#i can FIX lower back if that's wrong

[ourceliumnetwork]

dry swallowing pills is my stupidest flex. i'm not even showing off anymore i'm just impatient

[jaesblogstuff]

Not again

That one awful time you got a UTI because you didn’t pee after and it ruined both you and Simon for days...and the future.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

It’s distant. Slow. Boneless and heavy and floating at the same time—like you’re made of liquid, spilled across the bed, soaking into the mattress where Simon left you.

Everything’s sensitive. Your thighs are trembling. The inside of you feels warm in a way that shouldn’t be possible—so full, so sore, still twitching from the way he held you down and ruined you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. it’s all Simon.

You might’ve fallen asleep. You’re not sure.

Then you hear him shift.

You don’t move.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into the pillow.

He exhales slowly through his nose, amusement crackling under the surface of his voice.

“It’s been thirty.”

You groan, long and dramatic, and turn your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You said you’d wait.”

“I did. And I have.” He leans in, mouth brushing behind your ear. “But you’ve got to get up now.”

“No, I don’t,” you mumble, lips barely moving.

“Yes,” he says, not unkindly. “You do.”

“Fuck off.”

“You need to pee.”

You sigh with a full-body shudder. The last thing you want is to move. Your thighs still twitch with every shift, every reminder of how hard he’d been in you—deep and rough and mean, the kind of mean only Simon can be when he knows you like it.

And now?

Now your brain’s caught somewhere between satisfaction and irritability.

You squirm an inch and hiss at the soreness. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I literally can’t feel my legs.”

He hums again. Not arguing. Not pushing. Just present.

And then you snap, just a little. Not angry, just done.

“God, why are you like this?” you bite. “You get off, and suddenly I’m a project.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, with that same frustrating calm “I get off because I wreck you, sweetheart. But I also remember what happens when you don’t move after.”

You're quiet.

“Yeah.”

You groan again. “Don’t bring it up.”

“I am bringing it up.”

He shifts beside you, moving the hair away from your damp cheek.

“You remember what happened last time.”

You do.

Unfortunately.

That time when you’d passed out immediately after sex—sore, blissed out, perfectly used—and slept the whole night through. Didn’t pee. Didn’t think to. And the next morning?

UTI. Full force.

Your insides were on fire. You couldn’t sit down without wincing. Couldn’t even have him look at you, let alone touch you.

You were grumpy. Snappy. Miserable.

He was worse.

Because not only were you suffering, but he couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fuck you. Could barely cuddle you without getting a sharp “Don’t touch me, Simon.”

He was all but climbing the walls by day two. You'd heard him mutter “This is hell” when you snapped at him for putting the wrong tea in your mug.

And even then, he never said I told you so.

He just brought you cranberry juice and heated pads and ran you a bath and kissed your temple like he didn’t feel half-insane.

Now?

Now he’s not risking it.

“You were a nightmare,” he mutters, rubbing your lower back. “And I didn’t get to fuck you for a week.”

You roll onto your side to glare at him. “It was your fault too.”

“Exactly why I’m carrying you.”

You pout harder. “I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re literally talking to me right now.”

“Simon—”

He sits up and leans over, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. “I'm not doing this again.”

You huff, but you don’t fight. Your limbs flop against his chest like dead weight. You nuzzle into his collarbone, still grumbling.

“You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

“Bossy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I still can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckles and carries you across the room, his big palms smoothing over your bare skin as he holds you close.

Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the toilet like something precious.

And instead of stepping back or giving you space, he stays.

Right in front of you.

He’s standing tall, bare chest in your face, warm hands on your shoulders—guiding you gently forward until your cheek rests against his stomach.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“And you’re soft,” he says. “All bark.”

You don’t respond.

Your body’s buzzing. Your thighs are still trembling. But when you finally relax enough to pee—

“Oh—oh my God—”

You jolt.

The pressure. The release.

Your muscles seize instantly, twitching with overstimulated nerves. It’s not just peeing. It’s like a second, slow-burning orgasm. Your body shakes with it, cunt fluttering around nothing, your legs twitching like Simon’s still inside you.

You gasp against him, trembling. It's not even about the release—it’s the aftershocks. The sudden emptiness as your muscles unclench. The way your cunt spasms around nothing as your body reacts to being let go.

Simon holds you tighter.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of his sweatpants.

His hands drop to your back.

“Easy, love. Just let it happen.”

Your knees buckle where they’re spread. You squeeze his sweatpants for balance, forehead still pressed to his stomach as you twitch through it—little pulses, flutters, everything still too much.

Your voice breaks. “Feels like—feels like I’m coming again.”

“I know.”

“Still—God, it’s still in my spine—”

You twitch again. His arms stay firm. He pets down your back, anchoring you, holding you upright as your body finishes unwinding in slow, shaking pulses.

And you do. You feel everything. His hands rubbing your back. The warmth of his chest under your cheek. The way he steadies your thighs when they jerk.

And when it’s over—when your breath evens out, and the spasm finally dies down, you just stay there. Arms weak. Legs numb. Whole body ruined.

Simon strokes your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You did perfect.”

“I’m mad at you,” you mumble, voice muffled in his skin.

“You always say that.”

“You didn’t have to go so hard.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘don’t stop.’”

You groan. “I was lying.”

“You were begging.”

You slap his thigh half-heartedly. “I hate you.” He grins and helps you stand, supporting you like your knees might give out again—which they might, honestly.

You lean on him as he cleans you up, wipes you with practiced tenderness, and carries you back to bed without another word.

Once there, he slides one of his shirts over your head, tucks you under the blanket, and stretches out beside you with one arm around your waist.

Your face is buried in his chest. His heartbeat is slow, steady, solid.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

“What Did You Just Call Me?”

Requests are free btw!!

—————————————

It was a lazy afternoon in Bakugo’s dorm, and you were sprawled out on his bed, lying on your stomach as you scrolled through your phone. Katsuki sat beside you, his back against the headboard, lazily playing with your hair—something he’d never admit he enjoyed, but you knew better.

Everything was peaceful, comfortable, perfect.

Until you accidentally ruined it.

“Hey, Bakugo, can you hand me my charger?” you asked absentmindedly.

The moment the words left your lips, you felt the shift in the air.

Silence.

You blinked, turning your head to look at him, and—oh.

Oh, no.

Bakugo had completely stopped moving. His fingers, which had been gently playing with your hair, were now frozen. His crimson eyes slowly slid toward you, narrowing.

“The hell did you just call me?”

You swallowed, realizing your mistake.

Normally, you called him “babe,” “baby,” or sometimes, if you were feeling extra affectionate, “Katsu.” You had never—not once—called him by his last name since you started dating.

It felt so wrong.

You let out a nervous laugh, sitting up slightly. “Uh… I meant babe?”

His scowl deepened. “Yeah? Didn’t sound like it.”

“I just wasn’t thinking!” You scrambled to fix it, reaching for him, but Bakugo was already on a mission.

“Say it again,” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“Say what?”

“The dumb shit you just said.”

You bit your lip, fighting a smile. “Bakugo?”

His face instantly twisted in disgust.

“The fuck?” He looked genuinely offended, like you had personally betrayed him. “Why does that sound so damn formal?!”

You lost it, bursting into giggles. “I mean, it is your name!”

“Yeah, but not from you,” he grumbled.

You could see it now—the way his ears were slowly turning pink, his arms tightening over his chest in that way he always did when he was secretly sulking but too stubborn to admit it.

And oh my god.

He was pouting.

Not a full-on pout, of course, because he was Bakugo Katsuki, but his bottom lip jutted out slightly, his brows furrowed, and he refused to look at you directly.

Your heart completely melted.

“Aww, Katsu,” you cooed, sitting up fully and crawling into his lap. “Are you mad at me?”

“Tch.” He refused to answer, but his hands instinctively grabbed your waist, pulling you closer.

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so cute when you’re grumpy.”

His eyes snapped back to you, glowering. “Shut up.”

You leaned in, your nose brushing against his. “You’re my baby, not my Bakugo.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Yeah?” His voice was lower now, rougher, teasing. “Then prove it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You closed the distance, pressing your lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

At first, it was sweet, gentle—like an apology. Your fingers slid into his messy blonde hair, tugging slightly, and you felt the way his body reacted instantly.

His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you flush against him. The moment you sighed against his lips, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

And just like that, it was game over.

His lips moved against yours hungrily, his hands wandering, fingertips brushing under your shirt, tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. His breath was warm, intoxicating, and the way he kissed you—slow but desperate, rough but soft all at once—it made your head spin.

You barely had time to think before he flipped you both over, pressing you down against the mattress.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along your jaw.

Your breath hitched. “Say what?”

He smirked, brushing a slow, teasing kiss against your neck. “The cute one.”

Your cheeks burned as you whispered, “Baby.”

His lips curved against your skin. “Damn right.”

Then he kissed you again, like he was making sure you’d never call him anything else ever again.

[luveline]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

cw painkiller high, light suggestive theme 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hello.” 

You lift your gaze without blinking. Hotch is standing in the doorway, making his way in with a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm and a white envelope against his chest. 

“Hello,” he says again, meeting your wide, still eyes with concern. “You okay?” 

“Flowers for me?” 

“You’re the one here in a hospital bed. They’re from me and Jack. He insisted.” 

You nod up and down robotically. Your heart is unhappy today. You’ve been fast and slow and now it’s running fast again, a tip-tip-tip on the heart monitor that makes Hotch frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They told me you were on a lot of pain medication, you shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Is it not working?” 

“I feel a lot.” 

“And that’s unsettling,” he surmises.

“Can I have my flowers?” 

Hotch offers them to you immediately. “Why don’t you count to a hundred for me?” 

“They’re beautiful, but there’s not that many.” 

“Count to one hundred. I can start. Do you need me to start for you?” 

You dip your face into the flowers. “I love when you say stuff like that.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer you. You begin counting, hoping he’ll say a nice thing if you do as he asked. The numbers get mixed up after thirty five, there really aren’t enough flowers to count to a hundred, but when forty five and fifty four begin to feel like the same number spiritually, Hotch reaches for your forearm and gives it a squeeze. That means job well done. Nobody else in the team gets arm squeezes —they’re for you. Nobody else has noticed, but you have. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

You beam at him. The heart monitor beeps in slow loops. “You’re welcome. Did it help?” 

“I’d say so.” He takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the chair, pulling the chair towards the bed with his foot, and getting comfortable beside you, a little lower down than you but tall regardless. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.” 

“I got you flowers the last time you were injured.” 

“I know,” you say with a laugh. “I know, it was amazing.” 

“Here’s your card from Jack. I’ve opened it for you, I hope that’s okay.” 

“I cannot open anything. I tried to stab my pudding open with a spoon and broke it and can’t find the sharp part in my blankets. I’m worried it’s going to poke me.” 

Hotch stands from his chair. “That’s not good.” 

You take up Jack’s card, pinching the folded printer paper and pulling all of its homemade glory from the envelope. The front has a red heart drawn with bandages wrapped around it, and inside is a message written in impressive penmanship considering his age. To Y/N, it says, Please get well soon. We are hoping you to have a speedy recovery! Love you, Jack and Aaron 

“It says you love me,” you say. 

“Mm, Jack wrote the message. He misses you.” 

You catch the feeling of Hotch’s hand where it slips between your legs and almost burst, giggling excitedly, which makes his hand jump away from you like a fish out of water. “You have the spoon!” 

“Found it. No more danger.” 

“Thank you. I knew you could find it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The pain medication Hotch spoke of is starting to make itself known. You hadn’t felt very different to begin with, the only worthy note your absence of pain, but right now you feel weird. Light. Happy, but strange, like the opposite feeling of missing a step. You know something’s wrong and you know it’s the medication, but you’re elated at the same time. Hotch is here. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’ll know. 

“Do you think I feel happy ‘cos of you or the morphine?” you ask. Softly, slurring, you swallow and try not to sound as drunk. “I feel amazing.” 

“It’s the morphine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had some myself, but I remember feeling amazing at the time, and you’re on a lot more of it than I was.” Hotch sets himself back down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you staying for long?” 

“Until they make me leave,” he says. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Yesterday you were here for ten minutes and I felt like my heart was bruised.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment. His eyes seem darker than usual. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to be home to take care of Jack.” 

“I know you had to, it’s not your fault, but I still missed you.” 

You prop Jack’s amazing card on the nightstand with a proud grin. You love Jack Hotchner, he’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest boy you’ve ever met, and it must be because of his parents. You’ve not met Haley many times, but Hotch is amazing. It makes sense that his kid would be just as awesome as he is. Turning your attention back to the flowers, you find the courage to ask, “Do you think you could bring Jack to see me?” 

“I think he might be a little young for hospitals, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, maybe I can see him when I’m out of the hospital? How can I say thank you for the card? Does he still like bears?” 

“He has enough bears,” Hotch says gently. “You don’t need to buy him anything, he just wants you to get better soon.” 

“You’re such a good dad.” Your lashes kiss with the force of your smile. “You’re lovely. Jack is really kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re handsome,” you continue, slinking down in the bed. You feel tired but not sleepy, craving a really big, hot sandwich. Hotch holds your gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“What?” he asks quietly. 

“Can you please get me a big, hot sandwich? Maybe with hot chicken? Or spicy chicken in a burrito? I really need it to be hot.” 

Hotch laughs aloud and reaches for your forearm to squeeze you again. “Of course I can. I’ll call Derek and I’ll make him get you both of those things, if you like.” 

“Oh, good. I really really don’t want you to leave but I really want the sandwich more than I want you to stay.” You tip your head to one side. “If you hugged me again I’d say I want you to stay more than I want the sandwich, ‘cos you haven’t hugged me in a long time.” 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, the pad of his thumb working against your wrist. 

“No, I know I’m not supposed to want you to hug me.” 

“We’re friends,” he says, shaking his head, “good friends, aren’t we? It’s alright if you want a hug. I should be better at giving them.” 

When he was with Haley you wouldn’t have dreamed of wanting it, because your affection for him has always been more than a friend‘s. You’ve guarded the secret carefully over the years. What’s more unfair to a wife than to fancy her husband? But Haley left Hotch, and he’s been single for a while now, and you think that lately he’s actively dating. He’s always had pride in his appearance, but his suits are tailored again. His hair is left to grow beyond what’s easily maintained. He and Dave occasionally joke about him getting back out there —he doesn’t need to get out there, you’re right here. 

You can’t help frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I think I’m a bad friend.” 

“You aren’t a bad friend.” 

“I am, I have ulterior motives.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes. “Honey, everybody does. You’re fine. You’re a good friend. You know you’re the sole member of the team who’s remembered Jack’s birthday every year? Remembered mine?” 

“I don’t do that to be a good friend, I just love Jack.” 

His hand slips down to yours. He holds it briefly. “I know you do.” 

“It’s why I remember yours,” you say, shaking your head, annoyed he’s taken his hand back but ready to move on to better things. “Can you ask Derek for my sandwich now, please? Please, please, I’m so hungry I’m gonna die.” 

Hotch gives you a funny look. “How about I go and get you your sandwich? I’ll be very fast. I’ll go to Sam’s across the street, would you like that?” 

“Can I have maybe a donut too?” 

“Sure, honey. I’ll get you a half dozen.” 

“Really?” 

“Sure. Do you want any in particular?” 

Hotch goes off to get you a sandwich and you click the button for more morphine without really thinking. You’re asleep before he gets back.

—

You wake up shaking. 

Aaron straightens in his chair. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it’s nearing the end of your visiting hours and he’s been here since three. Your sandwich is stone cold in the bag and he’s not sure how he’ll get it warmed up.

Your arms are trembling badly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Hotch, where am I?” 

