#knocks on my head (echoing empty noise)

[sodiumpop]

if you are a beautiful blonde haired diva dont even think about going near that big brown eyed boytoy at ur hospital you will be cursed

[megapteraurelia]

roommates!osasuna who, before they've agreed to share you, hear you in your room at night, soft gasps, breathy moans and their names escaping your lips as you bring yourself to the brink of insanity, and fuck, now neither of them can sleep.

suna finds himself in osamu's room not long after, his mouth full with cock. one hand of his leisurely drags across his own length, pumping himself against the scratchy sheets of osamu's that he's told him to change countless of times. now, though, it's long past the point of caring when he spills all over it, paints his name across the soft grey; osamu's neck with that one thick vein on display as his hand gripped suna's hair tightly.

suna ends up swallowing all of it.

roommates!osasuna who have incredibly soft spots that you exploit, always. osamu loves when you run your fingers through his hair, and he melts, his eyes half-lidded as they gaze at you with an intensity that you've only known him have when he concentrates on his projects, coming up with different recipes. his cheek weighs heavier in your hand as he sinks into it, and his mouth presses small little kisses on the palm of your hand.

suna is a hair width away from actually purring when you tug on his earrings, gently, just playing with them when you're cuddling. but when you tug, he freezes and his lips part slightly, a pretty little blush unfurling on his skin. his eyelashes flutter and even though he denies it, he leans into your touch a little more.

roommates!osasuna who have a group chat with you, and the things being sent there range from innocent to suggestive to downright pornographic.

day 1

has osamu send a picture of food he's cooked, telling you to come home hungry. (sometimes, though, he likes to push it a little, because then he'll send another text: "if yer good, ya get fed. if yer better, you get bent over the counter first.")

day 2

has suna send a blurry video, half naked, pulling his shorts down, revealing more and more of his dick until it cuts off right before it could spring free, captioned: "your spot's cold."

day 3

has both of them argue over who was able to please you better last night:

sunarin, "trust me, she was already shaking when i kissed her. you literally just got to the finish line."

osamu, "i'd say that too if i were you. doesn't count when i'm the one doin' all the work, huh?"

sunarin, "yeah, well, she moaned my name louder than yours."

osamu, "ya wanna weigh in, sweetheart? who made you cum harder?"

sunarin, "that's a trap, baby. don't answer that."

you shut up their pissing contest with an incoming video call and when they both accepted it, they were met with fingers deep in your glistening pussy, voice already shot from how loud you were moaning. osamu exits the call right away only to enter it again a couple minutes later, and you recognise the change of location — he's moved into the storeroom of onigiri miya, his dark cap pulled deep over his eyes, but you could see the way his teeth dug into the pillow of his lower lip, slick noises echoing through your phone as he fucks his fist.

suna's long-gone, having propped up his phone against his gym bag, head rolled back as he lets spit dribble onto his angry dick, palming himself as it sat pretty over his shorts in the empty locker room. you heard faint knocking and complaints coming through from his side, but you were sure he's locked the door on purpose, and each second, that he's not letting his teammates in, is another second that he's hastily pumping himself.

day 4

has suna sending a picture of you passed out on the couch in osamu's hoodie, "look at baby." and osamu replying with "tell 'er she's cute when she drools. also, seaweed chips?"

day 5

has osamu saving all the little voice notes you send of you laughing, of you talking about your day, and the camera roll is full with suna's cute as shit pictures of you and 'samu.

day 6

has you cry about work and how stressful it is, and osamu's the one who ends up texting you throughout it, sending you messages in quick succession, as if he hasn't a whole restaurant to run, as if he has all the time in the world to focus on you and you only.

hey. breathe f'me a sec, alright? just stop everythin' and take one good deep breath. yer doin' your best and i'm proud of you for pushin' through it. but ya don't gotta carry it all on yer own, sweetheart you come home to us tonight, yeah? we'll take care of ya. you don't hafta be strong. bein' with you makes my day easier so let me do the same f'you.

suna's not the type to text a lot when it's sentimental, but he sends you a heart, and when you come home, your favourite food's already made, a hot bath run and your favourite hoodie of suna's draped on your bed, warm from the dryer, smelling like his cologne. and when you crawl in between both of them, his fingers are right there to travel over your body in a way that grounds you, that tells you this is where you belong, this is where you are loved and doted on and safe.

day 7

has them try to annoy you, rating your reactions like it's a game on a scale from one to ten as you sit amongst friends, enduring their suggestive comments and ignoring the way they had you right in their line of sight whenever you glance down before immediately turning the phone around, a blush burning on your cheeks.

you, "can we not do this tonight. please."

osamu, "do what?"

sunarin, "she's already cracking. that's a 4/10 reaction chat"

when you glance up from your phone, rolling your eyes, osamu's pretending to sip his drink, but suna doesn't even care, staring right at you with that lazy look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked.

another notification comes through a couple of minutes later and when you open it, you choke a little on your spit, awkwardly laughing off the concern of a friend only to look at the picture again. it's a photo from under the table, osamu's hand resting on his thigh, the zipper of his pants pulled down slightly, giving the bulge slightly more room to breathe.

the caption? "thinkin' 'bout where yer mouth should be right now."

sunarin's text isn't far behind, "oh, that face. that's a solid 6.5"

osamu, "mhmm, i give it a 7. she did this cute lip biting thing."

the next ordeal you go through is when suna sends a video half an hour later, and it's just his hand under the table as his fingers imitate the movement he always fucks you with, digits scissoring and stretching out inside an invisible hole as his thumb rubs nothing but thin air. the implication has your breath hitching, your thighs tingling as you pressed them together, any reprieve, oh god.

sunarin, "8/10, she's shifting in her seat."

and osamu takes the cake, he really does, because there's an entire paragraph sitting right before you, and arousal is a familiar concept etched in your very soul as you read it, face growing hotter and hotter, heart stuttering in tandem with the rustling in your ear from how fast your blood seems to run.

gonna make that pretty little face again when we bend ya over the kitchen table later? arms pulled behind yer back, tits all over the counter. bet yer gonna cry and sob for one of us to hurry up and fuck ya already. but ya know us, sweetheart, don'tcha? we'll take our time, i wanna see ya squirm against rin's mouth be good at dinner, we can be as nasty as ya want later

you really do end up hiding your face in your hands.

a message of sunarin coming through, "9.5/10. almost there"

and almost there, you are later once the door slammed shut behind you and their hands are all over you, teeth clinking against each other in a heated kiss. you get shoved forward until your hands hit the kitchen table, tits pressed against the mahogany just like promised, breath ragged as suna tugs your pants down like a dehydrated madman searching for water.

his teeth find your wet panties, stuck to your pussy lips like a second skin and he sucks the juice out with a groan, fingers keeping your thighs spread and steady. osamu's hand is dragging across his length, his cock heavy as it rest in between your ass cheeks, tip leaking, forming a little puddle in the dip of your back.

"been dyin' to get my hands on you all night."

you taste the wood as you pant against it, hands trying to catch even a little bit of osamu, but his grip is relentless, tight on your wrists. he tuts with his tongue, the click close to your ear as he smothers you with his weight, one leg of his pushing yours further out.

