was so used to that he never thought about anything else or anyone else. 

Did that mean he was holding you back? Were you being selfless and he selfish? 

His move to Italy wasn’t exactly a great distance to be at when things like this happened, you were both so far apart that it was difficult to just reach out, Barou didn’t think long distance was much of an issue until something went wrong. 

“Hey Barou, it’s time for your physio!” 

The man sucked his teeth, not particularly in the mood to deal with this girl who’d been causing havoc in his relationship. 

Oliver came out groaning, swinging his shoulders and arms like tension had been released. 

“She’s so good, honestly babe those hands are magic.” 

She giggled at him and waved him off trying to act modest and Barou sent a harsh glare towards both. 

“I’ll skip tonight, hands ain’t going anywhere near me after touching that slime ball, fuck knows what’s over your hands.” 

She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. 

“I bought all new hand sanitizers and wipes Shouei so get your butt in there!” 

Oliver elbowed him and gave a wink, suggestive and mocking, something that made Barou’s fist curl into a ball. 

“You’d be shit in a threesome,” 

“Get fucked fuckboy.” 

“Eh, that’s suggestive-“ Oliver recoiled with false disgust, “-you really would be shit, didn’t know you swung both ways. I ain’t into that man, only bottom I’m ever being is under a pretty girl.” 

“Will you shut up? You’re disgusting.” 

“You’re such grump! When was the last time you got laid or you still arguing with miss perfect? She’s wasted on you y’know, man she’s wife material, imagine the attention she gets when you ain’t there.”

Barou’s fist swung so quickly it gave zero time for Aiku to get away, just managing to miss the worst of the punch it still grazed his cheek. What he wasn’t expecting was Barou’s knee to end up in his stomach, the man urged from the impact shocked that Shouei actually managed to land a hit on him. Then slightly impressed by the fact it took more than half the team to hold him back, even then he made their feet move. 

“Shouei, that’s enough!” 

Perhaps Aiku had pushed a little more than he should have, but he kinda found it hard to ignore when he’d heard about trouble in paradise with you both, he hoped his taunt would spur Barou into contacting you… that it would stop his tantrum, get his head out his ass and get his head back in the game. 

Cause even Aiku had seen the worth in you and Barou losing that would be foolish.

He just didn’t realise how much worse it had made it instead.

—0—

On day four in lack of communication with your boyfriend left you feeling heavy and guilty. Finding yourself sat at home staring at a letter that had arrived this morning, you graduated your degree yesterday, passing your courses and got a placement to be a paramedic. 

You should be celebrating, you should be happy. Maybe out with friends, others who graduated and family. Your Mother, Father and Brother had attended the graduation and you were hoping Barou would have been there, you weren’t expecting him to be nor blamed him because he was in Italy following his own career dreams. 

You never stopped him, you never expected him to detour from his focus and knew it required the majority of his time. 

A small, selfish part of you was wishing he could have just paused just once to share it with you, a small part of you told yourself how amazing it would have been if him not contacting you was because he was flying back to secretly turn up at the graduation. Instead due to your stubbornness in not calling him back, you hadn’t even received a phone call or text or say congratulations.. was this your fault? Had you been a little too sensitive and dramatic about it? Were you being paranoid for no reason? You’d never been threatened by girls with him before, so why was this bothering you so?

Your gaze returned to your phone sat in your hands, silent and cold, the screen black from being untouched and you knew if you unlocked the phone it would show Barou’s contact details. 

Because you’d been hovering over the call button for the last thirty minutes after opening the incredible offer letter in front of you. 

It was frustrating that he didn’t seem to understand why you were annoyed and hurt, which was ridiculous because he didn’t even actually do anything wrong besides dismiss how you felt. It didn’t help either that only yesterday another photo was posted of him and the teams new physio yet again named as his potential girlfriend. 

Funny how you never seen photos of her with the other boys in the team. 

Nice to see that he wasn’t even trying to solve it. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until little drops fell onto your black screen, your vision clouding as they filled your eyes finally springing free. 

Sometimes you just needed a good cry right? Maybe it would be a good idea to get it out now before you called him, it would make it less likely you’d cry on the phone right? 

The thought of letting go for a minute was enough to let the tears erupt to a sob, one of those ugly cries you needed to get out your system and you started to feel better after another thirty minutes of crying. 

You wiped your tears beforing shoving your hair into a messy bun, sudden courage in you springing forth now the silliness was out of the way. A face of determination as you wiped against at your face before slapping your cheeks. 

“C’mon girl, you’re being silly. It’s now or never!” 

You grabbed your phone and didn’t give yourself a second of hesitation in clicking the call button. 

It felt like it rang forty times, feeling ever so dramatic and like time had slowed because it only took three rings for Barou to answer. 

Okay.

Good start, he answered super fast. 

“Heeeeeey! Shouei’s phone!” 

Your jaw dropped at the girls voice, your breath hitched in your throat and you were pretty sure your eyes almost fell out their sockets like something from Tom and Jerry. 

Your voice failed you, the movement and voices turning into nothing but muffled noises because your heart was thumping so loudly in your chest your ribs were vibrating. 

Fuck why were you sweating all of a sudden? Why did you feel so hot? 

Christ almighty were you about to be sick? 

A deeper voice calling your name eventually brought you back, you had no idea how many times Barou had said it only that by the time you registered it was him saying it you noticed concern lacing into it, because when Barou was concerned he sounded kinda pissed off like he wasn’t quite able to handle the uncertainty of something, like when his control and confidence slipped he faltered.

“Uh, I’m sorry didnt mean to- uh, I didn’t mean to bother you? I’m sorry I just, I’m sorry, we can talk later I -“ 

You babbled, you stumbled and you over apologised for something you didn’t even need to apologise for.

Fuck it should be him! 

The fuck were you saying sorry for?! 

His voice was calm, stern and trying to keep the situation from escalating he called your name in a way that brought tears to your eyes. 

Fuck good was all that crying for if you were getting so easily overwhelmed like this?! 

“Oi, you trust me right?” 

Your hand clasped over your mouth before you could say anything, along with hiding the sob behind it but Barou heard. 

You heard a door closing on his end, you heard him moving somewhere. 

Did you trust him? You were overwhelmed, far too emotional at the moment and confused to even answer that, you faltered because it was all too much. 

You wanted to say yes you trusted him, you wanted to speak, to talk to him about the offer letter because it would be a good thing to discuss, it was good timing. 

But your sob broke through the silence again. 

“Hey, don’t do that shit-“ he was quiet, his voice still carrying his usual deepness but there was something added into it you’d never heard from him, almost soothing, caring and it made you sob harder because it reminded you when you told him you loved him and silly cried over it, stupid emotions! Why couldn’t they just let you be strong for five minutes?!

“-we need to talk, huh.” 

“Yeah,” 

Your heart plummeted into your stomach, its fight to stay in your chest lost as the acid crept into it, churning in your stomach as your gut was telling you where this was going, your heart unable to fight or resist any longer. 

“It ain’t gonna work like this, you deserve better-“ 

How fucking dare he. 

Rage wasn’t something you felt often, it wasn’t in your personality to get angry like this, feeling it burn under your skin and desperate to act out physically. In fact the last time you remember feeling like this was when you kicked the ball into 12 year old Barou’s face for degrading your younger brother. 