Aaron stands. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had some morphine and it ended up sedating you. The shaking will calm down soon, but nothing’s wrong, okay?” 

You’re noticeably confused, and Aaron hates it enough to sew his fingers between yours. His are thicker by quite a bit, but he’s used to smaller hands. He’s careful with you. He can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier. 

The undercurrent of fear you’d been harbouring begins to ebb. You let Aaron hold your hand and settle back down into your sheets, turning your face toward him and shutting your eyes. You don’t seem sleepy. He’s not sure what’s wrong. 

When you say you love him, he understands. He loves you, too. He doesn’t think that he’s in love with you, but he could be. He’s had enough guilty daydreams about it, batted them away, moments doing the dishes or at the gym or when you’re standing together working a case, where he forgets to forbid himself the pleasure and imagines you in simple intimacies. He sees himself taking your hand. He pictures waking up to the smell of you on his pillows. When he’s especially pent up and you’ve haunted him with your bare face or a shy smile, he ends the day thinking of you. How he’d kiss your head with just a little of his weight atop you, or a lot. 

And then he feels so horribly wrong for doing it that he resigns himself to the distance between you forever. 

Aaron doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he could fall in love with you if given the chance. He has to determine how honest your morphine-confession was, and there’s no time like the present. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

“I brought you the donuts and a sandwich, but I’ll have to reheat it. I’m sorry.” 

“Did I ask for a sandwich?” you ask, startled.

“A hot one. You emphasised.” 

“Thank you, Aaron. I don’t think I’m hungry now, I’m kinda queasy.” 

“You had a little bit more morphine than you should’ve.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says under his breath, “that’s not your fault.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly. Any want to draw the truth from you is quickly dwindling. All he wants now is to make sure you’re okay. 

He spills himself closer to you and, without untangling your hands, brings your thin blankets to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. The queasiness won’t last long. In fact, eating might help, but we can wait.” 

“Don’t you have to go home?” 

“No, I can stay if you want me to.” 

“Please, I want you to.” 

“You’re still on the morphine,” he says, rubbing your hand, “I can ask them to lower your dosage if you don’t like it, but you have to remember that it’s keeping you unaware of your pain.” 

You hesitate. “I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Then it won’t,” he promises. You had more than your fair share of pain. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“This is all I want. For you to look after me.” 

He takes a measured breath. “I would love to look after you.” 

You turn your head half an inch to see him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying to blend the half of him you know at work with the half of him responsible for his outer life, the part of him that flirts with beautiful women at bars, the part of him that loved being a husband. “I don’t know what you want, and now isn’t the time, but,” —he prepares to be brave— “if you want me to look after you, then I will.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Can you kiss me?” 

His heart skips a beat. “No, honey, I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Not even on the head?” 

His stomach aches, but it’s a good feeling. Like worrying you lost something and finding it in the first place you’ve looked. “On the head I can do.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed in wait of his kiss, a light, chaste brush of the lips to your temple. The morphine makes you laugh, a girly, giggly bubble of it as you burrow into the sheets, like he’s tickled you. He’s twice as endeared when you squint at him like you’re waiting. 

“Can I–”

“One more,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “Any more than that and you’ll die of embarrassment when you’re not drugged out of your mind.” 

“I’m not out of my mind. I’m just hallucinating. Or having a great dream.” 

He’s inclined to agree, but he knows with confidence he hasn’t had any heavy medication today. He gives you a fond look and sits back down, obliging you when you scramble to put your hand in his again. It’s a weight he could get used to holding.

“I really like you,” you confess quietly. 

He quite likes you in return. “That’s great, honey. Do you want to talk about it later? Maybe you can have one of your donuts.” 

You don’t take his misdirection as rejection, you just pull his hand to your chest and smile. “No thank you. I can wait.” 

He can wait too. 

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna has never said no to you.

It didn’t matter what the request was, simple or complicated, easy to fix or a days-long job, Sukuna was always at your side, completing the task as fast as he needed to to keep you satisfied. He would love to deny it, you’re sure, but evidence proves time and time again that he puts your needs and wants at the top of his priority list. 

And you were curious how far you could go with it.

The two of you are sitting in your underwear at the breakfast nook, warming yourselves in the bay window while the morning sun starts on the leftover night time chill. It wasn't quite time for breakfast, still too early for the both of you. In the meantime, you sip on your morning brews, preserving the comfortable silence. Sukuna is flipping through the day's newspaper, his eyes are groggy with sleep and he hasn't said more than a handful of words to you yet. He wasn't a morning person.

You were starting to change that.

"Kuna," You call to him, nudging him with your foot from your corner of the window bench.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up from the paper, but his hand reaches down and grabs your foot, pulling it into his lap. His thumbs start to subconsciously knead at your muscles.

"I want these." You hold up your phone, which you had previously been scrolling through in an attempt to find something ridiculous for this exact moment. You were sure you had found it, something even Sukuna would find unnecessary. 

And yet, he merely glances at your screen, takes in the sight for all of two seconds, and then returns his attention to whatever news article he was in the middle of.

"My wallet's on the counter." He clears the sleep from his throat not sparing a second look. 

You blink at him in surprise.

"D-Did you even see what it is?" You flip your phone around to make sure you were displaying the correct thing. 

Sukuna is frowning before he looks up again, curious at your persistence. He gently cups your hand, bringing it only a minuscule amount closer to examine your screen a second time. 

You were on one of the most luxurious brand’s websites, showing him an incredibly regular pair of panties, no straps, no details, all black- with one of the most outrageous price tags you had ever seen for something so ordinary. 

Sukuna cocks a brow at you over your phone, "Can't imagine you need more panties when you're constantly stealing my boxers. But whatever, hand it over. I know my card number-"

"Kuna," You interrupt him with a surprised laugh, holding fast to your phone when he tries to pluck it out of your hands, "they're a thousand dollars."

He glances back, his eyes focusing lower on the screen where you know the price tag to be. The newspaper in his hands drops down, momentarily forgotten by what he sees. For a moment, you think you've found his limit.

"Wait, are those red one's assless?" He points just below the price, where the recommended products are depicted. "Get those too."

You drop the phone down so that he meets your eyes, which are wide with shock.

Sukuna always took care of you. Always insisted on being the provider of any single thing that you may need; a warm meal, a soft bed, anything your eyes twinkled at that was available for purchase- even if you would never think of buying or owning it. Granted, you never wanted much in terms of material possessions, so you didn't realize the true extent of Sukuna's leniency until now.

It was slightly intimidating, and part of it felt wrong. Sukuna had money, plenty of it, but that didn’t mean he should feel the need to spend copious amounts of it on you just because you could ask him to. He was giving you too much power, it felt like.

You huff through your nose, frowning at him, which only has him tilting his head further to the side in question.

You ignore it, setting your phone onto the window seat and crawling your way closer to him, until you can gather up his face in your hands and lock his gaze into yours.

He glares at you past smushed cheeks, but doesn't make a move to break free of your hold, humoring you. "The hell are you doing-"

"You know you don't always have to say yes to me?"

Now that has him taken aback. His mouth automatically opens for a witty response, but your question seems to have effectively taken the words from his mouth. You can see the cogs in his head turning, and what you wouldn't give to peer inside his mind and hear his thoughts.

It takes him a moment, but eventually that familiar confident smile stretches across his sleepy face. His hands seem to instinctively slide their way up your bare legs until his fingers grip your hip bones, pressing into you. 

He hums, "When have you ever said no to me?"

You scoff, ready to give him a prime example, but end up coming up short. The two of you loved to tease each other with disobedience, but in the end you were eager to give Sukuna anything his heart desired. You loved to please him, it was one of your favorite things to do, in fact.

"You never ask anything ridiculous of me." You remind him, smiling as one of his warm hands slides back down your waist and dips into the pair of his boxers you were sporting that day. 

"You know what's ridiculous?” His voice wraps around your throat, and suddenly has you swallowing past the delicious grip. You're folding into him before you even realize it, at the mercy of his calloused hands. "The implication that I wouldn't do just about anything for you."

You can't help but sigh hopelessly, although it comes out as a desperate noise that pleads him for more. You really were all his, just like he loved to tell you.

"Now hand me your phone." It's a whisper, coaxing you. "I wanna see you in red."

You can’t say no. 

At least it was mutual.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON! P.T.2

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too

★ A/N: tim didn't get to speak much last chapter so i'm hoping this one makes up for it!! also also, you guys have acc overwhelmed me with all the support, thank you all so much 😭💞💞💞

★ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 ★ | ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★

MARK DID, IN FACT, SAY 'DIFFERENT DIMENSION'—

—and now, he's sat on your bullet-hole-covered couch, head moving from side-to-side as he watches you pace the room behind your broken table, one hand holding your elbow, the other situated beneath your chin.

You're half paying attention to him, half stuck in your own thoughts, his earlier words repeating in your mind like a mantra, a broken record player you can't seem to fix no matter how much you move its lever.

"Okay," you whisper, maybe to him, maybe to yourself, "let's... let's run this back. You said you're my... boyfriend, right?"

Mark nods in time with a few growls in the background.

"But... from a different dimension?"

He nods again.

"Right, okay." You echo his action, nodding to yourself like any of this makes sense, like you don't have a million thoughts running through your mind right now.

"This is ridiculous," Damian voices one of them with a scoff. "How do we know this isn't another one of Darkseid's schemes? Something to lower your guard with so that he can capture you as leverage against us?"

You breathe in through your nose, pinching it again. "C'mon, Dami, would you really let him follow you to me?"

He purses his lips, not another word falling from his mouth.

That settles that.

"Sorry about that, Mark. Can you elaborate?"

You turn back to the otherworldly meta human, only to find his eyes already on you (still on you), wide, and with his face a little stuck out, like he's actively trying to get closer to you, like he can't bring himself to be too far away.

The thought turns your insides to mush.

You clear your throat, ignoring the tingle in your stomach. "Um, Mark?"

He blinks. "Huh?"

"I, uh, asked if you could, y'know, explain a bit more?"

He blinks again, slower this time. Then, with a shake of his head, he lifts a hand behind his neck, rubbing it in a habit so boyishly awkward, you have to fight back the smile threatening to climb onto your face. "Right." He clears his throat. "I was sent here by this guy in my dimension—Angstrom Levy?"

He peers up at you, as though expecting some sort of reaction to that name, but when you frown back at him with a quirk of your brow, he continues his explanation slowly.

"He can, uh, open these portals at will."

"Right..." you trail off, turning your head down as your eyes glaze over, "and in your world, I'm your girlfriend?"

"Were," he corrects, and it's so quiet, you almost don't catch it.

In fact, you're sure you heard him wrong.

"Sorry?"

"You were my girlfriend," he speaks again, firmer, but in a tone no less far, no less clouded. 

"We broke up?" You furrow your brows—no, that doesn't make sense. If you did break up, why would he come to your door claiming to be your boyfriend and not your ex?

The answer to your question lies in the man seated on your couch, but unlike before, he suddenly can't seem to bring himself to look at you, gaze instead trained to your wooden floorboards like they're the most interesting things to grace the planet. What? Does he not have wood in his dimension?

A beat passes without Mark saying a word.

The silence sits heavy, like the humid air of a rainforest swallowing you whole and threatening your very ability to breathe.

You find yourself awaiting escape from it, his words, however long they may take to come, like a promise of salvation from your woes.

But it isn't him that saves you.

"You died," a voice cuts through the silence, sharp and through gritted teeth. "He let you die in his world."

Instantly, Mark's head shoots up, and he narrows his eyes into sharp, lethal daggers at Damian.

"I didn't let her." He snarls, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. "I just..."

And then, just like that, he loses all the fight, fingers loosening their tight grip around nothing as his form all but falls, folding over like a wet noodle with no will to keep going.

"Fuck me..." you breathe out, hand already up and pinching your nose again.

To think, another version of you, a different version of you—with a different life and a boyfriend and maybe even no wood in her world—died.

Fucking hell.

"I need a drink," you find yourself muttering, shaking your head lightly before peering up at Mark. "Do you, uh, also need something?"

He's back to looking at you, gaze wide and brows knitted and lips parted by just the slightest hair as he whispers with all the sincerity of a samaritan, "Just you." Then, a little louder, "All I need... is just you."

You think the world stops when you catch air in your throat, that it drowns out until it's just the two of you when those words leave his tongue.

All of a sudden, you seem to be floating on a cloud, drowning in his gaze of pure intensity as your own heartbeat thunders in your ears and you forget how to even breathe or blink or see anyone that's not him for a brief second.

But then that second passes, and you find yourself on land once again.

You quickly excuse yourself, ignoring the holes that bore through you as you leave the room to enter your kitchen instead, the cold of it like a breath of fresh air against your warm skin.

God, fuck, that moment was so intense, you don't know if you can even think about what was revealed before it, his gaze lingering on your skin like rain after a hurricane.

So vivid. So loving. So utterly devoted that you could see nothing but yourself reflected back in those eyes.

The cup in your hands almost slips from the cabinet above your head at the memory.

In fact, it does slip. But it's quickly caught. Though not by you.

A warmth radiates against your back, and you turn, just to have it radiate against your front instead.

"Tim..."

His head is tilted to yours, eyes glazed over as one hand places the cup down on the counter to your left, and the other situates itself firm on the counter to your right.

For a beat, he just stands there, trapping you to the corner of your kitchen with a gaze as clouded as the Gotham night sky.

Then, just as you part your lips to ask why he's here, he speaks.

"Tell me I was seeing things."

His voice comes quiet, whispered and pleading as his brows knead up with a shaky sort of pull.

"What?" you can only ask, his breath hot against your face, close and feeling like it won't be moving anytime soon.

"Tell me..." he starts again, repeating without hesitation, "that I was just seeing things."

When you furrow your brows back at him, he continues, almost desperately.

"That you weren't... that you weren't looking at him for a second like..."—his face scrunches up, expression pained, like you've just gone and hit him with an axe—"like you believed him."

"Tim, I—"

You don't know what to say, not when he looks at you like that, like you've just shattered his whole entire world right in front of him.

"Like..." Tim continues, and the next words he has to really push out, wincing like it hurts just to say, "like he's actually your boyfriend."

Your stomach drops, insides churning as Tim's fingers curl against your counter with an audible scratch.

"You know he's not, right..?" he whispers, like not even he's sure. "That he's just a stranger?"

You furrow your brows, gulping down saliva and steeling yourself. "Of course I know."

But it's like Tim doesn't even hear you.

"He doesn't love you. He doesn't even know you."

You narrow your eyes, going to respond when he beats you to it again.

"Not like I do," he continues, and your words die on your tongue, eyes going a tad wider as he leans in just a bit closer. "Not like I've done for years."

Whether he's talking about knowing you or loving you, you're not sure.

And you continue to be unsure as he softly reaches for your dominant hand, gripping the back of it like he's afraid that if he lets go, you'll slip from him entirely.

The next thing you know, your hand is cradling his cheek, and he's holding it there, allowing your warmth to bleed into his skin as he looks at you with those wide, shaking eyes you seem to be on the receiving end of quite often these days.

"Tell me," he begs—lips wobbling, brows knitting, expression pleading.

And you don't think you can even if you wanted to, mouth too dry and head too empty to even voice a clear thought as he moves to slip his free hand around your waist and pull you closer.

"Please."

You think you're only able to snap out of it when you're just a breath away from his lips, just a hair from touching them with your own as he drills into you with those wide, shaking, desperate blue eyes of his.

And once you do snap out of it, once everything becomes just a little too much, you place a hand firm against his chest, whispering his name with a small, light push.

His grip around you tightens for a second, eyes glazing over, but before they can stay that way, before he can do something without a lick of sense or reason, they clear up again, and he slips his hands from your waist, letting you part from him as his arms fall to hang limply by his sides.