"be good for rin, sweetheart, won't ya?"

how were you supposed to be good for anything when suna's mouth latches onto your clit like that? when his jaw moves hard and fast as it suckles on the swollen nub, fingers teasing the quivering hole, dipping into your heat easily, "god, you're so fucking perfect," — your legs buckling, tears pricking at your lash line, biting your lip to keep from crying out, caught between the sting of his force and the pleasure burning through your veins.

how were you supposed to be good for anything when osamu lines up behind you, hard and ready? his head nudges against suna's fingers and really, suna cannot resist, fingers pulling out to tug on osamu's dick, using your slick to coat him as he found the sensitive vein on the underside easily, thumb rubbing the reddened tip.

"ngh, sunarin, yer such, ah, a bastard."

suna spoke against your pussy, and the vibrations have you push against his mouth, "yeah, but 'samu, don't forget that i can feel you throbbing in my hand. so am i a bastard or are you moaning for me?"

osamu's rubbing against your folds, tip catching suna's mouth every so often, and how does that leave you, hm? begging on top of the table, legs trembling, only kept upright because suna likes having you sit above him, stray tears stealing themselves on the wood, as your ass pushes back against osamu's backside.

"please, p-please, fu-hah-fuck me," you mewl, over and over until at least one of them has mercy and urges osamu's dick to finally fill you. his groan when he realises how easy he slips into you is deep and loud, reverberating against you so deliciously. you're so wet, he's bottoming out before he could even register the movement of his hips, and god, the sound of his balls slapping against your drooling pussy lips is heavy, suna's wet noises of sucking on your clit even worse.

really — how were you supposed to be good for anything?

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

TAGLIST | @sodaneko @takes1 @classicalelephant @pomigranit @sugacor3 @boktuoafterdark

sorry not sorry

[luvlystarr]

.・。.・゜❃・.・❃・゜・。.

Prompt: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley and the sweetheart next door

Content: Pure fluff

I just want to say thank you so much for the support on my Ghost Grumpy x Sunshine fanfic!! I didn’t expect it to reach 1k notes and I’m so grateful that you guys enjoyed it!🤍

.・。.・゜・゜

Simon kept shuffling around his bed over and over again, unable to sleep.

It was 12 PM and he had just came back from deployment. For three week straight his body was surviving off of coffee and adrenaline. He desperately wanted to sleep but unfortunately his new neighbor was moving in.

Through the thin walls he could hear the constant movement of their feet and the dropping of multiple boxes. Simon groaned into his pillow before finally trudging towards the noises. His neighbor hasn't even fully moved in and he's fed up already. He swung his door open, glaring at the door across his, but he instantly felt regret when he saw your helpless figure trying to hold multiple boxes all at once. Beads of sweat formed on your face and your chest was heaving rapidly, it looked like you were gonna faint any minute.

You saw Simon from the corner of your eyes and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Good afternoon! I hope I’m not disturbing you or anything,” you chuckled embarrassingly.

Simon couldn’t help but adore your pretty smile and your sweet voice. All of the negative thoughts in his head flew out the window in an instant.

“It’s alright, just keep it down, yeah?”

Before you could respond, one of the boxes slipped past your hands and dropped to the floor.

A small curse left your lips as you tried picking it up and, without even thinking, Simon rushed to grab it for you.

“Oh, thank you!” You beamed at his kind gesture.

Simon felt his heart melt at the sight of your pure joy.

“No problem, I could help you with the rest if you want.”

You tried insisting that he shouldn’t bother and you got everything in control. But Simon wouldn’t let you exhaust yourself. Besides, he would do anything to see that beautiful smile of yours once more.

After half an hour all the boxes were finally inside the empty apartment. It would’ve originally taken you another hour without Simon’s help. Now all you had to do was unpack, which was less work.

You were glad that your work for the day was done but Simon wasn’t. It meant that he would have to go back and say goodbye.

“I’ll see you around, Simon!” You say before you shut the door.

Your voice echoed throughout Simon’s mind, over and over again. He stood there for a moment, almost like he was in a trance.

He snapped back to reality. His hand wiped across his face at the unusual thoughts he was having. Who would’ve thought you would have such an effect on him?

The following day Simon was greeted by a knock on the door.

He opened it and there you were, the same gorgeous smile on your face while you held a container.

“Good morning! I just wanted to give you something before I leave for work.”

You open the container and reveal a dozen heart shaped cookies.

“I made you some cookies as a thank you gift!” You beamed.

At that point Simon’s heart was completely melted because of you. He couldn’t stop the stupid grin that crept across his face.

“Thanks,” he says as he takes the container.

After he took it, you stood there for a minute, fiddling with your fingers. You looked nervous about something.

“So, um.. I was thinking if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. I don’t have friends in the city and I really want to treat you for helping me out— as long as you’re free and okay with it of course!” You stammered. Your cheeks were a rosy hue.

Simon’s mind went completely blank.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he quickly replied.

Hearing his words made your smile grow even wider. Your eyes were quite literally glittering with happiness.

“It’s a date then!” You giggle in a joking manner.

If only you knew how much your words caused heart rate to spike up the roof.

・゜・。. .・。.・゜・゜・。.

[neiptune]

so long as you're still you and i'm still me

cw: 5k wc, female hashira reader, mention of wounds, scars, trauma, in my heart of hearts this is a continuation of rain is back luck but you can also read it separately. you and sanemi are not exactly friends and not exactly lovers but when you disappear completely after a mission gone particularly wrong he finally musters the courage to pay you a visit

Sanemi sits on his knees, sharp eyes focused on his master as he details the latest missions every hashira is to be dispatched on. The tatami feels oddly soft under his legs, unstable and undulating like a boat lost at sea. Almost pulpy. Is the floor about to swallow him?

He blinks, sternly ordering himself to snap out of it. Ubuyashiki is talking but he can’t quite hear what he’s saying, the one sound drowning out every other noise a low buzz that fills his ears as his lavender gaze slips to his left again.

Empty. No one’s been sitting between him and Shinobu for the past two months.

His fingers twitch in his lap, Kanroji’s melodious pitch somehow cutting through the vacuum of muffled sounds of a world he can’t perceive right.

And then, suddenly, Ubuyashiki says your name. Sanemi blinks, certain his mind is playing tricks on him, but his master is truly describing… a mission?

“What?”, it’s not something he does, interrupt Oyakata-sama. It’s not something anyone does.

“Yes, Sanemi?”, yet, he turns to him with a gentle smile.

“I apologize, master. Did you just say… she’s been on a mission?”.

“Several missions, in fact”, Ubuyashiki nods, “as soon as she could stand, hold her blade again. I insisted she’d take more time to recover, Shinobu did too, but you know how she is”.

“Stubborn”, Kocho murmurs. It sounds like an apology but, as he fists the fabric of his pants until his knuckles turn white, Sanemi can’t bring himself to care.

When the meeting ends, a few pillars decide to stay at the estate for a while longer, to indulge in the warm tea Amane-sama serves. He’s always, without fail, among the first ones to leave but this particular afternoon he believes a cup of tea might help him clear his mind. If the hands holding the yunomi will stop shaking, that is.

“Wanna share your burdens, Shinazugawa?”, Tengen’s sarcastic pitch makes a vein on his temple throb.

“Fuck off”.

“Uzui”, Rengoku’s admonishment is affable but firm.

“I think we should just talk about it, since he clearly won’t”, the giant idiot sitting across from him shrugs, “did anyone besides Shinobu go on a mission with her?”.