It suddenly became easier to hold yourself together a little better, focusing on feeling more angry than upset, them moving together in some aid to feed your fiery side. 

“-if that’s what you want, Shouei.” 

You were sure the lingering echo of tears and upset still clung to your tone, regardless of how strong you sounded on your side your lip was wobbling and your eyes were blurring with tears. 

“I dunno what I want.” 

“If it’s got to that point, then that’s the answer for us both.” 

His silence was disturbing and it was only giving you room to allow another crying session to break through the very thin self restraint holding it back. 

So you took control. 

“Take care Shouei, all the best to you and her.” 

“Oi, I ain’t with her, it ain’t like that I told you to ignore that shit in the med-“ 

Call ended. 

Red eyes stayed down at his phone cutting off back to his background of you, hanging up on him before he was even able to finish his sentence, the regret already firing through his stomach as the heaviness of guilt made even his strong shoulders hunch. 

Fuck, what the fuck did he just do? 

Barou flicked to your name in his call log, thumb not even hesitating over your name as he went to call you back. 

Sorry this number is not available, please call back later. 

Never one for caring about social media until this moment he went to yours, still having accessing to it he scanned through going to click the message button, stopping himself when he realised why you deserved better, deserved someone who would give you the time you should have. 

seeing your photos of your graduation yesterday and being so wrapped up on his own shit he hadn’t even reached out; he didn’t even remember it. Isagi commented on it, of course he fucking did but Aikueven acknowledged your achievement in the comments, he didn’t know you even knew Aiku.

He locked his phone, throwing it onto his bed and pinching the bridge of his nose to try take away the sting flaring through it, his throat running dry as his vision suddenly blurred. 

He cleared his throat, fighting away any progress on that happening he never even cried as a baby!

Perhaps this was for the best, even if it felt wrong. 

The feeling would pass with time. 

Right? 

—0—

You removed Barou on socials, blocking his number and ways to contact until you felt ready to face the music, coming off socials as well to avoid actually seeing anymore posts. 

You needed to learn to be selfish now and focus on yourself, start a life without Barou and maybe learn some new things about yourself, pushing yourself out your comfort zone would be the first place to start… after devouring tubs of ice cream and sobbing over titanic on repeat. 

Jack could have damn well fit on that door!

You could already hear the lyrics at the back of your mind, ready to messily sing along to Near, far, wherever you are believe that the heart does go on, once more, you open the door, and ou're here in my heart and my heart will go on and on. 

Oh it was gonna happen, you were gonna be a mess.

You sat numbly looking at the letter in front of you through blurry tears looking like a blotch of white on your coffee table. You had options to be placed abroad for two year’s experience, you didn’t think your option of Italy would actually get offered, your second choice was England.

You’d got the highest marks and worked your ass off to improve your chances to get your offer, but the idiot Shouei wouldn’t ever know anything about that would he. 

Now all you had to do was decide a box to tick. 

You were calling Barou to tell him you could accept Italy, that for the first time in your lives you could be together longer than a few weeks at a time, maybe finally move in together. 

Once again your life was moving towards him, because of him and it needed to stop. 

England might be a refreshing option. 

You’re pretty sure Isagi had friends there on another soccer team, Nagi was it? 

©pharix/lonelystarrs 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

☹︎𝒫𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒜 𝒫𝒾𝓁ℯ: 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹ℴ𝓌 𝒮𝒾𝒹ℯ ☹︎

Welcome to 10 Days, 10 Posts from The Cosmic Cauldron! Over the next ten days, I’ll be sharing a blend of astrology and tarot posts, each designed to spark your curiosity and guide your journey. If you find my content interesting, fascinating, or engaging, be sure to click the follow button for more! Ready to dive deeper into your personal journey? Head to my homepage and book a reading — you won’t regret it.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 1

For pile 1, I see that your shadow side often manifests as emotional manipulation. When you don’t get what you want, you tend to go into your head, overthinking, and find ways to subtly manipulate others to get what you desire. You have a tendency to self-isolate, spending too much time in your head, overthinking situations. You’re not always the best at integrating yourself into the world around you. You quickly retreat, pulling away from others and going into isolation. This behavior is part of the manipulation, too. When you don’t get your way, you ghost, walk away, or avoid confrontation. You make it clear that you’re not going to engage, choosing instead to retreat into yourself.

However, this self-isolation leads to stagnation. You spend too much time in your head, ruminating and trying to manipulate situations, which doesn’t help you grow. You’re not opening yourself up to new opportunities when you withdraw. By staying in this cycle of isolation, overthinking, and emotional manipulation, you prevent yourself from experiencing new things and finding healthier ways to channel your emotions. You shut yourself off from the world and miss out on potential opportunities to explore or shift your mindset. You’re not giving yourself the chance to move forward because you’re trapped in this repetitive cycle.

During these periods of isolation, you may also cut off contact with people, ghosting them and becoming distant. If someone does try to engage with you, you may respond in a snappy, petty, or immature way. You could say something hurtful or fail to resolve an issue, only making things worse by not addressing the problem. Holding on to grudges and not letting go of past issues is another challenge for you. When you feel like you possess something, you struggle to release it, even if it’s no longer serving you. You often hold on to things, even dead weight, out of fear of instability. This attachment can be detrimental, keeping you stuck in unhealthy situations.

You tend to deal with a lot of instability, particularly in your relationships. This might stem from an immature way of thinking or communicating with others, where emotional manipulation and withdrawal lead to hot-and-cold dynamics. Your inability to be genuine and authentic creates instability in your connections. You try to gloss over problems by maintaining a positive outlook, holding on to hope that things will improve without addressing the underlying issues. This leads to gaslighting yourself, believing that your actions won’t have consequences, or that things will magically work out. In reality, holding on to things that no longer serve you keeps you stagnant, and when you do let go, it’s often too quickly, without giving situations the time they need to improve.

The themes of instability in your relationships are clear, and I believe you struggle with emotional intelligence and balancing your own energy with that of others. You may have difficulty understanding your emotions and how they impact your relationships. This imbalance further contributes to the challenges you face in connecting with others in a healthy, sustainable way.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 2

For this pile, I sense that you experience a lot of emotional overwhelm and struggle with managing your emotions. There’s also a sense of manipulation involved. You come across as someone who can be very much a “my way or the highway” type of person. You easily feel attacked, and you have a lot of pride issues. You take things way too personally and can’t find a balance between allowing someone to express themselves without feeling like you’re being attacked. You take everything to heart, which makes you feel the need to fight and defend yourself. This leads to a lot of clashes with people because you can’t let things just be. You have a hard time accepting that some people will simply be the way they are, and you feel the need to assert your opinion and your will. You know that certain people are not going to agree with you, yet you still engage with them, even if they’re problematic.

You also have a passive-aggressive side. Instead of directly expressing how you feel, you try to play it cool and act like everything is fine. But when you can’t take it anymore, you have emotional outbursts where you say a bunch of things you regret. You sometimes underestimate your ability to handle certain conversations or situations. You think you can handle them, but then they end up blowing up in your face. You are a very sensitive person, and you tend to absorb and internalize what others say emotionally, which leads to overthinking. This overthinking is part of why you can be passive-aggressive—you try to avoid conflict, but your emotions, at times, make you conflict-driven.