And when you move to further part from him and the room, you pretend not to hear the loud bang against your kitchen counter.

So much for a drink.

TAGLIST: @silas-222, @bloofairyfox, @wiseavenuelove, @inkycapps, @velovicy, @mmentallyelsewhere, @verysynical, @1abi, @bluepartywobblernickel, @krys0210, @patatasolitaria, @mazixxss, @nova916, @federalprison78-4, @crissy09yesso, @minhyrin, @nutella-hitler, @kvzutora, @starslightzz, @alishii, @crybabyghostie, @jsprien213, @cupid73, @doggyteam2028, @invinciblewaffles, @love-theangel, @butterbiscuit444, @thecrazyone2007, @reaperxdeath, @mexxs-xs, @gaychaosgremlin, @pookiei-bookie

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 in between : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

I just can't come in between them, they got their own thing ʚĭɞ or 6 times people thought they were dating + the 1 time it was actually true.

"So, you're dating?" the new camper looks between her and Percy after they gave him the tour around camp.

Ah, the long awaited question.

And the answer is always the same. "No, we're friends, why?"

Once again, the camper looks between her and Percy, who's standing just behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head comfortably resting back on his chest. "Oh, nothing, I just thought—"

Yes. Everyone just thought. Everyone just thought they were together, and everyone was always shocked when it turned out they were merely friends.

Percy and her couldn't understand it at all, because it was totally normal for friends to act the way they acted with each other. Right?

ʚĭɞ the ponytail.

It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail. Doesn’t everyone know that?

Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.

So he didn’t see anything wrong when he stood behind her after they called for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.

"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.

"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, as if that's enough explanation.

Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn’t try to, he simply shakes his head and says, "You do realize you're in love, right?"

But Percy isn't even hearing, his eyes fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.

ʚĭɞ the necklace & hairtie

Yes, it is completely normal that she wears his best friend's initial around her neck. Totally normal.

It isn't even that noticeable, just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.

Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her as they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.

Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' in your necklace?"

She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."

"How is that-" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."

She's tired of questioning it.

And Percy? He adores the necklace, but he also loves the hair tie he always has on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.

People don't realize at first, it's a simple black hair tie. But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.

Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.

"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.

"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.

This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.

"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.

"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."

ʚĭɞ the kiss on the cheek

And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.

Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.

So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted. "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss? Percy kind of froze. His eyes followed her as she walked away, looking like a kicked puppy, like a kid who's candy had just been stolen.

He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.

Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like someone just stole your christmas gifts."

"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.

Piper almost looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head as she asks, "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"

"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.

Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else, she finally arrives, almost running to the table and taking her usual seat besides Percy.

"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and then— like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.

And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.

"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.

ʚĭɞ the wallet

Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."

"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.

"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.

"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"

Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on the photo on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."

He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the photo of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin, a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"

"I- uh- do you just carry it in your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise. And he thought he could expect anything from those two.

"Well, yeah? she gave it to me ages ago." and he turns to pay.

Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already busy. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."

ʚĭɞ the flowers and lipsticks

Friends get each other flowers, right? at least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while shopping for groceries with her mom.

It's not his fault, they were just there.

A bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.

When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet in one hand and gummy worms in the other, she smiles to herself.

"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.

"Oh?" he looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they remind me of y/n, so I thought I might aswell get them for her."

Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.

Except that sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"

Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries in the chekout belt. "Yep, but make sure to get the cherry-mint one, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid. She loves that one."

"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"

Silence. For a second, Percy just stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.

"I guessed." he replies simply.

Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve. So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.

And it was totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.

"Perseus, you are unbelievable."

ʚĭɞ the date

Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried for his friend going on a date, worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.

Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers— roses, seriously? and ask her out.

But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to know her favorite flowers.

That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.

That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he doesn’t train or joins his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. By the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.

It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door, and before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.

Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.

No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.

"Hey, how did-" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.

"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."

Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."

"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."

He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.

"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.

"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night. Barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."

Percy's hands stopped on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"

She shifted slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He he told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."

"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs at that, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists again.

She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"

They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.

After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"

His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe-"

Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.

Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.

And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.

ʚĭɞ the kiss.

The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.

Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.

"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.

"Who knows? It could be years, they-" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.

Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.

He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."

"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she has ran off to go find her spear.

Percy chuckles, his smile bright, his eyes still fixed on her. "Friends? No, that's my girl."

[everythingspokenfor]

୭୧.All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

"I have never seen an actual dick before," you blurt out, mouth full of popcorn as you watched Bakugou work on repairing his gauntlet, he stops, turning to look at you, bewildered.

"I didn't really need to know that." He deadpanned, turning back to his work station, tip of his ears taking on a rosy hue.

"No, listen, like I know you haven't seen a pussy either," You stopped abruptly, watching as his head snap towards you for the second time, palms gripping the screwdriver tight.

"The fuck is wrong with you," he sighed out, giving up fixing his gauntlet, instead getting up to grab a drink, you scramble, tossing the popcorn bowl onto the side table, before hopping behind him.

"Nothing is wrong with me," you state, pressing a hand against your chest you stand in front of him, "I am just curious, and I know you are too." You fold your arms, eyes challenging his.

"No."

"I didn't even say anything yet."

"I know what is cooking in your head." He points an accusatory finger, side-eyeing you, "and the answer to that is no." He knew exactly what you intend to say, but he has no intention taking part in any of your fantasies.

"But, this is like mutual benefit," you instigated, placing both your hands on your hips, "Like I get to see what I want and you get to see what yo-"

"When did I say I want to see your pussy?"

"Bitch, I know you want to," You counteracted, chest heaving slightly as you tried to convince him, breaking him is difficult, for some even impossible but you can, with the right approach you can make him do anything.

"Think about it, Suki." You lower your voice a little, eyes lowered before you slowly lifted them, catching his eyes, you notice the hitch in his breath, notice his eyes darting down at your lips before your eyes again, "I wanted to do this with you, only you."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and then down, you know his resolve is about to break.

"Once, then we never talk about it."

Your eyes lit up, hands already moving to untie the strings of your sweats.

"Woah! Slow the fuck down, I didn't say now!" He groans, instantly averting his eyes and turning away slightly.

"Why not?"

He groans, hands placed on his face, as he turned a deeper shade of red."I have to clean up." He mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean? Do you have to.... wash it or something?" You tilt your head.

"The fuck! It's washed." He juts, arms crossing again as he tried to convince you about his hygiene, not that you needed it, you knew what a clean freak he was.

"Then what is it, Suki."

"I have to shave." He breaths out, you look at him bewildered. He watches as you finally register his words, stupid grin returning on your face.

"I don't mind it fuzzy, peaches." You scratch your chin, before eyeing him up and down.

Bakugou glares at you, steam flaring his nostrils, before he launches at you, hands coming to grab your waist as gently smacked you with a nearby pillow.

"Okay! Okay, we don't have to do it now." You yielded, hands coming to shield your face. Both of you are breathless, chests heaving as you take in your position, your legs a spread enough to accommodate him between your legs, he is sitting on his heels, palms on your thighs, you twitch slightly, heat rising in your belly.

You moved forward, rising to your elbows, "We don't have to take our pants off, Mr. Dynamight, but-" you sit up, pulling his face towards you, "but, there are others things we can share." You hand glides down, resting on his tits pecs.

He flexes them subconsciously, "you have already seen me shirtless before."

"It's only fair, I take my shirt off then." You squirm a little, pulling your shirt from underneath you, you lift it high enough so that the hem of the shirt is tucked underneath your chin, bare breasts exposed to the cold air of the room and to him.

You watch him visible swallow, his pupils dilating as he takes in the sight of your hardening nipples, "Can I touch you?" His voice, barely above a whisper, hands gripping the carpet beside your waist, you pretend to think for a moment, eyes narrowing at him, "That is, if you want it." He stutters, backing up slightly, ensuring you wouldn't feel uncomfortable despite this being your idea.

You spread your legs wider, before locking them around his waist, "You can touch, Suki." You mutter, dainty fingers coming to scratch the back of his head, pulling him closer.

He balances himself on one hand above you, other hand coming to palm your breast, he holds first, unaware of what to do and quiet honestly enjoying the weight of it in his hand.

You let out a sigh, placing your hand on your other breast, "You can squeeze it, gently," you flex your fingers, the fat bulging between your digits, Bakugou copies it, eyes locked as if he is in a trance.

You move your hand slightly, slowly twisting your nipple, fingers pinching and tugging at your bud, Bakugou follows that too, thick fingers flicking at your nipples, rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

You bite your lips, contemplating, before your blurt out, "You can suckle on it too." Your free hand deviating back to his head, gently nudging his head towards your chest.

His eyes become droopy, breathing heavily, he brings his face closer, slightly chapped lips encircling your nipple. It's experimental first, as he tries to feel what it's like, before he pulls away taking a deep breath and diving back in.

He stays attached to your breast for what feels like eternity, his cheeks smeared with his spit, the same dripping between your boobs. He pulls back, feeling light headed, as he glances down at your figure once more. "That was..." His words drifted away, throat drying as he tried to form a sentence.

"Insightful." You smirked lazily, moist panties sticking to your cunt, "next time I am going to explore your tits." You words make him blush harder, ever present redness of his cheek darkening.

Divider by: @/diviniyae

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE SUNDAY REGULAR. 18+

bucky barnes x waitress fem!reader

wc. 4605 summary. you’re a waitress working at some shitty run-down diner in the middle of nowhere. and every sunday you see the same person at the same time walk through the doors. the pair of you forming a bond over time. though today, he doesn’t at his usual time and you begin to worry that you’ll have to wait another week to see him. the regular then finds out some information about you that he didn’t wish to know, and in turn, information you didn’t wish to share. warnings. 18+ only! very brief indirect drug description, reader is engaged, small moment of violence, wound tending, repressed feelings, yearning and pining bc its yummy, idiots in love, filth, pinv, premature ejaculation (he can't help it. he's wanted her a while, okay?) creampie. mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Sunday, 8:26pm. 24 minutes until closing time.

40-some miles outside of Washington DC.

You peer up at the clock on the wall behind you and weirdly find yourself hoping that it was displaying a lower number — wishing it to be an hour, maybe two earlier. You would never wish to be working at the diner for longer than you needed to be, but you were a customer short today and you were starting to grow restless. 

The regular's presence becoming all the more noticeable as the hours passed you by. They were truly the only reason you began to pick up Sunday shifts in the first place. 

Your hope begins to dwindle as you watch the second hand briskly move its way around the clock. There was a very strong chance that you won’t be seeing him walk through those doors tonight and you had to start welcoming that possibility. Unless your Sunday regular shows up in the next twenty minutes, you’re sadly going to have to wait another week more. 

You rest your arms across the counter of the bar, hands stretching outwards as you slot your head between your upper arms. Using the moment as a way to ease the strain in your eyes. You hear the sound of what you know for certain is a motorcycle, his motorcycle, and your head whips up, checking if your suspicions were as true as you knew them to be.

And it was. It was him. Only several hours later than what he usually is. 

You twist on your heel to the wall of mugs behind you and reach for the cleanest one you can see. You place it onto the bar just as he walks through the doors, meeting him with one of those smiles you only show to those who mean most. 

The feeling of relief fills your lungs as you in turn fill his cup, pouring him some black coffee.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” you welcome as you turn your back to him, placing the pot back onto its spot.

“You serve the best coffees, how could I not?” Bucky smiles, taking a seat at the empty bar — dismissing his usual seat in the far left booth against the window. 

“The trick is to let it sit for hours at a time.”

He takes a sip and nods, letting the particularly bitter liquid sit in his mouth a moment. “Yeah that would do it.”

“The kitchen is closed for the night, but I can offer you some pie? I was gonna take it home but it’s all yours if you want it,” you offer, suggesting a compromise to his usual order. “It’s pecan,” you tempt, pulling the paper box out from under the counter. 

He looks at the singular slice and back up to you briefly, appreciating the rather selfless offer. But he couldn’t do that to you, it was yours.

“No no, I’m fine thanks. The coffee will do just fine.”

As you close the box, something shiny on your left hand catches his attention. He grows quiet and his eyes become fixed on your hand atop the box, focusing on an engagement ring.

You snatch your hand away and laugh dryly, hiding it like you were ashamed of it.

“I uh, didn’t know you were—” he stops himself, pulling his gaze away from the band. He swallows thickly and coughs in his fist. “Congratulations.”

It doesn’t match your other jewellery, he thought. It's the wrong metal.

“Thanks,” you smile weakly, stashing your hand into your pinny – keeping it from his view, and quite frankly your own. “It all happened kinda fast, but uh,” you pause, trying to find the words. “I’m happy.”

Such a lie.

“Good,” he forces a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

You clear your throat, and nod. “Thanks.”

You each still rather awkwardly, the announcement –or if that’s what you’d call it– making you both fumble for conversation for the first time ever. But what else could one say after that? 

Bucky stares down at the mug in his hand, mentally plucking out conversation starters — hoping to think of something to say. But frankly, he was rather devastated, heartbroken even. The sight of the engagement ring feeling like a knife to the chest. Any chance of speaking was likely to result in further heartbreak.

He really thought you liked him.

He peers up at you when he notices your silence, though your eyes never meet his — they've become rather focused on a spot above his shoulder. He follows your eyeline and sees two men by a tree swapping items from their pockets. 

Bucky’s gaze slowly finds its way back to you, moving slow like he was reluctant to see the upset cloud within your eyes. 

“That’s him, right?” he asks hesitantly.

You can only scoff, head shaking disapprovingly as you watch the exchange play out. You had already previously suspected that the quitting was a ruse, and now you have the proof. All of it happening in front of your eyes. 

“He said he stopped,” you mutter under your breath, forgetting your present company.

Though Bucky hears, he doesn’t say anything. Rather he doesn’t know what to say, and he’s quite sure he’d make the situation worse if something were to be uttered from his mouth. But in truth, he was disappointed in your choices, and while he doesn’t know you a whole lot –nor you him– he’s always had the assumption that you were strong of mind. That you were capable of making good choices for yourself.

“I need to start closing up,” you hint, avoiding Bucky’s eyes as you make yourself busy behind the counter.

Any other time you would’ve given anything to stall closing up shop, do anything to just spend a few more minutes in his company. But after everything that’s happened in the last few minutes, you could barely look at him. Quite frankly, you were embarrassed with the events of it all, mortified and ashamed even. 

You knew you were making a mistake with your choice of partners, and you could tell that Bucky knew it too. 

“I understand,” he nods. 

He stands and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a ten and placing it under his mug. He can only observe you from behind, your lack of eye contact telling him all he needs to know. And so he slowly begins gathering his things, stalling to see if you would give him anything more than the back of your head.

“I’ll see you next Sunday?” he questions as he backs away from the counter.

He prays that you would give him a smile or wave perhaps, just something before he reaches the doors, though you never do — you just continue to busy yourself with things that do not require your attention. You couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes or for him to see the heartbreak in yours, so you faked work: adjusting already adjusted cups on the shelf.

“Yeah,” you hum, your back still to him.

As soon as you hear the doors shut, you begin to quickly make your way around the diner to shut things off, finding yourself in a rush to confront your fiancé outside. You lock the front doors and head out into the back, grabbing your things so you could exit through the kitchen. 

You see and hear your partner’s truck off to the side and head towards it, walking to your fiancé in the driver's seat.

“You’re a liar,” you shout over his loud music, talking to him through the rolled down window. “You are a fucking liar!” your voice grows louder, physically expressing the hatred in your heart.

He shuts the music off with a smack to the console and turns to look at you. 

“You’re outta your fucking mind, you know that?” he returns, his tone matching yours.