“I did not go on a mission with her”, Kocho corrects him, patient, “I just know she didn’t want to stay in bed any longer. She let me treat her wounds but only right after it happened, I haven’t seen her in almost two months”, she catches Sanemi’s gaze as she speaks and he holds hers. Rage dissolves, it stops gripping the tissue that attaches muscle to bone and he finally feels like he can move his limbs again.

“’Kay”, Tengen clicks his tongue, “well, I tried visiting”.

“We all did”, Obanai, the only one staying despite not drinking tea, speaks quietly.

“She never comes out. Only speaks behind closed doors and it’s mostly to tell us to leave”, Mitsuri’s voice trembles.

“Tokito was the only one she came out for”, Iguro pushes, “but he doesn’t remember”.

“Shinazugawa-san”, Shinobu tilts her head to the side, “you stayed at my estate day and night, for over a week. But then… did you ever try?”.

Sanemi exhales but it comes out like a hiss.

“Why the hell would you think I didn’t-”

“When was the last time you went?”.

“Shortly after she left the butterfly estate”.

Mitsuri’s shocked gasp echoes across the quiet room.

“Two months ago?”.

Sanemi glares at her.

“Yes. I gave her space, you don’t really want someone at your door every day after shit like that happens”.

“Two months? What the fuck kinda space is that? I bet she thinks you forgot about her”, Uzui speaks with the cup pressed to his lips. Convenient, since Sanemi is getting closer and closer to knocking his teeth out.

“Shut the fuck up, Tengen”, the stern warning only makes the sound hashira grin.

“Think about it, she may be believing all she was to you was an easy relief provider…”.

“I’m fucking warning you”, Sanemi’s hand closes around the hilt of his nichirin, “another goddamn word and I’ll slit your throat open”.

Uzui’s sarcastic expression morphs into something real, something serious.

“Good. So you can still man up, after all. Fucking go talk to her”.

“That’s not your decision to make, you assho-”

“Enough”, Rengoku heaves a deep sigh as he glares at both parties, “the point is, we’re all worried. And we all care. If despite what she went through she can still honor her oath as a pillar, I believe we owe it to her to keep trying. She’s my comrade and my friend, I won’t leave her alone”.

Sanemi deflates in his seat, the hand clutching his blade relaxes. Kyojuro’s fiery, determined gaze makes him feel so insignificant.

“Shinazugawa-san”, when Rengoku speaks again, his tone is gentle, “please help us remind her she’s not alone. She holds deep affection for you”.

Deep affection. Well, that’s a way to describe it, he thinks.

Truth is, Sanemi doesn’t know what you actually feel for him. Hell, he doesn’t know what he feels half of the time. When he refused to leave the butterly estate as long as you lied there unconscius and bloodied, he remembers feeling dread. When was the last time he got scared, felt actual fear? He’s afraid every time Genya leaves for a mission, holds his breath and refuses to release it until his brother is back. But you? You’re a pillar. He can’t be scared for you or it’ll mess with his head, it’ll remind him that their talent and power can both succumb to destiny far too easily. Their lives are always tied to the fragile thread of luck and yours almost, almost got severed.

He wonders if you felt the same panic when he was the one injured, that time he almost didn’t make it. Sanemi remembers the way you failed to control your breathing, the tenderness enveloping his heart at the sight of your shaky hands and rain-soaked hair. Through gritted teeth you admitted how scared you got, how worried. You’re brave. He isn’t. Once he knew you’d make it, Sanemi left. He paid you one visit, then disappeared with the excuse of wanting to give you time to recover.

He couldn’t have anticipated this, your stubborn disappearance. Time went on and despite the anxiety gripping his heart day and night, he convinced himself you were fine. He told himself you didn’t need him. He waited for your friends to make you better, to help you bring your usual self back. But you just resisted and pushed everyone away and Sanemi doesn’t think he’d make a difference anymore because why would he? You spent a few nights in his futon and that was it. Why would you need him of all people to talk some sense into that obstinate head of yours?

Dwelling on all this, using the excuse of being annoyed at how infuriating you’re being, is far easier than admitting the truth. Concern is eating away at his sanity and, hell, he misses you. He’s scared to face what that fight did to you, how different you are now. Gods know how his trauma changed him.

“Sanemi”, Iguro gently bumps his shoulder against his, “let’s go together”.

“No”, he gets up, tea left unfinished and cold in his cup, “I’ll go alone”.

It only starts raining once he arrives at your estate but he still finds it ironic.

There’s no one around and the place looks barely inhabited: he has faint memories of your lively messiness, teacups and books and snacks everywhere, especially when you had guests. You liked having guests. Mostly from the corps but also Shinobu’s girls, villagers, other pillars. Genya. You’d ask them to come over and you’d make tea for them, cook, sometimes a bottle of sake would be passed around (especially if Tengen or his wives were present).

Sanemi never came by a lot, he’d pay brief visits from time to time, mainly to check on his brother or take a tipsy Obanai home. You were the one always passing by his estate. You’d ask him to be your sparring partner, you’d drop by to leave some homemade ohagi, you’d let him undress you at night. You liked when he was gentle and he liked when you were vulnerable, none of the usual burning quips you’d exchange once the moon would go down. You’d find release in something other than banter and then wake up to a new day of pretending neither of you cared about the other enough to address whatever feelings were tied to something that was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated.

Something that wasn’t supposed to make Sanemi think of you at night, itch to kiss you, have your fingers gently run through his hair. He wasn’t supposed to be wondering where you were, how you were, when on a mission. He definitely wasn’t supposed to ask his master to pair him up with you, not while being fully aware of how willing he’d be to sacrifice his life to keep you out of harm’s way.

You’d look at him in a way that made dangerous thoughts take shape in his mind, you’d make him feel like more than what he was willing to be. Thoughtful, tender, hopeful. You’d articulate his name like no one else, make it sound special, like a melody.

Oh, Sanemi.

Sanemi, promise me you’ll be careful.

Sanemi!

Sa-ne-mi.

Shinazugawa is your usual go to but if you’re worried, if you’re scared, if he makes you exceptionally mad or provides the pleasure you’re seeking, it’s always Sanemi.

You make him want to give you everything, more than relief, more than a life where each day of being alive feels like a luxury.

“It’s me”, he gruffly announces himself, listens to the way his voice echoes across the empty entrance.

Sanemi gingerly shuffles to the shoji doors of your bedroom and sits on his heels once more, hands closed on his knees. He knows you’re there, he knows you can hear him. He hopes his absence didn’t weigh too heavy, although with all the shit you’re going through he sincerely doubts you spared him a single thought.

“We had a meeting today. I guess you already know, your crow was there”, Sanemi takes a deep breath, “you’ve been going on missions. Yet you refuse to be seen”.

A statement. Where is he even going with that? He doesn’t have a speech ready, words never come easily to him and anxiety makes his rough edges even sharper.

“Everyone’s worried about you, even that asshole Tengen lectured me. So I’m here. You can’t live in that room forever, come out”.

He could very well open the doors himself, barge in, but he wouldn’t dare. He may be crass with words but he’s still respectful of your boundaries.

“Oi, did you hear me? I said, come out. Hiding won’t solve shit, you should know better”.

Sanemi waits for a few seconds. Nothing, besides the drumming of the torrential rain against your roof. He groans.

“Can you fucking at least say something? Tap on the goddamn floor, one tap yes, two taps no?”, he raises his voice, “are you even listening to me?”.

He pauses again, muscles tense. Right as he begins to ponder about whether he should break through the stupid doors after all, he hears a faint thump. And then two more.