At the same time, you have a conflict-avoidant side, where you shut down, isolate yourself, and ghost people. You retreat into your own head, overthinking things while shutting everyone else out. This combination of being conflict-driven and conflict-avoidant makes you unpredictable. People don’t always know what to expect from you. You can be emotionally volatile, with mood swings that make it hard for others to know how to deal with you. You might not have strong boundaries because you struggle with controlling your moods. Some days, you show up as a cool, happy, engaging person, and other days, you’re crabby, distant, and don’t want to be bothered.

This unpredictability can drive people away. The sudden shift in your behavior can be jarring, and some people might find it too much to handle. You also have periods where you completely withdraw from others, not wanting to talk or interact with anyone. These inconsistencies in your behavior make it challenging for others to know how to approach or relate to you.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 3

For pile three, I feel like you often get stuck in life. There’s a lot of fear holding you back from broadening your horizons. You tend to be very secretive, and this secrecy deceives others, but it also holds you back. Instead of putting yourself out into the world, you hide in the shadows. By doing so, you miss opportunities. Even though you might want to start things, you don’t allow them to grow beyond the initial stage. You don’t give yourself enough time or patience to nurture the seeds, goals, and ideas you have because you quickly lose interest. You become apathetic too fast, and it seems like things no longer matter to you. You often tap out emotionally—getting fully invested one moment, then pulling away and acting distant the next. You tend to either isolate yourself too much or keep things too reserved.

You need to put yourself out into the world more, but you struggle to maintain your energy. You have moments of enthusiasm where you start goals or projects, but that energy fades quickly. As a result, you never reach the maturity needed to complete things, and you withdraw. You remain reserved, acting shy or indifferent, but deep down, you struggle with low confidence. You’re afraid of change, afraid of movement, and afraid of doing something different. You prefer the mundane, the routine, and you don’t know how to break out of it. There’s a fear of something going wrong, and you’re trying to protect yourself from what you perceive as potential upheaval, hurt, or pain. But in trying to protect yourself, you’re only protecting your ego, which means you’re not flourishing in the way you desire.

Your confidence is low, and you don’t believe in yourself enough. You don’t give yourself the stamina or time to endure the process and stages required to achieve your goals. You give up too easily and withdraw quickly. You don’t give yourself the patience to continue, and this keeps you stuck. By keeping yourself behind closed doors and withdrawing, you miss out on opportunities. It often takes dramatic situations to force you to face the truth because you’ve built up so many unresolved issues. You don’t feel confident in how you look, act, or what you do, and that’s holding you back.

You struggle with follow-through, which leads to abandoning things before completing them. This prevents you from reaching a point where you can truly put yourself out there and try new things. Instead, it’s the same monotonous routine, and your passion fizzles out quickly. You don’t have a strong grasp on sustaining things, and maintaining consistency seems to be a difficult aspect of your life. You need to adopt a more positive mindset, as it seems you struggle with confidence and with maintaining progress in your endeavors.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 4

For Pile 4, I feel like you hold on to the past too much, and that’s the main issue here. You have such an emotional attachment to the past that it’s hard for you to stay in the present moment and remain grounded. Instead, you often drift off into thoughts about past events. While it’s normal to feel nostalgic, you sometimes hold on to past attachments, seeing things through rose-colored glasses. This causes you to become overly emotionally attached, making it difficult to see things clearly.

Another thing I sense about you is that you overexert yourself. You tend to be very self-sacrificial and care about people deeply, but to your own detriment. Your emotional intensity when it comes to giving to others can be overwhelming because you might lack boundaries. You don’t know how to say no, take time for yourself, or stop when you’ve reached your limit. You don’t fully understand your limitations or know enough about yourself to set healthy boundaries, which leads to you taking on too much. You say yes too often and end up overburdened. Like Pile 3, you may start many things, and you have a lot of good ideas and goals, but following through is difficult. There’s a lack of drive to finish what you’ve started, and you struggle with patience and stamina when it comes to completing tasks.

It seems like you’re always going through something—facing conflict or challenges in your life that cause you to burn yourself out. You then have to dig yourself out of difficult situations, repeating this cycle. You might find yourself saying, “Now I’m finally in a good place,” only to burn out again and have to rebuild. This cyclical pattern can keep you stuck.

I also feel like it’s very hard for you to let go of the past and release people from your life, even if they’re toxic or unhealthy for you. It’s difficult for you to accept endings, and you often push your will too hard. Forcing yourself to endure struggles just to get what you want isn’t healthy, yet sometimes you’re willing to put yourself through instability because you believe you can come out of it. Even though you do manage to recover, you still hold on to emotional pain, which can lead to resentment. So, many of you are dealing with a deep well of resentment, which is not healthy. It’s hard for you to move past things and embrace change, even when it’s necessary. You tend to hoard emotions internally, and while you may not show it to others, you’re really going through a lot.

Speaking to others and freeing yourself from your attachment to the past could help you move forward, but letting go of things and dealing with change is challenging for you. This is a shadow aspect of yourself. When you avoid change, you end up stuck in a loop that you can’t escape. You need to take time for yourself, but it’s difficult for you to do so. You focus so much on others and external things that it’s hard for you to turn inward and focus on your true self.

[daenysx]

Hey darling, I have a requests for Aemond if you still writing for him. I just want when he has so much pain because of anything(maybe he's tired of family pressure) and he just need his darling's arms.

thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy! you can send requests for aemond or aegon now that the show is back <333

prince aemond targaryen x fem!reader

you can see vhagar's wings if you squint your eyes enough.

aemond is restless these days, he is angry and resentful. his anger has never been directed to you but the peace in your shared chambers decreases day by day. you frown, not knowing what to do to make it all better. vhagar flies closer to the keep and you watch her. you can almost imagine how aemond looks on top of her; sad, disappointed in himself, angry, vengeful. your husband is far from being okay.

you settle down on the bed, the thin fabric of your nightgown does nothing to protect you from the night air's chill. you prefer keeping windows open though. each breath of fresh air is needed in here.

almost half an hour later, aemond returns to you. he smells like dragon and something unique to him, you've grown fond of his scent long time ago since you got married to him. he closes the door, takes a few slow steps into the chamber. you leave the bed to greet him.

"husband." you say lowly. he looks calm. flying on vhagar works like a charm most of the time, he gets to relieve some of his tension to the clouds. he looks at you with a tired eye, a graceful hand of his extended to you.

you accept his touch almost greedily. it's always easier with him, to deal with everything. you've never imagined you'd be a part of a war one day but life is tricky. there are too many reasons to be afraid of each minute that goes by, but aemond makes them all bearable. he's protective, even more so now. you like how he stands tall and charming, like a statue to protect you from all the darkness. he wraps his hands around your waist to pull you closer, close enough to put his head on your shoulder.

your hand goes to his hair. the lovely silver strands messed up by wind. you fix them, fingertips touching his scalp. he breathes heavily, his hands on your waist are insistent. he begs silently. he begs for the pain to go away. only for one night.

aemond pulls himself back with a sigh. he takes off his eyepatch, starts opening the buttons of his riding clothes. his fingers are cruel on his own skin, he doesn't care if he hurts himself. you hold his hands when he roughly pulls the fabric. his hands slow down in your palms, staying still like he's done something wrong. you bring each hand on your lips. they are shaking with hate. you look at your husband to see his eye get all glossy under the light of fire. his arms stay on his sides.