You scoff, laughing at him like it was entertaining. “Wow,” you shake your head.

“Okay then, give me back that ring,” he extends his hand towards you out the window, opening his hand. “You clearly don’t trust me, give it back.”

“Oh what, the ring you found at a fair?” you scoff. You yank it off your finger and throw it into his truck. “It’s the wrong metal anyway. I don’t wear that colour.”

In the front parking lot, Bucky waits. Lingering and pretending that he was trying to fix and adjust something on his bike. He could tell something were to go down, and he couldn’t leave you on your own to fend for yourself with a man that’s off his head. He hears voices raise from the back and his ears prickle, his suspicions proving to be correct. He slowly makes his way around on foot, walking a little faster when he hears a man’s voice raise.

“Get your own way home,” your fiancé, well, now ex-fiancé yells and unmutes his deafening music, turning it up even louder.

You weren’t sure if you were able to say anything more without crying, so instead you hit his truck, kicking a dent into the rusty door. He shouts something indecipherable and opens the door to get at you, but you push on it, shutting it closed. 

And in that moment warning signs flicker rapidly in Bucky’s brain – his brisk footsteps becoming a hastened jog. He didn’t know this man or what he was capable of, and he did not want to find out. 

But before he could get there, he sees you land a hefty punch to the man’s face inside the truck, a shout and a curse following after. Bucky rushes to your side, like he was offering his assistance, but the man in the truck speeds off — the large, manly company seeming to scare him off.

“Are you okay?” he swallows thickly, heart pounding in his chest. He turns you by the shoulders to face him, a look of pure worry slapped across his face. 

You stare off into the distance, gaze detached as if you were trying to process everything. It all happened so fast. You direct your eyes to focus on Bucky and nod slowly, finally able to look at him once again.

And while one may think that you were lying with that nod, it was one of truth, because you really were okay. Maybe for the first time since you put on that ring.

All you can do is hug him, arms wrapping tightly around him as you bury yourself in his comfort. At first he’s reluctant, his own arms hanging at his sides while he debates with himself. This is all he’s ever wanted, why else would he travel forty miles for a cup of shitty coffee and dry pie? And so, he finally gives in, his arms finding themselves circulating you, hands tight to your back as if he’s trying to prolong this moment. Take it all in, in case this were to be the last. 

You eventually pull away and look down at your feet, staring at the cracked concrete beneath you. “I uhm,” you start. “My car’s in the shop and he was my ride.”

“Of course,” is all he says, understanding exactly what you were trying to ask of him. 

During the short walk to his motorcycle out front, nothing was said with words — all of the talking being said through glances and smiles, small shy looks away when gazes were to meet.

Reaching his bike, he hands you his helmet and hops on, extending a hand to help you get on behind him. You were hesitant at first, the thought of being on a motorcycle for the first time ever made you feel sick. But you knew you were in safe company, him giving you his own helmet proving so.

You reach your arms around his waist, securing yourself to him as your fingers interlock around his stomach. His eyes close briefly, the feel of having you so close to him makes it difficult to breathe. He glances downwards, wanting to curate the memory in his brain. 

He watches your hands adjust in front of him and sees a lack of shine on your left ring finger. The sight practically made his heart swell.

Conversation was non-existent on the way to your house, which one would expect while on a motorcycle, but that didn’t mean neither of you had nothing to say. Quite the opposite in fact. 

He pulls up outside yours with the help of your direction and shuts off the engine. He helps you off first, holding your hand as if to give you balance before he joins you on the ground. Standing a few short inches from you.

You pull out your keys from your bag and head to your small, quaint house — walking towards the windchimes and well attend to potted flowers on the porch. Bucky shadows you, keeping a respectful distance as he walks you to your house.

“Would uh,” you pause and turn to look at him, offering a smile. “Would you like to come in for a bit?”

He so desperately wants to, though he’s not sure if you’re in the right frame of mind to have a guest –practically a stranger– in your house. 

“I promise I make better coffee than the diner,” you playfully offer, exhausting routes to get him to come inside.

He hesitates, footing scuffing against the doormat as he battles with himself. 

“Only a small one,” he smiles and begins to take off his jacket. 

Your smile widens and you turn to open the door, making your way inside. You flick on a couple lamps and gesture him inside, trying to make him feel comfortable. Doing whatever you can to get him to stick around a little longer.

“Take a seat,” you nod to the sofa in front. “Be right back.”

You head into your room and mimic a silent scream, you couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited to have a man in your house. Undressing from your work uniform, you put on your pyjamas from the night before: mismatched oversized tee and plaid bottoms. You didn’t want any exaggerated effort in your appearance to be known in case it makes him flee, so you opt only for a few spritzes of deodorant.

In the other room, Bucky shares a similar feeling. He chews on a mint from his pocket and adjusts his hair, suddenly feeling a sense of pressure in the way that you might now perceive him. 

You join him in the main room a few moments later and head to the kitchen, making a start on the drinks. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you call out to Bucky and he turns to follow your voice.

“Anything.”

“Do you even black coffee?” you ask, a lively tinge in your voice.

“I do,” he mimics your tone, nodding a singular time. 

“Okay, let me rephrase,” you pause and reach into the freezer, pulling out several large ice cubes. “Do you like the diner’s back coffee?” you smile, heading towards him as you twist the ice into a dishtowel, securing it.

His lips form a straight line as he thinks about the weight of the question. Either way, his answer would contain a lie of some kind.

“I don’t,” he answers truthfully.

“I knew it,” you smile and plonk yourself down beside him. “No one likes our coffee.”

He twists slightly to look at you, watching your grin widen as your eyes fall to your lap. You’ve begun icing your hand from the punch earlier, holding the cold compress to your knuckles. His eyes fall to your hand, watching you struggle to hold the awkward shape in your non-dominant hand.

He once again battles with himself, mentally weighing it all in his mind. He wanted to help you, but he didn’t know if he could go without not being able to touch your skin ever again. But as he continued to watch you struggle with the shape, he thought that surely one touch couldn't hurt. 

“Let me,” he whispers, moving closer.

And so his hands reach for yours hesitantly, holding your hurt one carefully within his left, metal hand as the other presses the compress to your skin. Your eyes flicker up to his, silently appreciating how attentive and gentle he’s being with you. And how he seems to be doing it all from the kindness of his heart — no other ulterior motive following.

It made you realise how much of a mistake you made by saying yes to that proposal earlier this week. How much it’s complicated things if you would have just been honest with yourself from the start. You only wanted security, and you’ve grown to realise that what you were getting with your now ex-fiancé, wasn’t safety. It was fear. Fear of being alone and for admitting you had deeper looming feelings for your regular than you had first realised.

And while Bucky could only speak on his behalf, he always had a feeling there was something more between you. He wouldn’t have travelled eighty miles every Sunday if he didn’t think there was a possibility that you could in fact like him too.

So, he enjoys this moment, eyes transfixed on the kindling of your fingers atop your lap. It’s all so casual, so intimate. The feeling in person far better than what he’s imagined.

You wanted something more. You wanted it to progress into something you weren’t yet quite sure of. So, you place your free hand atop his, holding the back of his hand as he attends to the swelling on your knuckles.

He meets your eyes to see that your focus was already set on him, gaze soft and trusting as you watch him tend to you. The ice beginning to melt between the warmth of your touch.

You move your hand from atop his and extend it outwards, slowly reaching for the side of his face. You hold him there as you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek as if to show your thanks. It wasn’t originally the placement you had in mind, but truthfully you copped out at the last minute — far too afraid to be the one to ruin things.

He sensed that. 

And so, he took the pressure off you by being the assertive one: guiding you back in for a kiss to the lips before you were to get too far. It was clearly what you both wanted, the prolonged contact of your lips a physical declaration of that. 

Setting the ice towel on the coffee table, you bring your other hand to his face, holding him within your palms. And in turn his hands slip up to your waist, grip tight like he was afraid that if he were to let go, you’d disappear like you’ve done in all of his dreams before.

The kiss grows deeper and you each move closer, both eager to make this moment last. But it has to end at some point and Bucky parts away first, forehead resting to yours briefly. The tips of your noses rubbing against one another.

“You’ve had a tough night,” he catches his breath, speaking quietly between the close distance. “You shouldn’t rush into anything.”

“I’m not,” you pull away, shaking your head at him sternly. “I have wanted this for so long,” you finally admit, your hands falling to rest on his shoulders.

He just simply stares at you, head tilting as his lips open to speak. 

“You’re the reason I started picking up Sunday shifts,” you whisper, trying to persuade him that your feelings about progressing with him could not be swayed. And that this is what you wanted.

His eyes lower bashfully and his head shakes. You were the reason he would drive that distance every week.

“And, I…” you cut yourself off, pausing as if it had all become too real. So you change what you were going to say, thinking it may be too soon to proclaim such wild, outlandish feelings. “And I made a mistake… I didn’t love him.”

Bucky places his fleshed hand to your cheek, holding you dearly while you speak into existence the things he too feels. 

“I couldn’t have what I wanted… so I settled,” you divert from his eyes, suddenly aware of how little he’s speaking and how much you are..

He itches closer and closer, mouth ghosting yours once again. “And what did you want?” he whispers, speaking against your lips. It was like he was trying to pry it out of you for his own validation, tease it out of you almost.

All you can muster in response is a small, “You.”

And that's all he needed.

He directs you to lay lengthwise across the sofa, his body joining yours mere seconds later to over atop — the weight of him supported so as not to crush you. You wrap yourself around him as quick as your own body could allow it: bent knees lifting to hug at his sides, arms wrapping around his neck. Hips winding up against his desperately, keeping him close. 

The deepened kisses divert, and the trail of his mouth moves across your face, heading for the skin under your ear. He litters a few flutery kisses into the patch before lowering, peppering open-mouth kisses down the side of your throat. 

He wished that this moment could last, that he too could last. But he was fairly certain his stamina would fail him tonight, the way you look and smell and feel and sound all hindering his self-control. The sheer fact that this was all finally happening makes him feel like a very weak man indeed.

And suddenly the panic settled in for him. He had nothing. He wasn’t expecting this to happen, especially not tonight.

You sense a sudden worry and pull back, lusty heavy eyes flickering across his face. “What is it?” you ask breathlessly.

“I don’t have anything,” he hints, waiting for you to fill in the blanks yourself.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure, wandering hands moving down his sides. “I do… I’m on something,” you reassure.

He looks quite visibly relieved.

Your fingers slink into the hem of his long sleeve and you tug on the fabric. And while you’re eager to get him out of it, your pace remains slow. Like you were savouring it all. Your fingers skit over his skin as more of it becomes exposed, the top almost all the way off by now. He helps you help him out, alternating the anchoring of his hand so that you could pull his arms from either sleeve.

You drop it to the floor and in turn he starts to undress you from your t-shirt. His knuckles skim your stomach and the slow lifting begins to feel tortuous, the presence of him growing overwhelming.

And when your top half is finally bare, he adjusts himself over you, itching down your body. He presses a trail of kisses around each tit and down your stomach, moving hesitantly to the waistband of your pyjamas. His lips halt in place, searing white hot warmth to just under your belly button.

Your hands follow with him, fingers weaving through his dark hair as if to offer an ounce of the pleasure he’s giving you right now. His movements are slow and teasing as he starts to undress your lower half — removing both your underwear and bottoms with the same motion.

He stills for a few seconds, taking all of you in. How surreal that it is that you’re lying there completely naked on the couch before him, your gaze intently following every one of his movements. Sealing a final kiss to your upper, inner thigh, he sits back on his heels to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. Tugging them both down to pool at his knees — saving the trouble later on.

Bucky moves back up you to resume his prior position. Chests close, faces even closer. He reaches between your bodies and to his rock hard cock, carefully wrapping a hand around himself as he guides his aching dick towards you. Touch faint to ensure things don’t end prematurely for you both.

He presses his head to your folds, coating himself in your arousal and you both gasp at the sheer contact of the other. You were both virtually at the edge already, despite not having touched each other properly yet. It was as if this has been building for months and months and months. And now that you’re finally touching skin, it’s nearly impossible to contain yourselves. Control yourselves.

He taps his head at your cunt a couple times, swirling it around briefly before lining up with you, tip of his cock resting perfectly against your entrance. Stilling for a second, he simply allows a moment to soak all of this in, take it in that this really is happening. But he can’t leave you waiting too long, especially when you’re looking up at him so keenly.

And so he leans in to kiss you, lips locked with yours as he simultaneously feeds himself into you, cock worming its way inside your pussy. You gasp into his mouth and the noise vibrates on your tongues, the sound becoming a strained muffle. He mirrors you with a groan of his own, unable to keep himself quiet from the way you feel wrapped around him.

Bucky retracts his hand from his dick and places it on your cheek, holding you as he sinks more of himself inside, moving slowly so as to allow you time to adjust. Eventually easing the entirety of himself in you. Balls pressing firmly to your folds from the depth of him. 

You feel even better than he imagined. So warm, so snug, so safe. And he has to pause, halt any further movement so that he doesn’t explode right now and then. 

Your fingers grasp at his hair, using it as something to hold onto — something to pour your intense want into. You break the kiss and your head falls back against the cushion, weight of it growing far too heavy to hold up. 

“I can feel you in my stomach,” you whine in a whisper, eyes half lidded as you peer up at him.

He shakes his head and his brows furrow, the utter filth you whispered seeming to strip him of his control, and he wasn’t entirely happy about it either. He’s wanted this for seven months and it was over in as many seconds. He groans faintly from atop and strength vanishes from his neck; forehead resting against yours as he empties himself into you. Muttering indecipherable nonsense

“I'm so sorry,” he murmurs, clearly embarrassed. 

You’ve grown rather engrossed in the lewd display above you and you find yourself smiling, head shaking sweetly. “Not at all.”

He kisses the underside of your jaw and the crown of your head tilts backwards, exposing the full length of your throat to him. His mouth linger on the base of it and you begin to speak, your words vibrating against his lips.

“Well,” you pause. “I think…”

“Mhm?” he hums, head lifting to look you in the face.

“I think you should stay the night,” you start, eyes honing in on his, emphasising your severity. “And I think you should make it up to me.”

Who was he to object such a request?

“Yeah?” he smiles lazily, speaking softly between the close distance. “Lead me to your room.”

And who were you to object such a request?

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[rmview]

you disappear after a fight, mafia!SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader  ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of how the mafia stray kids boys react when they tell you to leave during an argument and you disappear!

contents — angst, hurtful words, disappearing, possible kidnapping, regret.

bang ♙ chan

the argument wasn’t supposed to spiral like this. it started over something small — a careless comment from one of his men, a territorial glance, your frustration over always being kept in the dark. you’d snapped, and for once, you didn’t back down when chan raised his voice. 

“i’m not your possession, chan! i’m a person, not one of your men you can order around!” 

he was tense, jaw clenched, pacing the floor of his private office while his fingers ran anxiously through his hair. the stress of rival families breathing down his neck, shady deals, and betrayals had worn him thin. but none of that was an excuse. he knew it the second the words left his mouth. 

“then get lost. go. if you can’t handle this life, if you can’t handle me, then get the fuck out.” 

the silence that followed was suffocating. 

you stared at him, stunned — not because you’d never fought before, but because you never thought he would throw you away like that. not when you’d stayed, despite the danger. despite everything. 

“fine,” you whispered. no tears. no pleading. just cold resignation. 

you turned and walked out before he could stop you. but hours passed. then a day. then two. and you didn’t come back. 

at first, chan was stubborn, convincing himself you needed space. he kept the others from looking for you, burying himself in work, pretending it was what he wanted. 

but then your phone went dead. your apartment was untouched. no signs of you at your usual spots. none of the safe houses you both used. his men couldn’t find a single trace. and suddenly, the crushing weight of those words came back to him like a tidal wave. 