The sudden uptick in his heartbeat is nothing short of pathetic.

“Three…? What does that mean?”.

“Go away”.

It fills his lungs with relief, the way your voice sounds the same. He hasn’t heard it in two months, it’s a little hoarse, but it’s you.

“I’m not going anywhere. Come out”.

“Fuck off”.

The corners of his mouth relax into a soft smile.

“Tell that to my face, coward”.

“You can tell Tengen you fulfilled your bothersome duty. Now leave”.

Sanemi sharply inhales through his nose. Yeah, he should’ve guessed that’d be the one thing you’d fixate on.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot”.

And by the way, when did you even start addressing that dumbass so casually?

It’s silent again, which makes one of his brows twitch.

“Oi. Stop being stupid, I’m serious”.

No sign of life. Fucking hell.

Sanemi shuts his eyes, relaxes his shoulders. He thinks of what it must’ve been like for the past months, being so lonely. You never enjoyed being on your own, one time you confessed that being with other people helped keep your fears at bay. He remembers your hushed voice, tender, vulnerable, and how he pulled you closer in the darkness of his bedroom.

You must’ve hurt a lot. Clumsily treated wounds that only a professional like Shinobu should’ve checked, probably spent entire nights wide awake, nightmares chasing you whenever your body would give out to exhaustion. A self-imposed seclusion that added on to your physical pain and yet you still refused to abandon your duty as a pillar.

“I should’ve been here”, he says, voice low, barely a murmur, “I should’ve checked on you every day. I told myself I was giving you space but it was a bunch of bullshit. I just wasn’t brave enough to come”, he pauses to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you needed me, or maybe you did, either way I need to know you’re okay. Whether you come out or not, I’ll be here. I’ll come every chance I get, hell, maybe I won’t leave until my next mission. Just talk to me, from time to time. Or tap on the floor again. Whatever you want”.

Sanemi attempts to swallow the lump in his throat before speaking again.

“Who gives a shit about Uzui? I’m not here for him. You know why I’m here, despite how bad I am at showing it”.

He listens to his own breathing in the quiet of your house, relaxes the fingers that were once again gripping the fabric of his pants. Part of him is comforted by the fact that you’re fine enough to go on missions but it’s a comfort that pales before the sense of guilt he feels for having lost so much time. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to believe you needed him in the first place but he realizes it hardly matters now. He failed to remind you he’d be there for you, whether you wanted someone to be there for you or not. All he had to do was show up and he refused to do that. His life is such a broken record of wrong choices, it makes him sick.

And then, suddenly, incredibly, the shoji doors of your bedroom slide open. He looks up but doesn’t get the chance to meet your gaze because you don’t linger there, but instead walk to the low table you always enjoyed having so many people sitting around. Sanemi observes the way you carefully sit on your heels and, even if you never turn to look at him, he understands it’s a quiet invitation. His heart is beating loud in his ears when he rises from the tatami floor, legs once again unstable as he shuffles to where you’re sitting. He doesn’t sit across from you, as he usually would. Instead, he stays close enough for his thigh to be almost pressed against yours.

“Hi”, you say, and it sounds so delicate, so frail, it breaks his heart.

“Hi”, he says back, quiet and hopeful. Sanemi meets your gaze, through the one eye that is not covered in bandages the way your neck, half your face, arms are. Your yukata is loose enough for him to see that your chest is wrapped in bandages as well.

“Are those still necessary?”, he asks, well aware of what the real answer is.

You shake your head no.

“Can I see?”, Sanemi’s voice isn’t but a murmur, “don’t hide from me”.

“There’s nothing to see. I look hideous”, you’re quiet too, left eye uncharacteristically dull.

“Don’t say that”.

“It’s true. I can’t look at myself anymore”.

His chest aches. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time but he remembers it with shattering clarity. Events taking his sense of self away from him, the inability to recognize his reflection in the mirror. A Sanemi Shinazugawa that belonged to the past and couldn’t be brought back no matter how hard he tried.

“Let me?”, he lightly grazes one of the bandages covering your wrist. It’s a plea, more than a request.

Your gaze shifts to him and somehow softens. You wish to extend the moment in time in which Sanemi is looking at you like this because it will hardly ever happen again.

With a small nod, you give him permission and his heart swells. This isn’t something you’d trust just anyone with, the fact that you’re willing to let him of all people see you, actually see you, carries the most special meaning in the world. His world, at least.

He’s the most gentle he’s ever been as he carefully unwraps the bandages. Sanemi can’t help the way his jaw tenses at every scar he uncovers: they’re everywhere. You’re covered in them. Some are part of the natural healing process after your skin was cut so deeply, so many times, others are the result of poorly stitched wounds you certainly handled yourself.

You tremble underneath his touch and he so badly wants to take your hand, kiss each knuckle to calm you. To ground you. To promise that it’s okay, it really is.

Still, Sanemi is not prepared for the sight of your lost right eye. It’s still open but with an unnatural, opaque milkiness to the pupil and iris. This side of your face has been clearly lacerated as well, one particular scar turning the corner of your lips slightly downwards.

You’re looking at him with a gaze that is daring, incandescent with quivering dignity. He knows what you’re thinking: I told you, happy now? I was right. Hideous. Now you can see it too.

“Can I touch you?”.

“No”, you whisper.

Sanemi exhales slowly when you start crying. You never allowed him to see you cry, he’d sometimes hear faint sobs when you’d hide at the butterfly estate, after a mission or before a meeting, but this is the first time he’s witnessing your pain in such a raw way.

“I’m so ashamed”, you hiccup, take your face in your shaky hands, “so many of our comrades are dead, innocent people are killed every day. Fuck, maybe soon I’ll be dead too. And this is what I’m upset about, my appearance. But I can’t help it, you know? I tried. I really tried. It’s just so hard, I look like a monster”.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?”.

Your head snaps up and the sight of your cheeks, wet with fresh tears, makes his stomach clench.

“Of course not. It’s different!”.

“How is it different?”.

You sniffle, then gesture vaguely with one hand.

“You’re a man. Your scars are proof of how strong you are, how valiant. On me? They’re just a reminder of my weakness. They’re ugly, I’m ugly. Something ruined. I wish they could’ve just killed me that day, I wish Gyomei didn’t-”

“Don’t fucking say that”, Sanemi hears his own voice vibrate with rage, “you’re not weak and if anyone ever dares imply that I’ll stick my blade through their neck. You’re strong and brave and a survivor. We all are. I’m looking at you right now and I just see you. I’m so fucking relieved, actually, because I still get to see you. Not a thing and definitely not a ruined thing. You’re still you and you’re still here and you’re allowed to feel shitty about it but what the hell. I’m here too and I won’t let you face this alone”.

He leans in closer when you don’t reply and refuse to meet his eyes, shoulders rising and falling rhythmically as you keep crying.

“Can I touch you?”, Sanemi asks again, slowly, carefully, but more determined.

Instead of replying, you place you head on his shoulder and nuzzle further into his neck when he wraps his arms around you with a relieved sigh.

Sanemi lets you shake, lets you wet his haori and grip it like your life depends on it. He whispers sweet reassurances in your ear, kisses the crown of your head, does everything in his power to stop himself from crying with you. It’s surprisingly hard, witnessing one of the most resilient fighters he’s ever met, crumble in his arms. While his inability to do anything to make it better is what makes it so difficult, what really surprises him to the point of almost choking on his own tears is the fondness he’s able to hold you, reassure you with.