"let me help." you say gently. he sits on bed as you take care of him. he will not bathe tonight, you know, he only wants to be free of the fabrics he carries on him. the eyepatch, the clothes. all of them pulls him down.

when he's finally bare, he gets into the bed. you adjust your pillows to see his face better. the little distance between you is too much for aemond to bear. he puts his head on your shoulder.

"they all say the same thing." he says. you wouldn't hear his silent words but his mouth is close to your ear. you hold his naked body as he keeps going. "same thing. every day. as if i'm a fool who forgot what he's done."

he made many mistakes. mistakes are the nature of a war; thinking back with regret and pain, wishing to take the time back, holding grudge to gods and faith for not stopping the unfair crimes. aemond is too self aware these days thanks to the people he has to call family. they are masters to answer each sentence of him with his war crime. he thinks it's fair sometimes, he has to be punished in a way. he pushes his head closer to your neck to settle down, it's too much for a man to deal with.

"i'm sorry." you say. there's nothing more to say, he knows you try your hardest to forgive him for his crimes each day. you're mostly successful, your love for aemond is blinding. he kisses your neck slowly, curved lips leave a mark on your skin.

"i never wanted this." he says, regret drips from his voice. "i never wanted a power i cannot control."

"it's a dragon, my love." you reason. "no matter what your intentions are, you cannot make her agree with you every time."

"i only wanted-" he takes a breath. "i don't even know what i wanted. i thought the bond between us was stronger, with vhagar."

he doubts himself. it's dangerous to doubt the bond between a dragon and her rider in the middle of a war. aemond is a reasonable man when he's not mad but even he's having hard time facing with the consequences of his actions. he used to brag fiercely, the rider of the largest dragon in the world. now, he questions his worth more often, like he's a boy hiding behind his mother's skirt.

you kiss his forehead, his head must be hurting under all this worry. what feels worse now, accidentally killing the nephew who took his eye years ago, or doubting everything that made him aemond targaryen? he knows there are things he should understand, he's just not brave enough to face them.

because now, he's in your arms. the only place besides the sky that gives him comfort. being in the same bed with you is better than flying sometimes, he's free here. you offer every bit of relieve you can to him, he takes what you're willing to give. every kiss, every touch, every valyrian word you learn to prove him you love him, every minute you spend with his wounds and his troubles. he can't lose you. he has nothing in this world if he loses you.

you kiss him again, for your sake more than aemond's. when you're together you don't have to worry about him. you know he's safe and secure, you know if anything happens he'll be your guard. kisses are a way of communication now, a way of comfort. he closes his eye when your lips connect with his skin. he could spent his life here if he wasn't be a man who's hungry for power and vengeance.

he thinks the fire is easy. it's so easy to burn everything when he has vhagar. he doesn't look back, he doesn't deal with the places he burned. he has the blood of a dragon, he becomes one with vhagar when he whispers words to her. he knows he'd burned down the city if he loses you. he wouldn't look back. there are too many people disappointed in him already. if he loses the only one who holds him together, he'd have nothing.

aemond kisses you softly. he stops breathing when his lips are pressed against yours. he feels like a tamed dragon if there's such a thing. you stroke his cheek, push his hair back from his face. he is hungry for touch and you give him what he craves until he falls asleep against your neck. he holds onto the one person who keeps him sane until the sun shows itself.

[rosesnbooks]

🩷Cancer placements🩷

disclaimer: i am not a professional and these are some observations i've read over the years and/or noticed in people i know♋

🐚Sun in cancer-they feel things deeply, and they're both vulnerable and strong because of it. people tend to underrestimate them a lot and this frustrates them. nevertheless, if well-developed, they are strong and loving people. family plays an important role in their lives, there is a certain attachment they cannot escape, nor do many of them want to. they don't reveal their true selves to the public completely because they want to uphold a certain image and protect their heart. when they try to use their emotions for creative outlets, they excell in it since their style is raw and imaginative: once they express this side of them, you'll feel their emotions like you're experiencing them too. they can hold grudges and be passive aggressive at their worst. because it takes them time to process things, who knows how long it would take for them to forgive someone. they can be so kind that it melts you completely and catches you off guard. it's so easy to love them. may be quite impressionable so they need to watch out for that

🐚Moon in cancer-very sensitive, caring, giving, and emotional. they are indeed intuitive, but they tend to come up with false impressions/conclusions because they lead with their emotions, which clouds their intuition. they love profoundly and they romanticize love a lot. it means a lot to them and therefore, it is one of their main focuses in life. they tend to idealize their crushes though. once people realize how kind they actually are, some of them try to use them. others appreciate their affections greatly. they can be ambitious when they put their mind to it. creative outlets help them explore their emotions in ways they maybe couldn't process on their own, which makes them satisfied and happy. they are very nostalgic and collect things that remind them of certain memories and people. it takes time for them to get over things and it impacts them heavily, which is why they need to have the right support around them and they need to focus on themselves in such times.

🐚Ascendant/rising in cancer-you can tell that they're cancer rising because they seem kind and sensitive, and their gaze is usually soft. they have a sweet smile too. they try to keep up with their good manners, even when they're not a fan of the person they're talking to. people tend to underestimate them because of this, which might provoke them to change their image (make it darker/more serious) if under-developed. they care about their family image in public and keeping well connections with relatives. they usually have a romantic or academic fashion style, just something that I noticed. very charming individuals who like to idealize a lot and see the best in people. also, i think that their personality is visible once they start talking to you, but their resting face may not be approachable always lol

🐚Mercury in cancer-their memory is outstanding. they just tend to memorize anything, and if you're someone really close to them, they'll use this memory to show just how much they care about you. they have an emotional way of thinking so they do take everything personally. they can jump to conclusions because of this, even if their intuition tells them otherwise. they tend to doubt themselves and their abilities even though they are really smart and capable. if developed, they can use their logical and emotional side to lead a conversation healthily. for example, they can express how they feel and if they think you're worthy of their respect, they'll approach the topic carefully so that they don't hurt you. they are really careful with words in this scenario. however, if they feel very wronged or if you talked to them while they were in a vulnerable state, they'll snap and say hurtful things because they know which buttons to push, but they feel awful afterward if they care about you. other than that, there is so much to learn from these loving individuals because they are so complex and they have a lot to give. lastly, they need to be more optimistic and not expect the worst. sometimes missed opportunities are what one needs to gain something even better later on, but yeah sometimes bad things happen too but that's a part of life. don't dwell too much on things you can't control

🐚Venus in cancer-they would give everything for their partner. they are very romantic and love their partner no matter what. that being said, they sometimes tolerate too many things due to love. this is a cliche, but most of these people want a family of their own one day, or at least a found family. they like to take care of the people they love and be there for them. they have a lot to give and not all people are like that, so it probably takes them more time than they'd like to admit to find the one who is right for them. they fantasize about romance a lot and probably have an idea of a partner they'd like. their person would have to pay lots of attention to them and accept their strong emotions without shaming them. they also need to make sure that no matter how many yeard they spend together, they should go on dates and cherish each other. venus in cancer may love cheesy and personal romantic gestures-something that is timeless but also lets the person know that they care about them. at their worst, this placement can be aggressive and manipulative, so they need to look out for that