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered to no one in particular, sitting alone in his office with his head in his hands. 

felix was the first to call him out. 

“hyung, something’s wrong. she wouldn’t just disappear.” 

the guilt festered in chan’s chest, sharp and suffocating. what if someone got to you? his enemies weren’t the type to show mercy. and if they found out how much you meant to him — how much you still meant, even if he was too much of a coward to say it — 

“find her,” chan snapped, standing so quickly his chair toppled back. “turn over every street, every contact. i don’t care what it takes. bring her home.” 

but deep down, what terrified him more wasn’t the idea of you being kidnapped. it was the possibility you left because you finally realized you deserved better. 

he stared at the bracelet you’d left behind on his nightstand — a cheap little trinket you once said brought you luck. he hated how empty the apartment felt. how cold his bed was without you in it. 

if you were out there, alive and avoiding him, chan swore to himself he’d tear the world apart to find you and make things right. and if someone else had taken you? well — the city would burn. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into the dark, clutching your bracelet. “i’ll fix this… i swear i will.” 

but the silence was unforgiving. and you were nowhere to be found. 

felix ♙

the warehouse was thick with tension, lit only by the flickering overhead lights. felix’s voice, usually calm and grounding, came sharp this time — edged with something unfamiliar, something bitter. 

“i told you to stay the hell out of it, y/n!” 

you flinched at the volume, heart hammering in your chest. you hadn’t meant to get involved. one of the lower-ranked men had made a mistake, and you stepped in to help, thinking it would ease the situation. but instead, it spiraled into this. another fight. another harsh accusation thrown your way. 

“i was just trying to help, lix,” you muttered, your throat tight. 

“help?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, his usually soft gaze hardened. “do you have any idea what could’ve happened if they found out how close you are to me? you think this is a game?” 

your stomach twisted. you’d heard this speech before. about how dangerous it was. how being involved with him painted a target on your back. and yet, you stayed. you always stayed. 

but today, something inside him cracked. maybe it was the stress. the way rival syndicates had started closing in. the threats. the backstabbing. and for a moment — he let the wrong words slip. 

“maybe it was a mistake letting you stay this long.” 

the world stopped. 

you stared at him, your breath caught, disbelief spreading like ice in your veins. felix froze too, the weight of his own words immediately crashing down. the expression on your face — one of betrayal, of heartbreak — made his stomach turn. 

“wait —” 

“no,” you whispered, holding up a hand. “i get it.” 

and before he could take it back, you walked away. 

felix stood frozen, heart pounding. his mouth opened to call you back, but his throat was dry. his pride, his fear, kept him silent. 

you didn’t show up that night. or the next. your apartment was empty. your phone went straight to voicemail. even his contacts couldn’t trace you. 

at first, felix tried to tell himself you needed time. that you’d cool off. come home. you always did. but days turned into a week. and with each passing hour, the knot in his chest tightened. 

his nights became restless. he’d sit in his room, clutching the small silver chain you’d once given him, the one with a tiny charm he never took off. he’d stare at it, running his thumb over the smooth surface, remembering how you laughed when you clasped it around his neck. 

“i’m your good luck charm now,” you had said. it felt like a lifetime ago. 

felix barely spoke to the others. his usual warmth dulled into something cold and distant. even bang chan noticed. 

“you’re spiraling, lix,” chan said quietly one evening. 

“i let her go,” felix admitted, his voice breaking for the first time. “i said something i didn’t mean and now — now she’s just… gone.” 

chan’s jaw tightened. “have you considered maybe someone took her?” 

that thought had haunted him every day since. if anyone knew what you meant to him — and in this world, secrets didn’t stay hidden for long — they’d use you against him. and he wouldn’t survive it. 

he clenched the chain tighter. “i’ll find her,” he swore under his breath. “even if it’s the last thing i do.” 

but in the quiet of his room, with nothing but shadows for company, felix was left with a single, unbearable question. what if she left because of me? 

and no amount of bloodshed would fix that. 

lee ♙ know 

the room was thick with cigarette smoke, the sharp scent of gun oil hanging in the air. minho paced the length of his office, jaw clenched, eyes dark and stormy. you stood your ground, though your heart pounded beneath your ribs. this wasn’t the first time tempers flared between you. but this was different. there was something in the air tonight. a pressure neither of you could escape. 

“i told you to stay out of this,” minho growled, slamming a hand down on the desk. papers fluttered, a glass tipped over. 

“and i told you i wasn’t going to stand by while you get yourself killed!” you shot back, voice trembling more with emotion than fear. “i love you, you stubborn bastard. do you even get that?” 

he froze for a fraction of a second, something soft flickering in his gaze before it hardened again. the world had taught lee know to keep his heart buried, to use sharp words as armor. and right now, his instincts screamed to push you away before you got hurt. 

“love me?” he scoffed bitterly. “if you really loved me, you’d know your place.” 

the words hung in the air like a slap. you felt them like a punch to the gut. minho saw it too — the way your expression crumbled, your eyes dimming, shoulders dropping. 

“i didn’t…” he swallowed hard, but pride — damn his pride — kept him from saying what he should have. 

“no, it’s fine,” you whispered, the fight draining out of you like water from a cracked glass. “i get it.” 

you turned, walking toward the door, your figure framed in the dim light. every step you took was another crack in his armor, but minho didn’t move. couldn’t. when the door closed behind you, the room felt suffocating. 

for the first hour, he told himself good riddance. that this was for the best. you’d be safer, far from this bloody world. you didn’t belong in the shadows anyway. 

by nightfall, regret began to gnaw at him. by morning, when you didn’t come home, it had twisted into raw panic. he called your phone. no answer. sent one of his men to your apartment. empty. no note. no sign. no explanation. 

minho wasn’t one to show weakness, but by the third day, even his men noticed the cracks. the way his temper flared, his orders sharp and reckless, how he didn’t sleep, barely ate, eyes flicking to the door every time someone entered as if half-expecting you to appear. 

when felix cautiously approached him with your bracelet — the one you never took off — found near the docks, something inside minho shattered. 

“you think…?” felix started carefully. 

minho snatched the bracelet, fingers curling tight around the delicate chain. 

“i’ll find her,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “whoever has her… or if she left on her own… i’ll find her.” 

but alone, with only the silence for company, minho replayed those final words over and over. if you really loved me, you’d know your place. 

he didn’t mean them. god, he didn’t mean them. it was meant to protect you, to scare you away from this life before it ate you alive. but now — he wasn’t sure if he’d destroyed the one thing worth protecting. and in the suffocating quiet of his office, lee know swore on his life: he’d find you. 

even if it killed him. 

hyun ♙ jin 

the city skyline glittered beyond the penthouse windows, a thousand pinpricks of light against the dark. but hyunjin wasn’t looking at any of it. he was staring you down, eyes wild, hair a tousled mess from running his hand through it a thousand times since this fight began. the tension between you crackled like an open wire, sharp enough to sting. 

“why can’t you just stay out of it?” he barked, voice frayed at the edges. 

you stood your ground, though your heart felt bruised. “because you keep bleeding for people who wouldn’t blink if it was your body lying cold in the street, jinnie. i won’t sit by while you get yourself killed.” 

hyunjin’s face twisted, a storm of fear and fury and frustration swirling behind those beautiful, dangerous eyes. god, you had no idea how much you meant to him. how terrified he was every second you were tangled up in his world. but like a fool, the only way he knew how to protect what he loved was to push it away. 

“you think you matter to me more than this family?” he spat, the words ugly, the venom in them making him flinch even as they left his mouth. “you’re a goddamn liability. if i knew you’d be like this… i wouldn’t have bothered.” 

you recoiled as though struck. 

hyunjin’s chest heaved. silence filled the space between you, broken only by the pounding of his heart against his ribs. your lips parted, as if to say something, but you just nodded. 

“okay,” you said softly. “okay, hyunjin.” 

and then you turned and walked out. he didn’t follow. he couldn’t. 

the door clicked shut with a finality that left the air thick, suffocating. hyunjin dropped into the leather chair behind his desk, head in his hands. what the fuck had he just done? 

for hours, he stared at the dark, empty doorway. told himself it was for your own good. that if you hated him, you’d leave and be safe. but the echo of your last words haunted him. 

okay, hyunjin. 

it was the absence of your scent in the apartment, the stillness of your side of the bed that night that broke him. and by morning, when seungmin showed up with a grim face and a message: 

“she’s gone.” 

“what do you mean, gone?” 

“no one’s seen her since last night. she’s not at her place, not at work. phone’s off.” 

a creeping dread crawled down hyunjin’s spine. at first, he convinced himself you were cooling off. needed space. a day, maybe two. but then a call came in from a contact at the docks — an earring, one of yours, found near an abandoned warehouse. hyunjin’s blood ran cold. 

a million scenarios tore through his mind — kidnappers, a rival gang making a move, or worse. he felt his heart rip open at the thought that you’d left because of what he said. and now you were gone, and he might never get the chance to say he didn’t mean it. that he was a coward. that he loved you so fucking much it terrified him. 

by the third day, hyunjin stopped going to meetings. stopped answering calls. he was a ghost in his own world, drinking too much, eyes bloodshot, replaying your last conversation on a loop. 

and every time he passed by the bedroom, he’d catch himself reaching for you. 

okay, hyunjin. 

the sound of it would echo in his skull. and now, with no leads, no trace, and a hollow ache eating him alive, hyunjin vowed to burn the city down to find you. because losing you wasn’t an option. 

not when he’d barely started to admit he needed you to breathe. 

jeong ♙ in 

the rain hammered down against the warehouse roof, slicking the world in silver. jeongin’s hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles blanched white, jaw clenched like a trap about to snap shut. you stood across from him, chest heaving, drenched from chasing him down, refusing to let this fight end the way it always did — with you being the one to back down. 

but this time, you were too late. something in jeongin’s expression had shifted — a volatile mix of fear, anger, and helplessness all masquerading as cruelty. 

“you don’t get it, do you?” his voice came out sharp, biting, desperate. “this isn’t your world, y/n. it never was. you’re a weakness i can’t afford to carry.” 

the words stung, but you stood your ground. “i didn’t ask to be protected, jeongin. i asked you to stop shutting me out like i don’t matter. like i haven’t been standing by you through everything.” 

he scoffed, but the way his throat bobbed betrayed him. “and you think that makes you safe?” he snapped. “it makes you a target. and if i knew you’d be so stubborn, so reckless — i wouldn’t have fucking let you in.” 

you flinched like he’d slapped you. the moment the words left his lips, regret hit him like a freight train. but it was too late. he saw your face crumble in real time, your eyes gloss over, the ache in your chest so visible it nearly shattered him on the spot. 

“i get it,” you whispered, voice cracking. “you win, jeongin.” 

and then you turned and walked out into the rain. 

jeongin didn’t move. couldn’t. he told himself not to — that it was better this way. that if you hated him, you’d stay away, and you’d live. but when the hours ticked by and your phone went to voicemail, when the safehouse you sometimes hid at was cold and empty, and no one in his crew had seen you, unease settled in his gut like a storm cloud ready to burst. 

the first night, he stared at his ceiling until dawn, fighting the urge to call, to apologize, to beg. the second day, felix showed up at the door, his expression tight. “she’s gone, hyung.” 

“what the fuck do you mean gone?” 

“no one’s seen her. she’s not answering anyone. and —” felix hesitated, swallowing. “there’s talk. a car was found by the docks. her phone was inside.” 

jeongin felt his knees nearly buckle. a cold sweat broke out across his skin. “who took her?” his voice dropped to something lethal, barely human. 

“we don’t know yet.” 

and just like that, the storm inside him broke. 

jeongin tore through the city like a man possessed. every contact, every rival crew, every informant — he interrogated them all. threatened, bribed, broke bones. no one got away untouched. every second without you felt like his chest was being hollowed out. because as cruel as he’d been, as sharp as his tongue could cut, he loved you in a way that terrified him. and now, you were gone. 

each night he went back to his apartment, it felt emptier, the silence so loud it drowned out his thoughts. the blood on his hands didn’t matter. the empire he’d built felt worthless. because you weren’t there to scold him for getting hurt, to steal his hoodies, to tease him about his dimples. 

and every time it rained, the sound would bring him back to that night — the look on your face, the pain in your voice. 

you win, jeongin. 

but he hadn’t won a damn thing. and now he swore, if it took tearing the city apart brick by brick, he’d find you. and when he did, god help anyone who’d laid a hand on you. because there was no fury like mafia jeongin scorned — and no force on earth would keep you from him again. 

han ♙

the argument had started like so many others between you and han — sharp words, too much emotion, both of you too stubborn to back down. the stakes in his world were high, and it made him reckless with his temper and cruel with his words when he felt cornered. and that night… he went too far. 

“you should’ve stayed the hell out of my life,” han spat, his voice louder than he intended, raw and frayed at the edges. “i warned you what being with me meant — you think this is some fairytale? that i’m some good guy under all this?” 

you’d tried to stay calm, biting back tears, knowing how he got when he was afraid. because that’s what this was — fear dressed up as fury. but it didn’t make the words cut any less. 

“i stayed because i love you, jisung. but you — you’re so busy pushing everyone away, you don’t realize you’re breaking the people who give a damn about you.” 

he laughed, bitter and humorless, shoving a hand through his hair. “good. then maybe you’ll finally get the hint and leave before someone uses you to hurt me.” 

you stared at him. “that what you want? for me to leave?” 

his eyes met yours for a heartbeat. too long. too much. and then the mask went back up. 

“yeah,” he forced out, voice cracking just enough for you to catch it before he turned away. “get lost. i don’t need you.” 

you left. you slammed the door so hard it rattled the frame, and he just stood there in the echo of the empty room, his chest heaving, hands trembling. the silence was deafening. 

he told himself it was better this way. that this was the only way to keep you safe in a world where people like him had blood on their hands and targets on their backs. he drank himself numb that night, hoping to forget the look in your eyes when you’d left. 

but forgetting you was impossible. and when he woke the next morning and found your phone still on the table, and your location not showing up, an eerie, gnawing dread settled in his gut. 

it got worse when you didn’t show up at your friend’s place. when no one had seen you at work. when your emergency contact hadn’t heard a thing. felix showed up mid-afternoon, pale and grim. 

“jisung… there’s a problem.” 

the words sent a chill down han’s spine. “what kind of problem?” he rasped, voice thick with hangover and panic. 

“there was a tip… someone matching y/n’s description was seen near the docks last night. with a couple of guys — from mingi’s old rival crew.” 

everything in him snapped. his heart felt like it stopped, then kickstarted into overdrive. the world blurred around him as rage and terror clawed through his chest. all his instincts, all his guilt, surged at once. “no,” he breathed. “no, no, no —” 

he was on his feet, barking orders before felix could even finish explaining. “i want every goddamn rat in this city hunted down. if someone took her — if they touched her—” his voice cracked, but his expression was pure murder. “they’re dead.” 

the thought of you out there, scared, alone, maybe hurt because of him… it wrecked him. because the truth was, han jisung loved you so much it terrified him. and in trying to protect you by pushing you away, he’d only made it worse. now you were gone, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to say what he should’ve said that night. 

that he didn’t want you to leave. that he needed you. that he was scared. and he swore to himself — if he found you, if you were still alive — he’d make it right, even if it took the rest of his life. 

because losing you was the one thing he wasn’t built to survive. 

seung ♙ min 

the fight that night wasn’t like the others. it didn’t start with sharp sarcasm or low jabs meant to irritate. it started quiet — a look, a question you didn’t mean to land like a blow. 