Sanemi can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be the old version of him so openly, the one he thought he had successfully buried with his mother and siblings so long ago. He didn’t know it still existed fiercely enough to manifest in broad, knowing daylight but of course you’d be the one he’d be willing to lay it bare for. He’d give you every part of himself, so long as you asked.

The pads of his fingers delicately skim across your arm under the sleeve of your yukata, then caress your wrist, rise to the side of your neck. The fibrous tissue feels familiar and foreign under his touch, it’s different than his own, more painful.

The agony etched across your beautiful features doesn’t subside, not even when he carefully traces your jaw with his thumb as he delicately holds you. He hates that this happened to you. Selfishly, he hates it. Even if he knows slayers, pillars, masters, aren’t above suffering or grief. Why would they be? They’re not special. They’re not better than any civilian. And yet, Sanemi’s rage for what happened to you could burn down villages.

“I wish it was me”, he says and he means it. He doesn’t say the worse thing, doesn’t voice the terrible thought actually swirling in his furious mind.

I wish it was someone else. Anyone but you.

You lean into his touch and idly shake your head.

“You’re already handsome enough. Gotta stop at some point”.

Sanemi can’t bring himself to chuckle as he usually would, he barely manages to let out a huff of air through his nose. But you cracked a joke and it’s enough to momentarily placate the enraged beast floundering in his chest.

“Come stay at my estate”, his thumbs skate over the skin underneath your eyes to brush off what wetness remains, “just for a while. I’ll send away all the helpers”.

You’re similar to him in more ways than he’d like you to be and Sanemi knows you’ll hesitate. Because you don’t remember how to let someone take care of you.

“I can’t”. 

“Yes, you can”.

“What difference would it make?”, you chuckle bitterly, “I’ll still look disgusting, whether at my estate or yours”.

Sanemi gently bumps his forehead against yours.

“I’ll let you plant those flowers you always ramble about, the ones that’d look good by the gate or whatever”.

“Damask roses?”, you attempt a smile and he swears his lungs start expanding once more as they get their fill of oxygen.

“Whatever you want”, he softly runs his index finger over the bridge of your nose, “we’ll have breakfast together, I’ll run you baths. I’ll wait for you to come back from missions and you’ll wait for me. Does that sound so bad?”.

You hum as he keeps exploring your face with gentle touches. You let him. He’s too much of a coward to just kiss you but hopes his hands, the pads of his fingers, are getting the message across. You could never look disgusting. You’re everything I want to look at, the one person I hope to always see. I’m so lucky I still get to see you.

“I’ll come”, you whisper, “if Genya comes too”.

Sanemi heaves a deep sigh. Gods forbid you stop thinking about other people’s feelings even for a moment.

“Pushing it”.

“You’re actually denying me right now, Sanemi?”.

Ah, there it is. The premise of every single one of his downfalls.

“Genya can visit. He can come but he won’t stay”.

You scoff.

“Fine”.

“Good”.

He guides you to him once again, with a hand that cradles the back of your neck. Sanemi rests his chin on your head as he strokes your hair and you sigh softly, the puff of warm air so close to his throat.

“Shinazugawa accepting guests. I feel pretty special”, you murmur, humorless.

“Don’t let it go to your head, I just like your ohagi”.

“Really?”, you click your tongue, “I’ll spit in my next ones, then”.

He smirks.

“Bold of you to assume that would deter me from eating them”.

There’s a pause, one he doesn’t give much meaning to as he keeps absentmindedly stroking your hair. But then he feels it, the way you tense against him and under his touch. When you pull back to fix him with an uncertain look, he fears he already said something wrong.

“What?”, it comes out gruff, watchful.

You hesitate for a second, then let your shoulders drop.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if…”, another pause, then you take a deep breath, “it’s okay if you find someone else. For relief, I mean. Don’t feel pressured to… like, it wouldn’t make me upset or anything. You can bring them to your estate too, I’ll just find myself somewhere else to be for a while, it’s-”

Sanemi gently but firmly presses his thumb to your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw again and tilting your head up, to make sure you look at him.

“I already told you”, he lets his thumb follow the curve of you bottom lip, “to stop being a fucking idiot”.

You shake your head.

“And I’m asking you to consider that you’re a normal man with normal needs”.

“I am. I need you to shut up”.

“You don’t understand. I might not be able to let someone see me, touch me like that, ever again. Not even you”, you lean forward to press your forehead against his shoulder because there’s only so much courage you can rely on while facing that violet gaze, especially when filled to the brim with weird adoration you can’t interpret the right way.

“I don’t care”, he murmurs. Then, much softer than you’d expect, “we go beyond that”.

It’s weird, hearing him say that. It makes your heart flutter against against your ribs because in no way you wished to imply you are important enough that he’d have to consider your feelings or whatever, in case he wanted to seek relief elsewhere. It’s his right to, as it’d be your right to.

The last thing you want is for him of all people to hold back out of pity. You can’t imagine any man finding you desirable anymore, anyway. It’s pretty easy to come to terms with that. But you wouldn’t be able to tolerate the idea of Sanemi depriving himself of a normal life, whatever normal would look like for you all anyway, because of poor, debilitated you.

“It’s not fair, being stuck with me. Don’t do that to yourself”, you whisper into the fabric of his haori. He scoffs.

“You know what’s not fair? How much of a dumbass you’re being”.

You pull back with a scowl.

“I’m serious, Sanemi”.

“Well, stop that”, he lightly flicks the portion of your forehead that is not covered in scars, “I’m not stuck. I’m where I want to be”.

He then tilts his head to the side, as if to consider something he failed to bring up until now. “What do you want?”.

You blink.

“What?”.

“Yeah. You run that mouth a lot about what I should want but what do you want?”.

In any other universe, this entire conversation wouldn’t exist. It probably wouldn’t have existed in this universe either, if not for you getting almost killed by a hoard of demons. He would’ve stayed the man you share a few of your nights with from time to time, when neither of you can keep pretending want and need and mutual attraction aren’t about to claw their way out of your chests. He would’ve stayed your comrade and the one man you’d trust your heart with, as long as he never finds out.

But now? You’re not sure what this is. You don’t know how to trust anything ever again.

“I want to know”, you murmur, “that you’re not moved by compassion. I want to know that you’re still you and whether I can ever be me again”.

Sanemi’s gaze softens. He’s finally able to take one of your hands but, instead of bringing it to his lips, he presses the palm against his chest. The skin feels warm under your palm.

“I am me and I will do everything I can to help you find you again. And if we never do, that’s fine. There’s time to get adjusted to the new you who, by the way, is still one hell of a fighter. Which is what I always liked in the first place”, he clicks his tongue, “that’s what moves me”.

There’s one thing Sanemi doesn’t say, which is that maybe the journey of helping you find yourself again will also help him find part of himself too. Whatever that could mean.

“Okay”, you say and sound so tired, completely spent when you let yourself rest in his arms again. You don’t have any energy left to question or resist. You’ll pack your bag, the same one you used so many times on missions with either Sanemi or the other pillars, spend some time in the quiet of his estate. You’ll sit in his garden and maybe drink tea on the engawa. You’ll have to find out if you’ll be able to allow him to get close, to take care of you the way you took care of him when he allowed you to get close too.