🐚Mars in cancer-they remember everything you ever said or done, so be careful if you want to mess with them. they are really smart and ambitious, they have dreams that they wish to achieve one day and despite the obstacles they face, they have good discipline and therefore, they manage to succeed in the things they worked hard for. they can be very passive-aggressive if you disappoint them because they expect you to understand them on a deeper level since they try to do the same for the people they love. seriously, people don't talk enough about how dedicated they are to their dreams and loved ones. they can be very rational and logical, which blends amazingly with their sensitive and intuitive side (lots of empathy as well). make sure you let them know how much you love them with actions and words if you want a healthy relationship of any kind with this placement. they want people around them who make them feel safe and loved, just like family. anything less than that isn't enough

🐚Saturn in cancer-they get carried away by their emotions often, and cannot hide it really well. many people don't/didn't cherish their kindness and selflessness which hurts them greatly. they need to stand up for themselves because if they do not, they may harbor a lot of resentment which could lead to bad outcomes with those they love. wearing your heart on your sleeve and wanting the best for everyone is not a weakness, but please take care of your heart because you deserve it too. this placement can be quite intense when angry. their family has a strong influence on their life, whether good or bad. nevertheless, at least one family member is super important to them, possibly even the most important person in their life.

🐚Jupiter in cancer-they thrive best when they are true to themselves and their feelings-especially when they are not ashamed of them and simply accept them. they are very caring and thoughtful, it's addicting to be around them. besides their emotional intelligence, they are very smart in general and this helps them so much in life. their connections can be really strong and beneficial. they may be quite spiritual and interested in such topics. astrology could also be one of their passions because they could excel in it and understand it easily. may have strong connections with their family, whether one member or several (or many haha). could also have strong connections with their past and ancestors, just something i've read once.

thank you for reading this, and i'm looking forward to your feedback🩷

©rosesnbooks

[wondrluv]

𝜗𝜚 LUKE AND Y/N

𝜗𝜚 HOW THEY GET TOGETHER

➪ they met in late august of their sophomore year

➪ it’s when she’s on her way to class and she physically runs into him, stumbling backward before he catches her

➪ they briefly exchange some words and the only thing she knows leaving that conversation is that his name is luke and that he’s in a frat

➪ she spends the next month dragging her friends to different frat parties in hopes she’ll see him 

➪ they see him at every party they go to and at every party the two always have some sort of interaction with each other

➪ it’s early october when the two finally have a ‘real’ date

➪ the two end up going to get ice cream in his truck and she admits that she thinks about him alot

➪ full blurb kind of thing can be found here !

➪ their friends with benefits situation starts at the end of winter break/the start of their second semester of sophomore year

➪ at first the two of them take it slow and are just trying to get into it without causing too much tension between them

➪ but by the end of january and beginning of february, it falls into a steady rhythm 

𝜗𝜚 THEIR RELATIONSHIP

➪ the two could not be more protective of one another

➪ two songs i relate with them are into you by ariana grande and uptown girl by billy joel

➪ luke’s nicknames for y/n: pretty girl, baby, sweetheart, gorgeous

➪ y/n’s nicknames for luke: lu, lukey, pretty boy, baby, handsome

➪ luke’s love language is physical touch and words of affirmation

➪ everyone thinks their a couple though most of their friends do know that they are just ‘friends-with-benefits’

➪ they’re always hanging out at one or the other’s rooms

➪ luke picks out her outfits whenever he stays over at hers

➪ they love going on late night drives together in his truck

➪ luke loves when y/n gets drunk because she gets so clingy and needy which is one of his favorite things in the world

➪ between the two of them, i could not tell you who is the more clingier one

➪ luke will always have his arm wrapped around her at parties unless she wanders off

➪ and he’s always making her sit in his lap when she does her homework

➪ another one of his favorite things is when she wears one of his button-downs especially if it’s unbuttoned

➪ but he’ll put her in them after they have sex so there’s been plenty of times where he wakes up to her making breakfast for them in his shirt and a pair of socks

➪ y/n attends all of the frat parties that she is able to, especially when she knows it’ll be the first time seeing him in a while

➪ she takes every opportunity just to ogle him, whether they’re sitting in his truck or he’s walking her to her class

➪ they are best friends, so they’re also just pure chaos together

➪ they go out to target and just goof around all the time

➪ they do a lot of tiktok trends and challenges together (buying each other things, ‘jacked-and-kind’, etc.)

➪ luke definitely will get her a shirt that says ‘luke’s girl’ on the front or ‘property of luke hughes’ on the back, either way it’s a white shirt and has pink lettering

➪ she plays with his bracelets when she’s anxious or just needs something to do with her hands

➪ if luke doesn’t have his hand on her thigh then something is seriously wrong

➪ they rarely fight but when/if they do it’s usually very messy and since the two can hold grudges forever, they could go weeks without speaking to the other

➪ very competitive

➪ luke will occasionally ‘try’ to help her with her homework but it always ends with them making out

[bumbled-bees]

Lily's Lack of Media Literacy

Lily’s video essays are rarely about the media she covers—rather, they’re vehicles for her to push whatever narrative she wants, whether that be a political take she only half understands or a passive-aggressive jab at her critics. Instead of engaging with media in good faith, she cherry-picks elements that support her predetermined conclusions and disregards anything that contradicts them.

This is why her critiques often feel shallow, reductive, or outright incorrect. She isn’t analyzing media to understand it—she’s filtering it through whatever argument she’s trying to make. If a piece of media happens to align with her worldview, she’ll champion it as a masterpiece. If it challenges her perspective or doesn’t fit neatly into her talking points, she’ll misrepresent it, ignore its themes, or insist it’s badly written. This results in blatantly inaccurate interpretations and a tendency to talk down to her audience as if they’re too stupid to realize she’s misrepresenting the very media she’s reviewing.

Then there’s her habit of using videos as thinly veiled subtweets. Many of her video topics seem suspiciously well-timed with whatever drama she’s currently involved in, and it’s not subtle. When a critic calls her out, suddenly there’s a video about “bad faith criticism.” When someone questions her behavior, here comes a rant about how “toxic” the internet is. If she’s losing favor with her audience, she pivots to preaching about “loyalty” and “how to spot fake friends.” She rarely, if ever, addresses drama head-on, instead choosing to air her grievances through her content under the guise of “analysis.”

This pattern makes her critiques wildly inconsistent. One day she’ll argue that a character or trope is inherently bad, only to contradict herself in another video when it suits her. The Dragon Age playthrough is a perfect example—more on that below—she clearly didn’t care about the games, but because they were associated with a critic, she forced herself through them purely out of spite, skipping dialogue and misrepresenting the story as she went.

At its core, Lily’s content isn’t about media literacy or thoughtful analysis. It’s about control. She uses her platform to shape narratives, settle personal scores, and reinforce her own biases. Whether it’s politics, fandom discourse, or drama, her goal is never to understand—it’s to win.