“do you even care anymore, seungmin?” 

he stiffened where he stood, jaw clenching, dark eyes flicking to you across the room. the tension between you two had been unbearable for weeks. the danger he tried to keep at bay was closing in. rival families making moves, his men getting hurt, deals falling through. you were the only softness in his life… and he hated himself for needing it so badly. 

but seungmin wasn’t good at letting people close. he loved hard, quietly, and when the world turned volatile, his instinct was to cut ties before anyone else could rip them away. 

you knew that. you just didn’t expect to be the one he’d cut. 

“i asked you a question,” you said, voice tight, arms crossed though your hands trembled. 

he swallowed, tried to look away — couldn’t. and because fear felt like anger in his chest, because losing you felt too much like weakness, the words slipped out cold and lethal. “if you were smarter, you would’ve left a long time ago.” 

the silence after felt suffocating. your lips parted, like you’d say something, but no sound came. his own chest hurt, like the words he’d just thrown at you ricocheted back, sharper than he intended. 

you nodded slowly, eyes shining. “okay.” 

you didn’t scream, didn’t beg. you just turned, grabbed your bag, and walked out. not bothering to slam the door, not glancing back. seungmin stood there, a ghost of a man, staring at the door like he couldn’t comprehend what he’d done. 

the hours after blurred. he kept expecting his phone to buzz, a message to appear, a familiar knock at his office door. but the silence stretched on. his men came and went, reporting about shipments, skirmishes, meetings — none of it registered. 

when changbin finally showed up, looking grim, a bad feeling coiled in his gut. 

“what?” seungmin asked, voice hoarse. 

“she’s… gone.” 

his stomach dropped. “gone where?” 

“that’s the problem. no one knows. she’s not at her place. didn’t show at her job. her phone’s off.” 

a cold sweat broke out across his skin. his head pounded. “did someone take her?” 

changbin hesitated, and that pause said more than words ever could. “there’s a chance,” changbin admitted. “we’re trying to track down any leads.” 

seungmin’s heart, normally so guarded and steady even in the face of death threats and shootouts, lurched painfully in his chest. 

and all he could think about was your face the night before. how he’d thrown you away with words designed to keep you safe but only ended up leaving you vulnerable. he felt sick. 

“i want every contact on the streets. i don’t care if it’s some street rat or one of minho’s spies — find her,” seungmin ordered, voice steel and acid beneath the panic. “anyone touches her… they’re dead.” 

his men scattered. seungmin stayed behind, sinking into his chair, head in his hands. because the truth was, you were the only person who saw him as more than the cold strategist, the mafia boss with ice in his veins. you saw the boy who loved indie songs and late-night drives. the man who worried more than he’d admit. 

he’d told you to leave. told you he didn’t care. he didn’t deserve forgiveness. but that didn’t stop him from praying you’d survive long enough for him to try. and if someone else had taken you? god help them. because seungmin would burn the whole city to ash to bring you back. 

chang ♙ bin 

the fight started in a flash. it always did with changbin. he wasn’t the kind to simmer — he burned hot, sharp words and loud voices, his way of coping with the fear that one day you might leave him before he lost you to his world. 

but tonight… tonight hit different. 

“i’m sick of you keeping me in the dark!” you shouted, eyes wet, standing in the middle of his office while his phone buzzed with missed calls, his men waiting outside the door. 

you knew what he did — the deals, the bloodshed, the debts paid in bullets and silence. but you loved him anyway. and you were done pretending it didn’t eat you alive when he came home bruised and distant, when bodies dropped and he shut you out like you were some fragile thing he had to protect by destroying. 

“i don’t need your permission to handle my business,” changbin snapped, pacing the room, fists clenched. 

“i’m not asking for permission, bin. i’m asking for honesty. or am i just some convenient distraction you fuck when you need to feel like a person?” 

the words landed harder than you meant. changbin froze, a muscle twitching in his jaw. his face twisted — part hurt, part fury. 

“maybe you are.” 

the silence was instant. a shattering, deafening kind. the kind where you realize you crossed a line you can’t uncross — and so did he. you blinked at him, breath catching. “say that again.” 

his voice cracked, just barely. “if you’re gonna be this goddamn difficult, then get out. go. i don’t care.” 

it was a lie. but you heard it like gospel. and this time… you left. 

bag over your shoulder, keys in hand, you stormed out past his men who turned away, pretending not to notice the storm that had just rolled through. changbin didn’t chase you. didn’t call after you. his pride was too loud in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own heart breaking. the door slammed. 

he threw a glass against the wall. shattered it. then another. swearing under his breath, chest heaving, tears he’d never admit to stinging the back of his throat. 

“fuck.” 

time passed in a blur. an hour. then two. then three. 

at first, he thought you were cooling off. letting him stew in his guilt, like you always did when his temper got ahead of his heart. but when jisung showed up, pale and serious, changbin’s stomach dropped. 

“she’s gone,” jisung said softly. 

“what do you mean gone?” 

“no one’s seen her. her apartment’s empty. phone’s off. her car’s still there. no sign of where she went.” 

changbin’s blood went ice cold. he felt his chest cave in, a sharp ache he’d never felt even after getting shot or losing men in alleyway deals. nothing compared to this. his voice came low, deadly. “who did this?” 

“we don’t know,” jisung admitted. “could be one of bangchan’s enemies. or maybe… maybe she left for good.” 

that was worse. that was so much worse. 

changbin clenched his jaw, hands shaking as he grabbed his gun and jacket. “put the word out. i want eyes everywhere. if anyone so much as breathed near her, i want their head.” 

and in the quiet that followed, as his men scrambled, changbin sat back in his chair and let the weight of what he’d said crush him. he could handle betrayals. blood debts. rival families. he could even stomach the thought of dying in a back alley one night. but losing you? losing you because of his own reckless words? 

he’d burn down the world if it meant bringing you home. even if you never wanted to see him again. 

notes: that was a rollercoaster xD i got carried away writing after so long and ended up giving the anon’s request a mafia twist since i’ve been wanting to start my mafia series for months now but never got a chance :’) there’s not going to be a part 2 for this since anon wanted an angsty ending sooo i hope you guys enjoy this as it is xp thank you for reading ~

[reidrum]

exile

note: happy december i hope ur all doing well <3 a little something to hold u over until next friday when i start 12 days of reidrumas ok love u

summary: in which you and JJ are the ones held hostage in truth or dare

cw: spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, hurt/comfort, angst, fem!reader, a heated makeout, reader wears a dress and heels, take a shot everytime reader tears up

wc: 3.6k

p.s. i am a glutton for praise if you couldn't tell from any of my fics but i love hearing what y'all think so plsplspls lemme know your thoughts in a comment or drop in my ask box!!!!

You’re not really sure where it went wrong.

When you joined JJ to pursue Casey, it was out of convenience. You both were simply closer to his last location. No one could’ve predicted he’d take you both hostage or make you play a twisted game of truth or dare at gunpoint.

No one could have predicted that Casey would force you and JJ to reveal details that hadn’t seen the light of day. He didn’t even care for those secrets, egging you both on to reveal something that would satisfy his masochistic itch. When he realizes that neither of you would break, he ups the ante by angling the gun to the middle of your head. JJ panics and speaks before she can even process what she said.

Because as you’re staring down the barrel of the gun clocked at your forehead, you realize the bullet isn’t inside the cylinder, it’s in JJ’s next words.

I’ve always loved Spencer.

You look at her mouth agape, blood draining from your face and tears springing to your eyes. She returns your gaze with one full of remorse and pity. To any onlooker, it would seem like a harmless confession. But they didn’t know the times you confided in JJ about your feelings for Spencer, the late nights at the office she’d stay with you giving advice and words of wisdom, when all JJ wanted was for her friend to be happy.

But now, how much of that can you believe to be true?

Casey seems to be satisfied with your reaction as he lowers his gun, with you reacting quickly grabbing your hidden second pistol and gunning him down. The only audible noise left is the heavy breathing of you both, the adrenaline rush starting to fade. JJ says your name remorsefully, but she’s interrupted by the rest of the team and police arriving to the scene.

The next thing you remember is sitting outside on the back of an ambulance rig, blankly staring out at your new reality. JJ loves Spencer.

You couldn’t compete, how could you? She was JJ. and you were, you. You had lost before you even began, you might as well toss the towel now.

It makes hugging Spence for what could be the last time—not to be dramatic—bittersweet. To know that this is an insignificantly normal moment he won’t remember, but one that you’ll play on repeat for the rest of your life.

Spencer holds you close into his chest with his arm smoothing out your back, “Thank god you’re okay, are you hurt?”

You scoff internally. Yes, but not in a way that can be fixed. In a way that you are not privy to yet, but once you are it will rip us to shreds.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches.”

He nods while examining you with his own mental checklist, “Okay, if your head starts hurting or your vision gets blurry you need to tell the EMT.” you nod as he adds on, “I’m gonna go check on JJ, you’ll be okay?”

No, no I won’t. There is no reality that exists where I can be okay anymore.

“I’m good. Go.”

He squeezes your shoulders and with another nod he walks over to where JJ rests on another ambulance rig, her arms instantly opening to welcome Spencer’s warm embrace. His back is facing you and JJ’s face rests over his shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a look of sadness, grief. You look away before you can read more into it.

Wrapping the foil blanket around you tighter you let your head fall back and stare at the night sky, hoping there was a message out in the stars that would tell you what to do.

Your relationship with Spencer was, on the surface, nothing more than a friendship. He had joined the BAU only a year prior to you and when you came along it was clear from the first second that you two would be inseparable. Small talks in the bullpen quickly turned into mornings spent at the coffee shop, into weekly movie nights debating the superior science fiction franchise, to holding his hand when he needed a friend.

To Spencer, you were his anchor. Through all the trials and tribulations his life had dealt him, he knew he didn’t need to worry so much as long as you were around.

To you, Spencer was all consuming. He was threaded through every neuron and vessel in your body, intricately and impossibly tethered to you that it would take the work of the divine to painfully separate him from you.

Or, one Jennifer Jaraeu.

You don’t even realize tears are falling down your face until the EMT taps your shoulder and asks if anything has started to hurt again. Quickly shaking your head, you unravel yourself from the foil blanket and hand it back to her. You spare one last glance back at Spencer and JJ, eyes immediately zeroing on their joined hands, his thumb gently brushing the top of hers.

Your feet trudge you back to where the team is set up, one look to Emily and she’s already excusing herself from her conversation. She walks over to you phone up to her ear, saying something about you. You’re not really sure, it’s all water noise.

“Anderson will be here in about five minutes to take you home,”

You nod silently, not willing to make eye contact. Emily could sense your turmoil from a mile away, chalk it up to the Pisces moon in her but behind the hard exterior she put up there lay Emily, your empathetic friend who just wanted to hug your shattered pieces back together.

“You’ll be okay?” The second time you’ve been asked, your answer is still unchanged.

No. “Yeah.”

She sighs knowingly. The reason the two of you were such close friends was because of your similar ability to remain emotionally bottled up until it was too late, resulting in an outburst enough to take out armies and yourselves.

Anderson honks the car as he pulls up, alerting you of his arrival. Emily looks from the car back to you,  “I should go check on JJ.”

“Woman of the hour, it seems.” you chuckle under your breath.

Emily gives you that look, the conflicted ‘I’m sorry our friend made you feel this way, I still have to check on her.” look.

You brush her off, your casualness hopefully sending the message that the situation isn’t that deep. For her, you think.

The sound of the car unlocking rings through your ear as you hop in the passenger seat. Anderson tries to make small talk with you to no success, settling for the late night 00s radio station as he pulls up to your house, driving off as you bid him goodnight with a wave.

The breeze of your empty apartment greets you as you open the door, the air chillier than you’d expect for the season. You tug your shoes off harshly, placing your keys on the mail table next to the door. Your heart drops as you catch sight of a floral embossed card lying on top of your mail on the table.

Rossi’s wedding.

The one you were told to absolutely prioritize, the one in which JJ had helped you find a dress for, the one where you hoped you’d feel brave enough to tell Spencer how you truly felt.

You sigh deeply knowing you still had to show up and look presentable tomorrow despite being held hostage only 24 hours prior. But, maybe this is how you make a clean break. All this time you’ve been in love with Spencer and nothing has happened, despite all the signs you think you’re giving him. Maybe this is the opportunity to save Spencer from further tension, albeit unknown to him at this point, and let him finally be happy.

You knew about the Redskins game, how excited he was to go with JJ and yet it turned into something he hadn’t anticipated. You were new to the BAU at the time but your heart still ached for him, unable to understand how anyone would pass up on someone so special like Spencer Reid. It seems she’s finally come to her senses.

You take your dead phone out of your pocket to place it on the charger and you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The hot water loosens your tense muscles enough to prick tears in the back of your eyes, and you turn off the water before you can get too worked up. Once you’ve dried off you check on your phone on the bedside table seeing it’s turned back on, a flurry of missed texts and calls showing up.

11:14PM - Emily: Get home safe?

You heart the message and reply with a simple ‘Yes.’, scrolling to the next messages.

10:09PM - JJ:  Did you get home? 10:10PM - Missed Call from JJ 10:15PM - (2) Missed Calls from JJ 10:24PM - JJ:  I’m sorry, please let me explain. 10:25PM - Missed Call from JJ

You consider leaving her on read, not willing to entertain a conversation at this point, but you settle for an ‘It’s fine.’ for the sake of having communicated your safety.

10:13PM - Spence: Hey, where are you? 10:20PM - Spence: The EMT said you took off? Did you leave? 11:34PM - Spence: Emily just told me Anderson drove you back. You could’ve told me, I would have taken you home.

Your chuckle sadly at the text, Spencer hated driving but he would do it for you. It almost makes you think that your relationship could withstand the harsh weathering it’s been subjected to.

12:07AM - You: Sorry, phone died. I’m home now.

A response dings through a minute later.

12:08AM - Spence: I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a portable charger to keep in your bag. You should get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding right? Well, the wedding that’s today seeing as it’s past midnight. You know what I mean.

A single tear falls down your face at his rambling words. Oh, how you’d miss this once he learns what’s really happened.

12:10AM - You: I’ll be there. See you tomorrow, or today? You know what I mean. Good night.

12:11AM - Spence: Good night :)

—

You smooth out your dress before going up the steps, making eyes with Penelope at the top. You’re wearing a silk chiffon dress in purple, deliberately picked for Spencer’s favorite color, some strappy heels and some dainty jewelry painting you in as the picture of elegance.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you!” Penelope exclaims squeezing you tightly, “You look sooo pretty, doesn’t she look so pretty?” she gestures to the two men behind her you now acknowledge to be Luke and Spencer.

“Like a dream.” Luke agrees.

“Yeah,” Spencer clears his throat, “You look…beautiful.”

Penelope the Oracle of All Time quickly senses the 

atmosphere created and grabs Luke’s forearm, “Come on, you owe me that dance now!” She looks back and slyly gives you a thumbs up before dragging Luke further onto the dance floor.

Spencer slips into the vacated space to be right next to you, “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about how you were held hostage at gunpoint, and not about how he’s about to become the loss of your life.

“ ‘M fine,” you swirl your champagne glass, “You?”

“Better now.”

A ghost of a smile creeps up on you, but you don’t let it travel further than that. He’s just being nice.

“Well, I’m just going to find the bathroom really quick.”

He holds a hand out for your glass, “Here, I’ll hold it.”

Your smile returns with bearings this time as you wander off in search of the bathroom. You’d feel embarrassed by how long it took you to find it but this place was massive, the Rossi money ran deep. Retracing your steps back to the main room you find Spencer and your glass not in the same place he was when you left. You scan the room looking for him and finally find him deep in conversation with—oh.