Sanemi once again wishes for a world where his sole purpose could be to keep you and what’s left of his family safe. He wishes he didn’t have to deny himself tenderness and affection, relentlessly push away the idea of naming whatever it is he feels for you. Whatever has been persistently pulling him in from day one, like a tide that goes out only to go in again, a current he can’t fight and isn’t entirely sure how to navigate.

But it’s fine this way too. Because he’s still him and you’re still you.

“Okay”, he agrees.

[nineteenninety-six]

Could you write abbot x daughter when daughters childhood best friend dies during pittfest and like she was there but fine without a scratch which makes it all worse for her which leads to her on the roof cause she knows her dad and the hospital , and she goes up just brushes part there alone after hearing time of death and like Jack finds her and he’s approaching like she’s a scared animal and she hasn’t even realised she’s on the wrong side cause she’s sobbing

Okay love you thank you!!!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Roof Ledge

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

TW: mentions of Pittfest. mentions of suicide of the shooter. death. etc

AN: Sorry I did change it slightly but I hope you like it regardles. Also this is short so I apologize.

Your ears ring as you hear the doctor call time of death, scribbling it on the wrist chart before stepping away and hurrying toward another critical patient.

You only get one last glimpse of your friend's face before a sheet is pulled over them and then moved away. Once they've disappeared out of your sight, the ringing faded and the noise of the hectic emergency department floods your ears and overwhelms you. Your legs tremble as you search for a place where you could get some fresh air, you turn to the ambulance bay before remembering that it's being used as a triage spot along with the countless vehicles arriving from Pittfest. Then you remember about your fathers favourite place in the hospital, the roof.

You stumble out of the emergency department knocking into people as you try to rush towards the elevator. Once you stagger into it, you mash the buttons for the top floor and fall into a crouch, unable to support your own weight anymore.

Tears and sobs escaped you as you cried into your hands and the t-shirt you were wearing quickly became soaked with tears as you tried to wipe your tears to no avail.

The fresh cool air greeted you when you stepped out onto the roof and it calmed you slightly. The chill breeze cooled you down and the fresh air helped you regulate your panicked breathing.

Automatically, your feet take you to the edge where your dad frequently visits and you slip underneath the safety rail and sit down, your legs dangling off of the hospital.

Your tears of sadness turned into tears of anger. You were so angry, so so angry. You just lost a friend, a friend you had known your entire life and now they were gone- dead and she wasn't the only one.

No doubt there were more people who died at the hospital but there were countless more that died at Pittfest on the field. Some instantly, some who couldn't get medical attention in time, some who were crushed in the rush to escape...just so many lives lost needlessly.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't hear the roof door open until your father called out your name.

He stood halfway across the roof, his hands held up as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

"Hey kid" Your dads voice was soft, "I heard what happened... Do you wanna talk to me?"

You only sob in response, the sound echoing around the empty roof.

"C'mon kid, step away from the edge for me please." Your dad begged, "Come talk to me over here"

"It's not fair! Why her at all people?!"

"You're right, it's not fair." Your dad agrees. "She didn't deserve it nor did anyone else who died."

"A- and I-" You gasp and stutter, "I'm fine! I didn't even sprain my ankle, I'm fine and she's gone."

Your dad joins you on the edge after realising that you were not moving anytime soon. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, "I'm sorry kid, I really am."

"Do you have to tell her parents?" You whimper.

Your dad shakes his head, "No. Robby will do that."

"They'll never forgive me" A fresh set of tears streamed down your face, "I' m the reason she's gone."

"You are not the reason" Your dad corrects, "The person-the man who did this, is the only one responsible. Not you, not me, only them."

"Do they know who did it? If they found him"

"They found him, he killed himself", Your dad scoffs and shakes his head, "He killed a swathe of people and killed himself…"

You scoff, "Fuck him, fuck this, fuck everything."

Your father doesn't say anything and there's a few minutes of silence as the two of you watch over the Pittsburgh skyline, listening as the cars drive past nearby and sirens in the distance.

"Do you want to see her? Say goodbye?" Your dad breaks the silence.

"Can I?" You hiccup.

"Yeah c'mon, let's step away from the ledge." Your dad stands up, offering his hand out for you to pull himself up with.

Your legs almost give up beneath you as you stand up but your father easily supports you as you walk over to the door and return to the hospital.

"You're alright kid, you'll survive this. It may feel like you're drowning right now but we will take it one day at a time."

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 1.

You feel like you're floating. Gliding.

Your mirror glows, beckoning you forth.

"What is this?" You climb out of bed and take step after step, it's like walking on something soft yet hard, instead of the splintery hardwood. The mirror glows brighter with each step, and it ripples when you stop directly in front of it. A part of you feels compelled to touch it.

So you do, like an enormous idiot.

As soon as your fingers press against the cool glass, you're rocketed forward through a bright light.

Your body hits grass. Soft grass. You stand up, looking down to see grey grass.

The world you landed in was completely black, white and grey. And at the same time, it looks like a fantasy land straight from a storybook. Around you are rose bushes, comically large all a pale colour if the pale white is to be believed.

Behind you is the mirror, showing your bedroom still coloured the way it normally is and just as you left it.

"H-Hello?" A handful of- Card Soldiers? rush pass you. All holding paint buckets full of red paint and paint brushes. The paint is the only colour you can see. They didn't see you.

<Hurry up and paint the roses red!>

<Slather them quickly, as aforesaid!>

They sing as they quickly paint all the white roses red.

"They're...painting the roses?"

Someone nudges your arm.<Miss, why are they painting the roses?>

You whip your head to your side. A girl, black and white, like the world around you. Her light coloured hair is tied up with a black ribbon. And she's wearing a light coloured dress with black and white stockings.

You point to yourself, "You can see me?"

<Of course. In fact, you're the most normal thing I've seen here.> Her voice is far away, like an old movie. You open your mouth to answer, but the girl wanders off, walking up to the card soldiers. <Why are you painting these white roses red?>

<Huh?>

<Why, you ask? Well it's simple...>

<The Queen likes her roses red. If they're white, we'll lose our heads!>

The cards sing.

This is Alice in Wonderland. You know this tale. A lost little girl falls into a world of absurdity, only to find out it was all a dream.

You wish your wonderland was just a dream.

<Goodness!>

<And so, we're painting the roses red>

But why was the mirror showing you this? Why was-

The sound of thunderous knocks echo through the dream world, it ripples and you're back in Ramshackle.

"I swear I was asleep in my dorm a second ago. How did-"

The world ripples harder, faster as the knocks increase in volume.

The world distorts and goes black.

Your eyes open. "Is someone at the door?" You whisper. Grim squirms in your arms, irritated by the noise.

"Mmm-....human? What's that noise..?"

The knocks are loud. So very loud.

"I think....someone's at the door." Your heart pluses with adrenaline. It's only been a week, how could someone try to stake their claim on you so quickly?!

"Is it one of those pesky ghosts again?! Why can't they just give up?!" Grim whines, burrowing himself into your sheets.

You snatch the knife on your bedside. You're not dumb enough to go back to sleep, you're risking something happening while you sleep, so you'll do the other dumb thing, go to the door, armed with a blade to a magic fight. Someone is trying to stake their 'claim'. But you're not going down without a fight.

Careful, you slip out of bed, avoiding some of the more creaky floorboards. You tip-toe over to the wall, separating you and the hallway. You lift on of the sheets to reveal one of the holes to the hallway, and it's thankfully empty.

So they're at the door, leading outside, in the dark, when the only other people here are ghosts and a sleepy magic cat.