The Dragon Age Series

Lily’s Dragon Age playthrough is a textbook example of her lack of media literacy and how personal grudges guide her content to the point of self-sabotage. She didn’t play Dragon Age because she was interested in it, nor because she had anything insightful to say about it. She played it because Sai, one of her most prominent critics, is a huge fan of the series. Rather than approaching the game with curiosity or respect for its storytelling, Lily brute-forced her way through it with no regard for its themes, character arcs, or world-building.

Her button-mashing through dialogue is the biggest indicator of this. Dragon Age is an RPG where player choices significantly impact the narrative, and its story is delivered primarily through conversations, codex entries, and lore-building. Skipping dialogue in a Dragon Age game is akin to fast-forwarding through a movie and then complaining that the plot doesn’t make sense. When Lily inevitably misinterpreted key events or made uninformed takes about the story, it wasn’t because Dragon Age was poorly written—it was because she actively avoided engaging with it.

This ties into a larger pattern in her media analysis. Lily frequently presents herself as an authoritative voice on storytelling and character writing, yet she consistently demonstrates a shallow or even outright incorrect understanding of the media she critiques. She often ignores context, misrepresents character motivations, or oversimplifies themes to fit her own narrative. Instead of analyzing stories on their own terms, she reduces them to whatever point she’s trying to make, even if that means cherry-picking details or outright contradicting canon.

Her Dragon Age videos fit right into this habit. Because she skipped through crucial dialogue and refused to engage with the story properly, she ended up making numerous errors in her analysis. This mirrors past instances where she confidently misinterpreted media—whether it was claiming a show had a “bad message” while ignoring context or insisting a character was poorly written while disregarding their development. The Dragon Age series, however, exposed this flaw in a way that was impossible to ignore. It’s a franchise with an invested fanbase that knows its lore inside and out. People immediately picked up on how badly Lily was fumbling, and instead of making Sai or her critics look bad, she only discredited herself.

The irony is that this whole endeavor was likely an attempt at some weird flex against Sai. She didn’t just pick a random game to play—she specifically chose Dragon Age because of its connection to one of her detractors. It was meant to be a smug dismissal of something Sai loves, but in the end, it only made Lily look ignorant. Instead of proving anything, she just reinforced the idea that she doesn’t actually care about the media she talks about—she only cares about how she can weaponize it.

[deezee112]

The worst ending 2 : A Laugh Too Far

The worst ending 1 | The worst ending 3

Yandere!Ace Trappola x GN!Reader

A/N : Hello! Thank you for sticking with this second installment of the series! I'd like to say that this episode is a little better for me, but it's still a little bit too much �� But I will try my best at the end of the next chapter. Enjoy reading this chapter!!

Warning : This story contains themes of emotional dependency , psychological strain , accidental death , and overwhelming guilt. , A soft yandere.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

You tilted your head, considering the name carefully. The doll before you blinked its sharp amber eyes, a mischievous glint already visible in its eerily lifelike expression. Something about him seemed playful yet challenging a troublemaker waiting to be unleashed.

“ I’ll name you Ace ” you said finally, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

The doll smiled back, wide and crooked, as if approving of you choice.

From the beginning, Ace was different. Where other children or dolls, as you reminded you self in the early days might show tentative affection or shy obedience, Ace was bold and irreverent.

“ Why do I have to learn math? ” he whined one afternoon, slumping against the couch with exaggerated dramatics.

“ Because it’s important ” You replied, your voice firm but tinged with weariness.

“ Important for what? I’m not planning on becoming an accountant ” he shot back, grinning cheekily.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “ You’re going to drive me insane, Ace. ”

“ That’s the goal ” he said, leaning closer with a sly smile.

Despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a grudging affection for the boy. Beneath his teasing exterior, Ace had a charm that was hard to ignore. He was quick witted and curious, always testing boundaries but never pushing too far at least, not at first.

But as Ace grew, so did his confidence. He loved pushing you buttons, watching you react with exasperation or an occasional smirk.

“ You love me. ” he’d declare smugly after one of their verbal sparring matches.

“ Don’t flatter yourself. ” your reply, rolling you eyes.

But deep down, you know he was right.

You relationship was a constant tug of war between irritation and affection. Ace’s teasing could be relentless, but it was always accompanied by a boyish grin that made it impossible for you to stay mad for long.

“ You're so annoying. ” you said one evening as he stood behind you while you cooked.

“ Annoying? I prefer ‘charming’ ” he quipped, snatching a piece of carrot from the cutting board.

“ You’re lucky I don’t chase you out of this kitchen. ”

“ You wouldn’t do that. ” he said confidently. “ You’d miss me too much. ”

You shot him a glare, but there was no malice behind it. Ace was infuriating, yes, but he had become an integral part of your life.

As Ace grew older, his teasing took on a sharper edge. He still smiled and laughed, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before a possessiveness that made you uneasy.

One evening, as you sat on the couch watching a movie, Ace suddenly turned to you.

“ Why do you work so much? ” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

You blinked, caught off guard. “ Because I have to. That’s what adults do. ”

“ But you’re always tired. ” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “ You should spend more time with me instead! ”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. “ You’re clingy, you know that? ”

His expression darkened slightly, but he quickly masked it with a grin. “ Only because you’re my favorite person. ”

It was an ordinary day, one filled with the usual back-and-forth banter between you and Ace. You was preparing dinner , humming softly to youself , while Ace lounged at the kitchen table , spinning a knife absentmindedly between his fingers a habit that always made you nervous.

“ Ace, put that down before you hurt yourself. ” you said without looking up.

“ I’m not a kid anymore, y/n.” he replied, his tone teasing but laced with something heavier.

“ You’ll always be a kid to me. ” you retorted, glancing at him with a smirk.

He grinned, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes something vulnerable, almost desperate.

“ Do you mean that? ” he asked quietly.

“ Mean what? ”

“ That I’ll always be your kid.. ”

His smile faltered, and for a moment, he looked like a child again uncertain and scared. But the moment passed quickly, and he leaned back in his chair, his usual cocky grin returning.

You paused, you hands stilling as you turned to face him fully. “ Of course, Ace. You’ll always be my little troublemaker. ”

“ Good... ” he said.

It happened so quickly that you barely had time to process it. One moment, you was teasing Ace about his messy handwriting as they sat together at the table. The next, he was holding the knife again, flipping it between his fingers like a dangerous game.

“ Ace, stop it. ” you said, you voice sharper than usual.

“ calm down, I’ve got this ” he replied, laughing.

But in his attempt to show off, the knife slipped from his hand, spinning through the air. You didn’t think you just reacted, lunging forward to catch it before it hit the ground.

You caught the blade, but not by the handle.

The sharp edge sliced through you palm, and you gasped in pain, dropping it immediately. Blood pooled in you hand, dripping onto the floor.

“ y/n! ” Ace’s voice was high-pitched with panic as he rushed to you side.

“ I’m fine.. ” you said through gritted teeth, though you face was pale.

“ No, you’re not! ” he said, his voice trembling. He grabbed a dish towel and pressed it against your hand, his movements frantic.

But in his panic, he didn’t notice the chair leg behind him. As he tried to steady you , he tripped , pulling you down with him.