They’re too far for you to be able to hear them, but you can imagine that it’s the conversation. You watch JJ squeeze his forearm with affection and suddenly you can’t take it anymore. You couldn’t stand there and watch yourself become collateral in real time. Spencer turns at the sound of rustling up the spiral staircase followed by a door closing, catching the last glimpse of purple before it vanishes.

Spencer feels sick. He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated at the new information he’s learned about what really happened in the gas station. Then he comes to the realization of how walking in on him and JJ talking must have made you feel. His feet are carrying him up the stairs before he even realizes he’s made the choice. 

He finds you at the end of the hallway and calls out your name with a firmness you’d never heard from him. But you’ve cut all the strings of sanity by now, and you whip around and snap, “What?”

He doesn’t like that tone. “JJ told me what happened.”

You snort and don’t meet his eyes, “Oh, did she?”

His brows furrow, “Yes, she did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

And what? Is he serious? Did you have to spell it out for him? It borderlines sadist the way he’s putting you through the ringer.

“What happens now, Spencer?” you exasperate, “Is this the part where you tell me we can’t be friends anymore because she finally confessed?”

Confusion colors his face more, “Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

A halfway scream—groan leaves your throat in frustration. “Spencer, come on.”

“Honey, I don’t understand—“

“That! See, you can’t just say things like that knowing what has to happen, and expect me to react like a normal person.” you exclaim with hands flailing.

“I’m really confused—“

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cry, “Now do you see why?”

Time all but stills in the hallway you’ve found yourselves in. You don’t know how long you’ve been up here. It’s a little farther down from the stairways so there’s no threat of evesdroppers, but with how worked up you’re getting the proximity renders itself useless. The faint muffle of animated conversations and lively jazz music fills the silence between you and Spencer, who looks like…well, actually for once you can’t decipher what he’s feeling. 

He looks like he’s about to open his mouth when you both turn your head to the ascending footsteps—JJ looking for you, or Spencer probably, to come cut the cake. Spencer darts his eyes between the walls, a nervous tic you’d caught on to, before you realize he’s looking for a door and pulling you inside one. You yelp at the unexpected force and quickly quiet down again. The light switches on and based on the furniture you conclude that it’s a powder room, because of course Rossi’s venue has a powder room.

It’s a tiny room, big enough for a vanity table and a chaise lounge. Small enough to not have any room to leave without going past him. You stand an arm’s length away from him, the faint muffles of talk and music replaced by your sniffling. You shouldn’t have come, you start to realize. Having to say goodbye to him in person might actually rip you apart. Your chest weighs heavy with that familiar sad irony of mourning someone who hasn’t even told you they’re leaving yet. Preemptive measures that turned into routine practice. 

You sniffle, “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, not that it ever did. I’m sorry I just sprung it on you like that, that was unfair. JJ…I thought JJ was my friend, I guess she is still but I’m not too sure now. But…she’s JJ and I’m just me and I know both of your pasts with each other so obviously it would be her. I’m making this too big a deal, I think. I just want you to be happy, in whatever capacity that looks like and I know it’s not with me so—“

Spencer stops your rambling by silently reaching out for your arm to pull you right in front of him, his hands reach to cup your face up to his, thumbs naturally swiping away the tears. He says your name like a coo, with a softness and delicacy you don’t feel you deserve right now. It hurts your heart entirely.

“Please don’t make this harder than it is.” you whisper through soft sobs.

You don’t know when it happens. Maybe in between scrunching your eyes or staring at your feet—but it happens. A cold pressure, then warmth, his lips are warm when he kisses you. A little surprising that he still tastes like Penelope’s sugary mocktail from earlier. A welcome pressure on your face as he holds you in place, as if you’d slip away further if he let go.

He stills in place, thinking he’s overstepped, until you finally remember that his lips are on your lips. You return the force back with as much as he gave you and let your arms loop around his neck, his own sliding from your face to take purchase on your hips.

That’s when Spencer starts kissing you. His hands grip your hips and tug you even closer as he deepens the kiss, plunging deeper back into the plush of your thighs to sit you on top of the vanity table. He slots himself between your legs, your hands wandering up to tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. A soft groan leaves his throat and he detaches from your lips to amble down your neck, leaving a trail of lovebites in its wake.

This is wrong, like so wrong. You’re practically opening a salt box and pouring its entire contents on your wounds. But dammit, if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Spencer, you’re sure as hell going to make the most out of the fleeting moment.

He mumbles something in between kisses to your neck, you instinctively ask him to say it again not expecting a response, and you immediately regret it as you feel his presence get lighter as he pulls away.

One more kiss to the spot behind your ear, he feels you preening below him and makes note of this—amongst everything else—for later, he pulls back to meet your eyes again.

“I love you.”

Your face drops, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not being funny.”

Yes he is, he has to be. Because the universe in which Spencer Reid allows a piece of—the whole of it according to him, unbeknownst to you—his heart to be fully yours is not this one. You’ve never had luck like that.

“Then you’re lying to me, and that’s worse.” your voice cracks, Spencer feels the same crack imprinted on his heart.

“Sweetheart, I’m not lying. I love you.” He says it again to your surprise, the tenderness of his touch returning as he deliberates how to disarm you. The defensiveness you have isn’t surprising to him, it’s the note of insecurity in your tone he isn’t ready for, like you are unable to even believe it could be you. 

You’re a dandelion, he thinks, the puffballs teetering attachment to their base with one wrong move sending them astray into the wind. He’s wading treacherous weather but he finds that for you he’d do anything and everything eyes closed if he had to.

“…Really?” you ask meekly. He nods slowly, never breaking his gaze on you. “But…JJ.”

His eyes soften and he nods in understanding, “There was a point in my life where, yes that was all I was waiting to hear,” he starts, “But, I am no longer at that point in my life anymore. I’m here now. She knows that.”

You’re unconvinced, Spencer can see it clear as day. Maybe it’s more apprehensive than unconvinced, but no one could blame you. How are you to believe anything when you went through what you did in the last 24 hours? You look defeated if anything, like you’d accepted your fate of always coming second place.

Spencer racks his brain hard trying to think of a way to show you that the podium doesn’t even exist, it’s only ever been you.

He pulls out his wallet and rifles through the many things inside, finding what he’s looking for before handing it to you. You look up at him in confusion when you make it out to be a movie ticket stub from the Korean film festival you’d both attended a little after you started at the BAU, the first time the two of you ever spent time together. The edges are soft and smoothed out as a result of time, like it’s been held and comforted for many days.

“There’s more in my apartment.”

“Movie ticket stubs?” you ask bemused.

“Commemorations of you,” his fingers brush the span of your arm up and down soothingly, “I probably have something for every time we’ve ever hung out. If it reminds me of you, I have it.”

Tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time, a few spilling over rapidly.

“Hey no, you’re not supposed to cry at that.” he whispers softly between you, his thumb taking the rightful and familiar place under your eye to catch the tears.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I’ve ever been loved like this.”

His heart tightens, “No? Well, I think you have to get used to it now.”

“No choice?” you pout.

He catches the timbre of humor in your voice and smiles widely. He hugs you tightly, pressing your head into his chest, “I guess you don’t have to. Just because you’re not used to it doesn���t mean I’ll stop. If you’re like this now, wait till you see the box I have of our things.”

You sniffle again, your head reeling as your tears stain his shirt and the scent of him invades your being. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, just how you know Spencer to be. He doesn’t expect you to believe him right away, you’ve been through so much that it would be unfair to ask that of you. You don’t know what tomorrow holds, or even the rest of this night, but one thing you have learned is that to Spencer you are known, and therefore you are loved.

[bcksbarnes]

the sun will set for you

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes is wrapped up in your arms, wanting you to be his

word count: 1.3K

“Buck...” you groan as the two of you lay in bed, his hand running down your spine as the two of you roll around in the mattress. Laughs pass both of your lips as you feel him pull you in closer, his fingers slipping down to your thigh pressing into your skin.  

“What...” he groans back mockingly, his nose pressed against the base of your neck as he peppered soft kisses. A shiver runs up your spine as you groan again, shaking your head. You can feel the smile on his face as he presses another kiss to your neck, his metal arm pushing you so that your back is against the mattress looking up at him.  

Neither of you knew when it happened, one day you were friends, the next you were taking turns falling into each other's beds – the nights filled with heavy breathing and the sounds of sweet nothings. The shift was so sudden it could have knocked the earth off its axis.  

But, neither of you wanted to stop. You were drawn to each other like magnets and even when you tried to keep it simple, to play it cool, it never worked the way you wanted it to. You always fell back into the same routine. It’s how you ended up in his bed now.  

“I’m tired.” you say softly, his head tilting up slightly as his eyes catch yours. You feel him press one more kiss to your neck before he picks his head up to be level with yours. He fixes the pillow behind you, fluffing it up before he lays next to you, his fingers resting on the small of your back.  

You watch him carefully, grazing over his face as you take in his features. His eyes are tired, tortured, but when he looks at you there’s no doubt in your mind that this – whatever this is – is real. His stubble has gotten a bit long and there’s a scar on his cheek that he’s never told you the story to. But when you look at Bucky Barnes all you can see is a perfect man.  

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He asks, his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.  

“Nothing.” Your voice is hoarse, almost giving yourself away. As much fun as the two of you had and as desperately as you knew this was something neither of you had the guts to say it out loud.  

“Liar.” His voice is playful as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, your hand snaking up to the back of his neck to hold him there, kissing him with the same amount of pressure. The sound of your lips locking and moving fills the room. Your skin burns where his fingers trace patterns on your lower back, and you have to hold yourself from deepening it. You know very well that this could go from 0 to 100 very quickly.  

It takes a moment for him to pull away, his eyes closed as he nudges your nose with his. Your heart is pounding in your chest with everything that you want to say, everything you’re feeling.  

“Tell me.” He insists, his forehead resting against yours.  

“Nothing, Buck.” You also insist. But after a few moments of silence, you continue. “I’m just thinking about us, about this. That’s all.”  

“So not nothing.” His eyes open to catch your gaze, his fingers running up and down your sides now. He was warm, his bare body somehow both incredibly hard and muscly, but also soft, like a pillow.  

“Not nothing.” You admit. “I mean ... I’m just ... sometimes I can’t pinpoint how or why this started. You know?”  

“Maybe because we’re two friends who are extremely horny and needed something to take the edge off.” He says, though the look in the eyes tells you he doesn’t believe that. “Or because we both know there’s something neither of us are saying.”  

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re confident you know where this conversation is going but something about it feels ... wrong? Feels ... like it’s not real? Maybe because the two of you had danced around the conversation for so long, pretending that this longing, this yearning, was just for fun.  

“Be mine.”  

His voice cuts through the tension like a knife, though it’s so soft you’re not sure at first if you’ve heard him correctly.  

“What?” you whisper, your hand on the back of his neck pulling him in closer, needing to hear him say the words once more.  

“Be mine.” He says it again as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said, as if it’s as easy as breathing. Everything that’s been holding the two of you from taking the leap rushes through your mind in that moment. You feel him lean forward and press his lips against yours again. “Please?”  

You hum softly, your hands raking through his long hair, pushing strands out of his face.  

“What if it doesn’t work out?” You whisper between kisses.  

“We’ll figure it out.” He whispers back, his kisses becoming more insistent.  

“What if ...” you mumble against his lips. “You end up hating me?”  

“I could never hate you.” His words are muffled as he trails his lips down to your jaw, trying to show you how much you mean to him.  

“What if - ...” but before you could speak again he presses his hand over your mouth.  

“No more what if’s, princess.” Bucky says, his eyes narrowed as he looks up at you. “Whatever happens will happen. If things don’t work out we’ll figure it out,” he reiterates. “If we fight, we’ll work through it. If I end up hating you ...” he trails off for a moment. “Then something extremely weird is going on and you should take me to the doctor.”  

Your heart is beating out of your chest, a small smile on your lips as his hand is still pressed against your mouth. He smiles up at you, his hand trailing down your jaw and behind your head, entangling in your hair. He tugs on it softly, forcing your head to tilt up a bit. Your name leaves his lips and you’re pretty sure it’s the most heavenly sound on this earth.  

“I’m not going to ask again.” Though his voice is gruff, it’s filled with a lot of emotion, everything that he wants to say.  

“What if ...” you start again, a smirk crawling on your lips. “I’m kidding.” Bucky’s eyebrows, which were furrowed, relaxed as he realizes you were just teasing, playfully tugging at your hair again.  

There’s a lot going on in your head at that moment, you’re trying to piece together all the feelings that you have for him but there is a voice in the back of your head screaming at you to just give him an answer – to tell him.  

“And if I say yes?” you whispers, your finger on the scar where his metal arm meets his flesh, feeling the raised skin beneath your touch. “Then what?”  

Bucky shivers slightly at the touch, his eyes closing softly, his eyelash grazing his cheek. He’s never had someone take care of him the way you do, someone who treated him so delicately like he was the one going to break and not the one capable of doing the breaking. You always looked at him and saw the man he wanted to be, the man he truly wished he could become.  

“Then ...” he whispers. “You’ll be mine.”  

“Simple as that?”  

“Simple as that.”  

“And if I say no?”  

“Please don’t say no.”  

The look on his face is pleading, like he’s never asked this question before in his life and that he never thinks he will again.  

“Bucky ...” you whisper, his eyes closing softly. You can hear his heart thumping in his chest, disappointed by your lack of response. Your hand presses to the side of his cheek, your lips brushing against his but not fully kissing him – not yet. “I’ve always been yours.”  

His eyes shoot open to look at you, searching your features for anything that might tell him that this is just a dream, but when he finds none he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Hungry. Passionate. He pushes you back down into the mattress again, and the two of you intertwine filling the night with the same amount of gasps and bated breaths that have always happened between the two of you, but knowing now that everything is different. 

[tbaluver]

Hiii! If it's okay can I request reader pranking LADS men with 'lets breakup' just to see their reaction? ;D

Break Up Prank - The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader genre/tags: angsty w/ comfort-ish at the end a/n: hihi anonnie ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i ened up writing this more angsty mainly bc i just think they would be devasted if you ever wanted to leave them .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. anyways i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

“This bread should go well with the chocolate milk. Would you like to try?” He asks, offering it to you with a soft smile.

You take a deep breath, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “I think we should break up.” The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it instantly. You watched his eyes widen and his entire body freeze. His hands, still holding the bread midair, slowly lowers.

“what?” He says weakly, trying to process what’s happening. “I..I don't get it.” His smile slowly disappears, a frown replacing it instead. His eyes search yours desperately to find any clue, any hints to find an answer. “Did I do something wrong?” He stammered, his gaze shifting downward as his heart sank all the way down to his body.

You don’t think you can go further with this prank any longer, feeling immediately guilty. “I was just kidding! It’s a prank, Xavier,” You say, trying to lighten the mood but yet the tension in the air still remains.

He doesn’t move, his eyes are uncertain, flicking between you and his plate. “Are you sure?” His voice was quiet, trying to convince himself it was a joke but a part of him still thought otherwise. “If there is something wrong, if there’s anything I can do-” He trails off but before he can say anything more, you rush to his side, your arms wrapping around him tightly.

“I'm so sorry, Xavier. I shouldn't have done that. Tara and I saw it online, and I thought it would be funny. I promise I love you, and I would never want to leave you.” For a while, he doesn’t respond, but slowly, he pulls you closer, burying his face into your neck. His breath is a little shaky, but you feel his shoulders relax just a little.

“I didn't want to lose you,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. His hair tickles your neck and you can feel the soft sigh of relief as the tension leaves his body.

“Do you still want to eat your snacks?” you pull away slightly, cupping his face but he shakes his head. His arms tighten around you as he buries himself back into your neck.