"Henchman, go back to sleep," Grim whines. "The blankets are all cold now..."

"Grim, can you come with me to check it out." When you get no response, you change your angle, "It might be a foe for the Great Grim to vanquish?", still no response.

You sigh, as the knocks start up again. "Grim, do you want to sleep in my room tomorrow night?"

Grim pokes his head out of his blanket cocoon, "Three nights."

"Two."

"Henchman, you are demanding the Great Grim's help. You can't bribe me." You give him a look, he huffs," Two nights, it is." Grim sits himself on your shoulders. "Let's get rid of the intruder so we can go back to bed!"

You drag the dining chair away from the door handle, and the hallway is still as dark as you left it. The knocks get more erratic. You gulp down a deep breath, as you enter the entry hall.

"W-Who is it?" You call out, knife at the ready in both hands, just in case.

"It's me, Ace! Just let me in, all right!" Of course it's Ace. Still with what you learned yesterday, your guards not down yet.

"Ace, it's the middle of the night! Why are you here?" You speak through the door.

"Hey! Calm down, I'm not here to kidnap you or anything..." You freeze at the kidnapping mention. You swallow. Well, now he's gotten you into a bind. If you hesitate any longer, he might get suspicious.

You slide the knife into your pants waist band and cover it with your shirt. You hope it doesn't nick.

You unlock the door and, "What the hell are you wearing?!"

"Bwah! That collar!" Grim doubles over on the floor laughing, at the sight of the heart shaped collar around Ace's neck. And the fear you felt earlier is being replaced with giggles bubbling in your throat.

"I can't go back to Heartslabyul House." Ace grumbles, as you finally let out your laughs.

You smother your laughter long enough to talk, "W-Why? Did they laugh you out for wearing that?"

Ace's frown deepens, "I'm joining your dorm. For good." Wait, what?

"Myah! Come again!?"

Ace repeats himself, "I'm joining your dorm. And I'm never going back to Heartslabyul again!"

Cold sweat erupts on your skin. "Wait. You're not serious, right?" He pushes past you into the entry hall. Turning to give you a cheeky smile.

"Completely serious." he slings an arm over your shoulders, "What do you think _____, wanna make me your Vice Dorm Head?"

No. Really, NO. Having a yandere in your house where you sleep sounds like you're asking for trouble.

"A-Ace, you can't stay here!" You immediately regret how upset you sounded. Especially with how Ace's mischievous grin vanished as soon as you said those words.

"Huh? Why?"

Because he's a yandere, and you're a 'darling', or more specifically, 'his darling'. It's common sense.

Instead, you change tact. "Look, why don't we just talk about what happened," You scoop up Grim, and lock the front door. "Come on. Let's go to the living room."

"You're an idiot, Ace." You say, facepalming.

"Hey!"

"If you ate my tuna, I would be pretty mad too."

"Still, locking off my magic is insane for eating a ONE slice of tart!"

"Yeah, it is." But it puts him on your level, magicless, powerless. "But-" "He might as well have cut off my arms and legs. What kind of jerk cuts mage off of his magic?!"

"Ac-"

"I mean, it's not like he could eat all THREE of those tarts to himself."

"ACE!" You yell as you cup his face in your hands and he calms down immediately. His eyes light up as he looks at you, with that same sparkle you saw in the halls earlier. Shit...

You let him go as you take a few steps back, to distance yourself from the man obsessed with you. Who's probably obsessed with controlling you too. He's still staring, and you drop you hand to where the handle of the knife rests on your stomach.

Grim speaks up, "Y'know if there were three of 'em, they probably were for a birthday party."

"A birthday party, huh?" Ace thinks aloud, his eyes still locked on you. You can feel his stare going into the walls behind you.

"Did you even apologise?" And he snaps out of his staring daze.

"Hey _____, I thought you would be a lil more sympathetic. I'm a victim here!" That look in his eyes darkens slightly. It's scary as if he's mad that you're.....not........defending him. Double shit.

You backpedal, "He....may have been a tad extreme." "But he stole food, that's not ok!" Grim objects. Damn it, Grim. Try to keep your henchman free, ok?

"Stealing food is a serious offense." you say, reluctantly.

"Aw, man you got to be kidding me." Ace complains.

"But if you apologise, he might forgive you." That look feels darker now. Maybe, you can just......"Ace, I'm your friend. I want to help you." You reach to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. The light brightens, "Just let me help."

"All right, all right...I'll apologise." Cool, all well that ends well, now all you have to do is get him out of your dorm and then all is well and good.

"But you're coming with me, _____" Damn it. Now you have to go with Ace to the controlling dorm, full of psycho control freaks, one of which is a dorm leader that cuts off magic for eating a tart. Great.

"Fair enough." You lie.

"By the way, do you have anywhere where I can crash tonight?"

"You were serious about that? Outside of the room, me and _____ use, this entire dump is buried under a foot of dust. So if you wanna crash you better start cleanin." Oh no.....Please don't ask to stay in my room, please don't ask to stay in my room, please do not ask to stay in my room.

"Dude, no way. I hate cleaning!" Don't say it. Don't say it.

"C'mon _____ Lemme stay with you, I'm real slim. I won't take up much space~" God dammit. That look in his eyes come back, as he pulls you closer. Too close.

Now what are you going to do? That look is back and you don't like seeing it darken. If you say no, he might get mad. If you say yes, you'll be sleeping with a yandere who might do seven-only-knows to you!

Grim runs in between you, separating you from Ace's piercing gaze. "No! Henchman promised to let me stay in her bed tonight!" Ace deflates, backing down. Thank you Grim I owe you some extra tuna-y tuna.

Wait a second. He's giving Grim a dark look. Is it jealousy or something?

You let go of Ace's hand and tightly embrace Grim, "You can sleep on the couch tonight. I'll get you a pillow and blanket."

You get the hell out as fast and inconspicuously as possibly. You yank open the topmost comforter and pillow from the linen closet, run back and toss it to Ace as fast as you can. Before you can disappear into the hallway back to the maybe safety of your room, "Hey ______?" You freeze.

"Yes? You turn and try to smile, but you can feel the muscles in your lips beg you to frown.

You swallow a whimper as he advances toward you. Too close, too close. "Good night."

"Good night, Ace." You turn back and.

....Soft lips on your forehead. He's kissing you good night.

It's been a week. One week was all it took. He fell for you in one week.

"S-see you tomorrow..." You say, dumbstruck.

You. are. doomed.

[dissolvedprincess]

Just finished DD season 3 and DD : Born Again. Dex is just..my oh my..he’s a beautifully flawed character that i’ve grown to adore. This is my first time writing a character with his nature and i am still fumbling in the dark a little bit, so it might not be the best. But trust that i will be doing more research on him. For now, enjoy! (Please mind the content warnings!)

Also, reader has a habit of overusing the nickname ‘honey’ cause i thought it’d be cute. It is too, the main inspiration for the titles and themes.

Honeydew

꒰ Poindexter/Bullseye x Fem reader ꒱

✷ CW : 18+, nsfw, dub-con, one sided phone sex, (m) masturbation, creepy dex, manipulation, mentions of stalking

𖥔 Prequel to Honeycomb

(Not proofread)

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷

Dex’s eyes snaps open to the blaring noise of his ringtone. Sculpted muscles promptly flex as he sits up. His well trained body adjusts easily to the abrupt change in his system, senses already going into high alert.