Her head struck the corner of the table with a sickening crack.

“ y/n..? ” Ace’s voice was shaky as he knelt beside you. “ Hey, wake up. This isn’t funny! ”

You eyes fluttered open, but you gaze was unfocused. Blood trickled down the side of you face, staining you hair and pooling on the floor.

“ Ace.. ” you whispered, you voice weak.

“ I’m here. ” he said quickly, his hands shaking as he cradled you head. “ You’re gonna be okay. I’ll call for help. Just—just stay with me.. ”

You gave him a faint smile, you fingers brushing against his cheek. “ You’re such a troublemaker. ”

“ Stop talking like that! ” he shouted, his voice breaking. “ You’re gonna be fine! You have to be fine! ”

Your hand fell limp, and Ace’s breath hitched. “ No. No, no, no, no! ”

Tears streamed down his face as he clutched you close, rocking back and forth. “ I didn’t mean it! ” he sobbed. “ I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted you to notice me. To love me. ”

You didn’t respond. you chest no longer rose and fell.

“ y/n… ” His voice cracked as he buried his face in you shoulder. “ I’m sorry. Please come back. Please… ”

Ace sat alone in the dimly lit kitchen, you blood still staining the floor. The knife lay where it had fallen, mocking him with its cold, unfeeling presence.

“ I didn’t mean it.. ” he whispered to himself, over and over, as if the words could undo what had happened.

But no matter how many times he said it, you wasn’t coming back.

He looked down at you hands, trembling and stained with you blood. “ You were the only one who cared.. ” he murmured, his voice hollow. “ The only one who put up with me. And I…I ruined it. ”

Ace never left the house after that day. He couldn’t bear to face the world without you, the person who had been his anchor, his guide, his everything.

The laughter , the teasing , the arguments they were all gone. And in their place was a crushing silence that Ace couldn’t escape.

“ You were right... ” he said one day, his voice echoing in the empty room. “ I am annoying. ”

He laughed bitterly, tears streaming down his face.

[applecranberryjuice]

SILVER SILVER THE HEDGEHOG SILVER SILVER

Im sure if I sat down and drew him again he would look better! I am still learning, but this is fun! Silver sketches and a small comic. Silver has to hold at least a SMALL grudge, even if this is not how it happens, it is funny to think that Eggman presses a button and while Sonic team is chasing to try to solve it, the whole entirety of the future just collapses took really long to upload this, someone said they need to stay healthy and stimulated, please take them for a walk, I am way too tired.

[hwnglx]

starting a new series 💌 hope you enjoy the read

dating stray kids - pro's and con's

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

bang chan

pro's

incredibly considerate of your needs -> absolutely willing to put his own aside if it means you feel taken care of (e.g. you'll always choose what you two eat for dinner)

will make you an important part of his world and integrate you as much as he can

very generous and giving -> would spoil you with expensive gifts no matter the price tag or the sacrifice (even if it means an inconvenience to him)

would carry all your shopping bags for you and pretend they're not heavy

and hold every door open for you, pay for the food everytime, anything he can do for you he will (you'll probably fight over the bill)

good at understanding someone's personal boundaries -> doesn't push you to talk about things you're uncomfortable about

allows you to open up and warm up slowly -> knows how to be careful and break down your walls slowly but surely

detail-oriented and observant -> remembers the small things about you (to him they're not small)

stands behinds his words and keeps his promises

takes the lead in the relationship and makes sure you can lean on him

extremely protective of your connection and invested in making sure the relationship remains in a good, happy and stable place

will be obsessed with you and very loyal too

con's

can get very defensive and argumentative if you find yourself fighting

like if you manage to push a wrong button and get him mad (e.g. accusing him unfairly), he will turn off the sweetheart chan and absolutely be able to hurt you back (again, his duality is pretty scary. he can go from being the kindest guy in the room to being very cut-throat)

might end up bringing up old and past grudges he always held but buried deep inside of him before

is extremely career-oriented and a workaholic -> can put your relationship aside for the sake of his work (like there's an obsessive chan in relationship-mode and an independent and self-sufficient chan in business-mode)

probably wouldn't want you to touch him while he's working

can have an unpredictable life and therefore make you have to adapt to his ever-changing circumstances (whether that's his schedule, his tours, his need to look after the group's business, etc)

the development of intimacy and closeness in your relationship might end up taking longer because of this

lee know

pro's

will have the most intriguing and interesting conversations with you

like they can range from fun, amusing and witty jokes or storytelling to deep and serious conversations about life

has a positive impact and transformative effect on you -> makes you look back on yourself and helps you in your development as a person

pushes you to be more confident and self-assured (like if you ever talk badly about yourself in front of him, he'll likely deny it and tell you to not be so hard on yourself)

but doesn't behave forcefully or push his own beliefs onto you -> will let you be your own person and respects your need for individualism

is interested and curious about you as a person and will want to know and understand you

remains very loyal, committed and stable -> you don't have to worry about him having eyes for anyone else

doesn't put any value into material things -> doesn't have high standards when it comes to status, money, etc.

is okay with simple and easygoing relationships that don't require the most expensive gifts or fanciest dates in the world

will accept and love you for who you are, with all your faults and flaws

con's

it probably won't be the most exciting or adventurous relationship in the world

wouldn't always be ready or open enough to do or explore things out of his comfort zone

will not keep entertaining the relationship if he feels like it's unbalanced and he's the one more invested -> is okay with letting go of it

let's say you two broke up -> lee know would just end up investing himself more into his other priorities e.g. work

isn't the type to cry and grieve over a break up for ages (i do think that over time he might've developed a reluctance to get too attached to people)

might end up putting himself and his own independence over the relationship if he feels like you don't respect his need for autonomy (i don't see him as very selfish but just in need of his own space and privacy, he wants his partners to respect that)

romantic relationships just don't seem like an undeniable necessity in his life which is why he can do without it

his energy felt a little lethargic and tired.. i just kept getting this sense that he's starting to let go of feeling the need to be involved with someone romantically. this vibe of “whatever” kept being present so, the red flags might've turned out reflecting that to a degree.

changbin

pro's

very respectful and considerate of your boundaries -> will not allow himself to overstep any lines and make you uncomfortable in any way

doesn't mind you taking your time and having your guard up at first

good at breaking down your walls in a patient and mindful manner and making you feel very safe and comfortable within the relationship

puts a lot of importance into making sure you feel your best and happiest when together with him -> the connection would be a huge deal for him (like he's so perfectonistic; he'd constantly be making sure you have everything you need with no exception)

will be a reliable existence you count on no matter what

let's say you need a shoulder to cry on at 3 am on a sunday, he'd be up and going to rush to your side as soon as you call him

will make the connection very intimate and between you two only

like he wouldn't share your private business with anyone, would take your secrets to his grave, not allow anyone to have a say in your relationship

won't do any sneaky stuff behind your back and be very genuine and sincere in everything he does for you

con's

might get preachy and overbearing sometimes

like his intentions are good but he can get forceful in his love (“i told you to not wear that dress when going out, no wonder you got a cold now.. didn't i tell you? i ended up being right again. you should listen to me more”)