“Let's just stay like this for a while,” He murmurs, his voice still slightly shaky. His appetite has vanished entirely, replaced by a need for comfort and that you’re both going to be okay. He should’ve never given bread another chance.

Zayne:

“You shouldn’t sit like that. It can lead to lower back discomfort." Zayne says softly, his hands carefully help you adjust your position as he places a pillow behind your head.

“I don't think this is working out. I think we should end this.” You kept your tone flat, not a hint of a smile or a crack of a laugh to give away the joke. The air around you both goes still, and Zayne stops mid-sentence on his lecture for your posture and health. His throat goes dry while his eyes narrow as if trying to process what you’ve said.

There was an awkward silence between you both until he cleared his throat, adjusting his tie as if it were the only thing he could focus on to keep himself together. “May I ask where this is coming from, my love?” His nickname for you came into a hushed whisper, unsure if he could even use that name at this moment.

“Can we please talk it out? If it’s my nagging that’s become too much, then I’ll stop..my only intention is to look after you.” He’s trying to keep his composure, but you can hear the hurt in his words. “If there's anything else I've done or said, anything I can fix together with you.. I promise-”

You can feel the guilt creeping in each time he speaks. You couldn’t ignore how it affected you and how he was so serious and vulnerable. This prank has gone a little too far, and the laughter you held back was now gone. ”Zayne, wait! I'm so sorry it was just a prank!” You rushed, “I thought it would be funny..I saw this video online..”

Zayne's eyes flutter close as he sighs heavily. “Forgive me..I forgot I'm dating a comedian,” He mutters under his breath, a half smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He shakes his head, a slow exhale escapes past his lips. “I'm glad everything’s alright. May I?” He steps closer to you, his arm outstretched into an embrace. But before you can say anything else, he playfully flicks your forehead.

“Hey!” You protest, but you can feel the soft chuckle rumble in his chest as you pull into his embrace. His breath tickles your skin, and you can’t help but smile, knowing how much loved you are.

“I only ask for you not to prank me like that again. I'm already growing enough white hairs because of you.”

Rafayel:

You instantly regretted ever finishing that sentence.

You watched the way the light in his eyes disappear. His heart seemed to crack, threatening to shatter into a million pieces as the pain washed over his face.

His nebula eyes looked at you in disbelief, unable to comprehend the words that just left your lips were true. The brush in his hand slipped from his fingers as his whole body went limp. His lips trembled, fighting back the flood of emotions threatening to break through.

“I-was it....do you really want that?” His voice shook, the words barely escaping past his lips. His chest tightened, hoping he didn’t hear the answer he dreads. “Was there something I’ve done, cutie?” His gaze drops, his lips pursing as he tries to recall something, anything, that would explain what he did wrong. “I can do better..we can work it out together, yeah? Tell me what’s wrong..” His eyes were pleading, desperate.

You could see the depth of his pain and the way he blamed himself, even though you knew that this was just a prank. It broke your heart, and you couldn’t keep going, the guilt was suffocating enough. “Raf, no! You did nothing wrong. It was just a prank!”

His mouth fell open in shock. “...what?” His voice was weak, a soft gasp escaping him as he dramatically collapsed back onto the couch. “Pranks are supposed to be funny! That wasn’t funny!” He groaned, relief flooding through him. “Dun ever do that to me again, hmph..” He mumbles, his hand still over his face as he tries to collect himself. “Hold me..”

He lets you pull him into your arms, his cheek pressing into your shoulder, the weight of his body finally relaxing as he feels you close. He let out a deep breath as if he were holding it in for too long. “I thought my heart stopped for a moment, cutie..” He murmurs, “Promise me we’ll work through everything?”

Sylus:

“Sweetie-” Sylus’s voice echoes at the front door. You were already in the living room, arms crossed, while you tried to keep your face unreadable.

“We should break up.” You say flatly.

He flinched at the sudden words. The small box he had wanted to surprise you with was clutched tightly as he tried to process your words. His face was in disbelief. His eyes searched for yours, trying to find some sign of a joke. But your expression was cold and unreadable. He set the box down on the table, his movements felt too slow.

“Is there a particular reason you feel this way?” His voice was barely a whisper. You didn’t answer right, the silence in the air was heavy, suffocating even. He took a step forward towards you, hesitant. “Is there any way I can fix this?” The hurt in his eyes was palpable as he slowly reached for you, cupping your face gently. His thumb brushed over your cheek, searching for any sign that could give him an answer.

But you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You felt the weight of his touch, the weight of his words, and the devastation in his eyes. “Sylus..I’m sorry, it was just a prank..”

His breath hitched, his thumb stopping as he froze. His eyes closed as he inhaled sharply as he’d been hit by a wave of relief. “What will I do with you..” He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before his eyes fluttered open slowly, amusement flicking across his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” He asked, raising a brow.

You shook your head quickly, guilt flooding you. “No Sylus. You’re perfect. I’m sorry.. It was funnier in my head. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You had me worried there for a second, sweetie,” Sylus speaks quietly. His fingers graze your hair as he pulls you into an embrace. His lips press softly to the top of your head, and the fear of losing you again still lingers in him.

Caleb:

“Hey pipsqueak, what’re you in the mood for? I’m thinking maybee something savory, or how about something spicy?” He glanced over at you. His warm smile was infectious, as always, but you tried to stay strong. His expression faltered when he saw the look on your face.

“I don’t think this is working out anymore. Let's break up.”

Each word stung, his smile immediately disappearing. He blinked, his mind racing to process what you had just said, the grip on the wooden spoon tightened without him realizing it. Maybe he didn’t hear you right, yeah definitely.

“Sorry..maybe you want something sweet? Or if you’re tired of my cooking, how about takeout?” He tilts his head, refusing to believe it.

“No, Caleb. Let's break up.” The words felt sharper this time, slicing his heart into a million little pieces that no one could ever pick up. You could see it in his eyes, his entire world was crumbling. Every muscle in his body tensed as his breath caught in his throat. His face faltered for a second, his brow furrowing deeply as he set the spoon down with trembling hands.

“Pip-Y/n..where is this coming from?” His voice is quiet now as he takes a step closer. His purple eyes were a mix of confusion and hurt, his hands remained stiff by his sides, almost as if they didn’t know what to do. “Hey..what’s going on? Talk to me, please..” His voice cracked at the end, desperate.

Even though there was only a few inches of distance between you, it felt like the distance was growing further and further. “I can fix it..please..just tell me what to do..anything..” His chest tightened as his mind spun in a thousand different directions. What did he do? What went wrong?

You could see the pain written across his face, a mixture of panic, disbelief, and heartache that made yours ache. Without thinking, you reached out to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Caleb’s body was stiff at first as if he didn’t know how to respond, but once he felt your arms tighten, he exhaled slowly.

“I’m sorry, Caleb..I shouldn’t have said that. It was just a stupid prank,” you whispered. However, the words didn’t sink in right away. His body remained frozen, still processing everything.

He pulled back slightly, his hands shaking as he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek like he was trying to make sure you were real. “Really? You’re not leaving?”

You nodded, “I’m not. I love you, and I won’t ever leave you.”

He exhaled sharply, his body finally relaxing against you as the tension in his body began to unwind. “You almost got me there, pipsqueak...” He let out a weak laugh, his voice still shaky as he pressed a soft kiss to your head. “Maybe you should stick to cilantro-flavored toothpaste pranks next time..”

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you to my beta readers for helping me with this ! @ilovemitsuya and @pomegranatepip MWAH ₊˚⊹ᰔ

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist , Pg.2

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, trail down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt — a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and all you manage is a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path. little petals, glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes are ruined, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite all those dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking much at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between; that fact only adds to the sting of his cold voice, still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated, undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, feeling this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are, when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, and your eyes were already turning glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone is enough to make you feel like you’ve done nothing right all your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[mediocre-writing]

A chance | LN4

Summary: Lando has been in love with the same person since he was 18. The problem? She doesn't think it will work out because he's younger.

Pairing: Lando Norris X Actress!Reader

English is not my first language, maybe I will do a part two 👀

"Why don't you want to be with me?" Lando says close to Y/n's ear so she can hear.

They were at a party, Lando was P1, and that night was all about him.

"Lando, why don't you enjoy your night?" She says pushing him a little and he kisses her cheek.

"I'm trying to do this, but the prettiest girl at the party is turning me down once again."

Y/n rolls her eyes but smiles, fixing Lando's hair with her hands.

"I already told you-"

"I know, I know, I'm younger than you, but you need to understand that 18-year-old Lando already dreamed of Y/n 22 and now 25-year-old Lando dreams of Y/n 29 and 85-year-old Lando will dream of Y/n... How old will you be?" He says, thinking a little.

"Fuck you're so drunk." She says laughing and he smiles when he sees her smile.

"Fuck you're so beautiful." Lando leans in to kiss her, but Y/n turns her face away.

"Lando, no." Y/n says, gently pinching Lando's belly, making him pull away with a grimace.

"Come on, give me a chance, just one kiss and I promise to stop bothering you." She thinks for a bit.

"I know you won't stop."

"Please, I promise I'll stop." He says, dropping the glass he was holding anywhere, and takes Y/n's face with both hands. "Can I?" He asks inches from her mouth.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Lando crushes his lips to hers, and my God, it was so worth it to almost beg her on his knees.

Lando asks for passage with his tongue and when he gives in, he just wants to stay there forever.

The kiss gets hotter and Y/n pulls away a little to be able to breathe.

"What a delicious mouth." He says, pulling her lower lip with his teeth and giving her three little pecks.

"Have you gotten your kiss yet, satisfied?"

"I wanted your heart, but I'll hold back with a kiss."

"You don't give up, do you?" She says, putting her arms around her shoulders.

"Never, 18 year old Lando wouldn't believe the girl in my arms right now." Lando always speaks close to her ear so she can understand everything.

"Congratulations, P1." Y/n says kissing Lando's cheek and he feels that this kiss practically sobered him up again.

"Will I get a kiss like this every time I get P1?"

"Don't force it, Cat." She says, walking away and Lando takes her hand again.

"Nooo, you can't do this." Lando says whimpering.

"You promised Lando."

"I promised?" Lando says pulling her by the waist, and kissing her lips again, this time more slowly, more passionate, it was as if they weren't in a crowded place, and God, Y/n is praying that no one took any pictures of this.

But they took it away.

A few hours later the news was all over social media.

F1news Things are heating up! 👀 Lando Norris and Y/n are seen kissing at the party celebrating Lando's P1, some people who were on the way back confirmed that they spent practically the whole night close to each other, could a relationship be on the way?

—

User1 What the fuck is this?

User2 Wow, isn't she much older than him?

— User3 It's only four years girl 🙄

User4 Why is everyone so surprised?

— User5 Yes, Lando had already said that she has been his celebrity crush since he was 18.

User6 I think I'm jealous of Lando.

— user7 I think I'm jealous of both of them.

User8 Well, he never hid the fact that he was interested in her.

User9 Have you ever imagined the beautiful child that would be born?

— User 10 She's much older than him...

User 11 Damn, stop treating her like her age is wrong or something.

——

Y/n wakes up with her phone vibrating like crazy.

"Where the fuck is this?" She gropes blindly on the bed until she finds the device, reading the following messages:

Lando: Please don't be mad at me.

Lando: Are you mad at me? 😟

She sits on the bed, a little confused, why would she be mad at him? But soon she also sees some messages from Carlos.

Carlos: Please don't be mad at Lando.

Carlos: He swears he didn't want to cause a scandal for you.

Carlos: Yes, he forced me to send this, block this bastard now.

And to top it off, she sees a message from her best friend.

Bestf: Seriously Lando? And you still swore to me that you didn't want to get him 😏

She closes her eyes and lies down on the bed again, she already knows exactly what happened.

Fuck.

[marsdql]

ℋ𝓎𝒰𝓃𝑔 ℒ𝒾𝒩ℯ — 𝒶𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒸𝒶𝓇ℯ

𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･ How enha hyung line react to you being sore, a lot of fluff | wc: 1.3k —

Lee Heeseung

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains as Heeseung walks into the bedroom with a mug in hand. He pauses at the door, smirking as he spots you sprawled out on the bed, groaning softly.

“Look at my poor baby,” he murmurs, setting his coffee down on the nightstand. “What happened to you?”

You roll onto your side, pouting up at him. “I’m sore. Like, really sore. My legs don’t work anymore.”

He laughs softly, slipping under the covers and pulling you onto his lap effortlessly. “I didn’t know I was that much of a menace,” he teases, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You are,” you mumble, burying your face in his chest. “This is all your fault.”

Heeseung tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening as he studies you. “You’re so dramatic,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Just relax.”

His hands move slowly, massaging gentle circles into your lower back and thighs, his warmth easing the tension in your body. “You’re not doing anything today,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re staying right here with me. I’m not letting you move an inch.” Rest of the members below cut !

Park Jongseong

Jay cradles you in his arms, your head tucked against his chest as he brushes lazy circles over your shoulder. You shift slightly, letting out a quiet whine, and he glances down at you.

“Something wrong, baby?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

You pout up at him. “I’m sore everywhere. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He hums softly, pressing a kiss to your temple before shifting to sit up. “Stay right here,” he says, slipping out of bed and disappearing into the hallway.

When he comes back, he scoops you into his arms without a word, ignoring your confused protests. “Jay,” you mumble, “what are you doing?”

He tilts his head down, brushing his lips over your forehead. “Just trust me, princess.”

The warm scent of lavender and steam greets you as he carries you into the bathroom. He sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist as he brushes your hair back. “I’ll stay here with you,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm. “You just relax for me, okay?”

His quiet attention lulls you into comfort, and when he notices the tension leaving your body, he smiles faintly. “That’s my good girl,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

Sim Jaeyun

Jake is sound asleep, his face buried in the crook of your neck, when your soft whimpers stir him. He groans lightly, his arms tightening around you as he nuzzles closer.

“Why’re you making noise, baby?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You pout, shifting slightly. “I’m sore. My legs hurt so bad,” you whisper.

His eyes flutter open, and he lets out a sleepy sigh, pulling back to look at you. “Yeah?” he mutters, his hands already sliding down to your thighs. “Let me see.”

Without another word, he moves to sit up, his hands finding the tense muscles as he begins to knead them gently. His touch is warm and deliberate, his thumbs pressing into just the right spots.

“Better?” he asks after a moment, his voice quiet and affectionate.

You hum softly, your pout softening. "A little." Jake leans down, brushing his lips over your knee with a faint grin. "Good," he whispers.

"Now let me finish fixing you so we can go back to sleep."

Once he's satisfied, he pulls you back into his arms, tucking you against his chest. "If it still hurts in the morning, just wake me up again," he murmurs, his voice fading as sleep takes over.

Park Sunghoon

Sunghoon's eyes follow your every movement as you shift under the covers, your quiet groans catching his attention.

Without saying anything, he moves closer, his hand slipping under the blanket to rest on your thigh.

"Stop moving," he whispers, his voice low and steady as his fingers brush lightly over your skin.

You pout up at him, your voice soft and frustrated. "Hoonie.. it hurts." His lips curve into a faint smirk as he leans down, brushing his mouth against your forehead. "Shh," he murmurs. "I'll take care of it."

His lips trail down your body, his touch deliberate and unhurried. When he reaches your thighs, he presses a soft kiss to the tender muscles, his hands massaging slow circles into your skin. "You're so perfect," he murmurs against your leg, his voice low and reverent.

You shiver slightly, a quiet sigh escaping as his warmth lulls you into relaxation. "You're too much," you mumble, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

Sunghoon glances up at you, his sharp features soft in the dim light. "And you love it," he replies simply, his lips brushing over your knee.

[ marsdql ]