would hyperfixate and complain about trivial and little things and probably bring it up all the time until you fix it

might get a little judgemental if you live a lifestyle or have certain beliefs he doesn't really know or understand

he seems to have some worries and fears about investing so much of himself into a relationship just to be left behind and moved on from

might therefore overlook certain issues that need addressing or choose not to confront you about things in order to keep it stable and peaceful

might get scared of emotional intimacy that goes too deep

will always be ready and eager to talk about you but might struggle talking about his own problems

hyunjin

pro's

is very “i treat you the way you treat me” so if you are invested, affectionate and direct in your love for him, he'll want to give it back to you

pretty open-minded and ready to do fun things with you -> doesn't discriminate and eager to try out new things together with you (this could go any way, my mind keeps going dirty so do with that what you want lol)

will keep the relationship private and intimate -> he'll love to make you feel like it's only you two on this world and won't care about what others have to say

we expected this but he's very romantic

like this man will write poems about you, draw portraits of your face, make even the most trivial and boring date extremely romantic and special

you'll probably feel like you're on your honeymoon everyday whenever you're with him

will be very gentle and supportive of you

he's honestly a great and calming listener

for example, he'd quietly listen to your everyday stories and even allow you tell it to him several times (“you already told me this before but i just wanted to watch you get excited once more, it's cute”)

con's

isn't very reliable and can change his mind a lot (this is exaggerated but let's say one day he told you you're the absolute love of his life he can't live without you, the next he'd tell you he doesn't know if the relationship is what he truly wants and you're all ?)

can get scared of commitment -> feels like he can never live up to what people expect of him when in relationships, so he runs away out of insecurity and fear

like he's giving.. surprisingly self-aware “i know what i have to do, but i don't think i can do it so i don't even try”

good at manipulating and deceiving you into believing he's serious about your connection when he's really not

i just see him breaking up out of nowhere honestly..

not unlikely for you to already see him out and about on parties with friends the day after your break up

but he's so back and forth, he might end up missing you and crawl back, so.. on and off isn't unlikely for him

might ghost you a lot

his energy has changed a lot to me these past few months, he used to give me much softer vibes, but has been much more pronounced in his chaos and ego recently. everytime i read for him i'm a little taken aback, can't even lie lmao.. ㅜ

jisung

pro's

so so chill, like he won't care to fight you about anything and always remains focused on keeping the mood peaceful

very tolerant, accepting and understanding -> takes people the way they are

will love intimate and quiet times with you

does not have any superficial expectations for his partners -> doesn't care about their status, wealth, etc.

(minsung getting along makes so much sense) han also doesn't care to have fancy dates or glamorous partners who e.g. dress up for him, he prefers it simple and casual

will be okay to match and adjust himself to you

(this could take a little while but) if he feels comfortable with you, he can get very romantic and affectionate

a lot of cuddling, holding hands, sweet compliments

very empathetic and compassionate -> will listen to your worries no matter how trivial and make you feel cared about and understood

doesn't take relationships lightly and understands they involve a lot of responsibility and hard work, especially on himself and his bad habits

con's

can get too generous and self-sacrificial to the point where it's easy to take advantage of him (like the boyfriend you'd be afraid to send somewhere alone because he could get scammed by some stranger lmao)

just too much of a yes-man and people-pleaser, you probably won't really know what he himself thinks or wants unless you force it out of him

creates these fantasies and ideas of people or relationships in his head and often sets himself up for disappointment if they don't live up to that

can just change his mind about you drastically once he feels dissatisfied within the relationship (like he keeps suppressing and swallowing his complaints but once he doesn't care about the relationship anymore, they can come to the surface, especially passive-aggressively)

also can feel discouraged about the connection quickly once he feels like things aren't working out the way he imagined them to

can just cut you off and run away from the relationship because he's scared of confronting the issues and arguing, especially if he made a mistake

felix

pro's

very attuned to you -> always eager to cater to your needs and adjust himself to match to you

introspective -> will constantly reflect on his own behavior and try to improve and work on whatever he feels like might not be to your favour

even if you tell him he isn't the type of person you'd want in your life, he'd reply “i might not be right now but i'm ready to become whatever you want and need me to be”

puts a lot of importance into making you feel cared about in the relationship and is willing to listen to whatever you have to say -> values your opinion

more reliable, stable and masculine than you'd expect

a little bit of encouraging, flattering and fondling his ego will make him feel empowered and gain confidence to lead you in the relationship

sticks to his promises & does the things he says he'll do

generous with his finances -> ready to gift you the most expensive and fanciest things without batting an eye

will be very zoned in on you and value quiet alone-time

also just brings a lot of warmth and joy into your life (he'll love seeing you laugh and have a good time, since he'll make it his responsibility to make you happy)

con's

can get so scared of doing something wrong, that if you end up fighting, he can play the victim and put the blame on you to avoid accountability (e.g. if you accused him of something while arguing, he can turn the blade on you and tell you you're the cause for him being that way)

can just get very self-pitying and guilt-trip you a lot

can hold grudges without voicing them out loud to protect the relationship's harmony; just for them to come back up once you two get into a fight (notice a common pattern, fighting with felix will bring out that more childlike aries moon opposite his libra venus..)

will probably bite his tongue but judge you about some things deep down (trivial ex: he told you the dress was pretty although deep down he thinks it looked awful lol)

can get passive-aggressive and stick a dagger in you without you noticing (like backhanded compliments)

can get mean if he feels like being nice isn't going in his favour anymore

can turn very cold and detached if he feels like you did him wrong

seungmin

pro's

very attentive and observant of everything that concerns you -> always eager to cater to your needs (let's say you're somewhere together, he'd keep watching you, always ready to help you out in whatever way he can)

notices and cares about the small things (like him remembering your family member's names, or he'd cook you your favourite dish because you told him about it when you first met)

considerate and respectful of your personal boundaries -> acts carefully and mindfully, doesn't push you to do anything that'd make you uncomfortable

incredibly persistent, patient and stable in his interest if he's in love with you -> willing to give you all the time you need to open up (“i could wait my entire life for you”)

loves to have mentally stimulating and interesting conversations with you

a lot of playful bickering

dating him on day 367 will not feel any different than dating him on day 1 -> a relationship with him will consist of everlasting romance and butterflies

will commit to you and stay extremely loyal if he feels like you're the one for him

just a very good boyfriend, like he's great at not only understanding what it takes to make his partner feel fulfilled and content in the relationship, but also putting it into action

con's

can get emotionally manipulative and sly

can hide a lot of his bitter emotions such as jealousy, resentment, anger etc. behind a mature and emotionally stable demeanor to look like the good guy

a lot of this is because it can damage his ego to be vulnerable and showcase his negative emotions openly

like he's just great at gaslighting and making you think you're the crazy one for getting emotional while arguing..

so basically if you two end up fighting, he'd rather make you look bad than allow his pride to be hurt

a little too focused on what the relationship looks like on the outside (e.g. he'd get embarrassed of you if you did something weird in public)

has quite high standards and expectations towards his partners

jeongin

dear iyennie was so hard to connect to and understand, i truly had a hard time and the feeling he isn't entirely comfortable talking about this subject as of now; so i didn't force it. i might come back to this at some later point to add his portion <3