The permanent crease between his brows deepen as a stabbing migraine creeps up from behind his strained eyes.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence to be called for in the middle of the night or any hour of the day. He’s committed to this kind of life, to this job. The stability of it keeps him in a tight leash, preventing him from spiraling too far. He finds it beneficial, in way. Even if he finds some parts of it unsavory.

He grabs his phone from the bedside table, nostrils already flared in anger. The rapid motion of his hand almost knocks over a framed photograph. Although it was nudged only slightly from it’s usual perch, Dex takes the time to adjust the frame back into place, not an inch too far, not an inch too close. Her face is the first thing he sees as the day starts and the last thing before the day ends. It has to sit just right.

He swipes a thumb over her face with a satisfied curve of his lips as he finished shifting it back into place.

The graininess of the photograph couldn’t dim a smile that bright. He remembers the day vividly. The way his eyes burned a hole through the group photo he just received over mail. It didn’t look right, too crowded, too distracting. He recalled scrambling to find a pair of scissors, despite already knowing where he usually puts it. His hands shook as he frantically pulled on each drawer.

Then there it was, in the second drawer to the far right.

The tightness in his jaw slowly lessened with every snip. Further and further separating her from the rest of the group. He didn’t need anyone else in the picture. Because nobody else sees him like she does, Dex swears it.

She has him wrapped around her finger without her knowing.

If it was up to her right now, she’d tell him to calm down, to follow her inhales and exhales. Like back then, whenever he fell victim to an anger or panic that came on so quick and fast it left him reeling.

“Breath Dex. Come on, i’ll do it with you. In….”

So he does, he inhales as much air as his lungs can hold.

“Hold it.” She’d put a well manicured hand on his chest to further steady him. Dex always feared that she’d feel how fast his heart raced every time, and if she did; she never mentioned any of it.

“And…Out….Good job honey.” Honey. It’s her favorite nickname to call people. He fondly remembers her saying it almost 30 times a day. Dex knows, he takes a mental note of it every time he overhears her in a conversation with a coworker or when she’s gently persuading a stranger to let go of the gun.

In his head, he keeps recordings of her voice in it’s own vast room for all the different ways and tones she uses to call him ‘honey’.

‘Hi honey.’

‘I got you honey. It’s okay.’

‘You’re better than this honey, you know that.’

It proves to be effective as the bubbling anger that threatened to spill over before, subsides with the long exhale he let out.

“Thank you.” His voice echoes back in the empty room. Dex feels a lifetime lighter now, with the ghostly pressure of her hand on his chest.

His thumb then absentmindedly pressed the green button and holds the phone up to his ear; dark eyes still trained on her face.

“Hello?”

Dex feels a shiver run down his spine at the sound of a split second inhale. He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Hi Dex. Sorry for calling so late honey. Were you asleep already?”

They were introduced to one another as colleagues. The connection they had was strictly professional, but it was the mutual desire to help people that drew them closer, or so he told her. Because that’s the main rule that she abides by in life, so he has to act accordingly.

But no matter how much every interaction leaves him more and more greedy for her attention. Their relationship never went anywhere outside of the center and it wasn’t long before she left to pursue a different life outside of it, a life without him.

Each and everyday felt like being stuck underwater. He couldn’t even bear to put on the same face when it no longer felt beneficial to keep up the facade. So he left to join the army, for some semblance of stability, then the FBI.

Years went by and the job does him well.

Well enough to the point where he decides to finally do something about his relationship with her. He figured she’d need him around, to keep her company, to keep her safe. More so because she is adamant in seeing the good in people.

‘Not everyone in the world is out to get you honey.’

Then the stalking began, and after months of careful planning, they got into each other’s orbits again after she accidentally bumped into him in a crowded subway station.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you!” she exclaimed with a hand over her mouth.

“I know. What a nice surprise.” He looked down at his feet, then back up again to look her in the eyes, bashful. “I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be.” He finished with a smile he’s perfected over time.

It’s a given, wherever his north star goes, he follows. Nothing could’ve kept him away from her for long.

“I was awake anyway. Please, It’s alright. You must have your reasons.” Dex tries his best to prevent the excitement from bleeding too much into his tone.

“You’re too kind Dex. Always have been.”

Dex hears it over the phone, she’s smiling and he instinctively mirrors it. Force of habit. She brings it out of him, he thinks. Work days are long, hard and demanding. He finds himself smiling only when he’s meeting her for a friendly meet up over coffee or when he’s watching her from 60 feet away, mostly on Tuesdays. A day specially reserved only for pizza nights.

“It’s nothing. Is there something you need?”

He’s laying back down against the pillow again, body completely relaxed. Although this time, he’s pushed the duvet off, leaving him bare from the waist down; clad in just boxers. He shivers as the cold air settles on his bare skin, but it won’t be long until he’s warm again.

“I don’t know how to start this honestly.” She responds with a nervous chuckle.

“I have time.” He assures her.

“Okay. It’s just that...i’ve been feeling more anxious than usual.”

His hand twitched as heat starts to pool between his legs.

“What kind of anxious thoughts?”

“It’s ridiculous, i’ve just…um.” She heaves a heavy exhale. “I don’t think i’m a good person, Dex.”

Dex smirks and slips his hand into the gap between his heated skin and his boxers.

“What makes you think that?”

“Nothing major happened honey. I was just thinking…Gosh you’re gonna say that i’m crazy or something.”

“I would never say that to you. You know me.”He holds back a moan as he palms his arousal.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right, you wouldn’t.” She pauses briefly and Dex could clearly see an image of her nervously chewing on her lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the center recently. It’s been years since i left but i can’t seem to stop feeling like it’s eating away at me somehow.”

The phone is hot against his skin as its squeezed between his cheek and his shoulder. He pushes another hand down to aid in freeing himself from the tight confines of the fabric.

“Elaborate. What part of it is eating away at you?”

The line comes out perfectly smooth and natural, exactly like Doctor Mercer. Observation has always been key.

“The guilt. I think.” Her voice is small, like a scared child, hesitant on wether or not she should admit it.

“Guilt? Why does the word come to mind? You were always the best at it out of all of us.” Gently, slowly, Dex begins to tug at his dick. Fingers slip along sweat damp skin, sliding up to the head to give it a light squeeze, before pulling back down.

“I’m not sure why exactly.” She hums and he waits, it’s a habit she does often whenever she needs time to think something through.

“Take your time.” He speaks up to mask the wet-smacking noises of his pumping hand. Dex is big. Thick. His hand can only wrap around his girth comfortably because his palm is just as broad.

“I think….i don’t feel like i’m helping others enough. Not as much as i used to, at least.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that, that must be really hard.” Dex’s hand begins to twist as he strokes higher up his dick. Loose skin and slick glans drag against him, getting sloppier with every pump of it. “Fuck.” He hissed.

“What was that? Are you okay honey?” His dick throbs at the sound of her concerned tone.

Another smirk finds its way onto his face again. His hands slow now to tease himself, so much so that his thighs shake with every brutally slow, tight pull that has white dribbling from between his knuckles. Dex’s broad chest shudders as he lets out an over exaggerated exhale.

“Sorry, it’s nothing. Just a migraine.” He forces out, his eyes squeeze shut and his teeth clench so tight. He’s so fucking close.

“Oh Dex…I didn’t know. Don’t apologize hon, it’s my fault for calling so late and waking you up.” He likes it whenever she gets all sickly sweet like that.

“You did nothing wrong. I would’ve told you if i didn’t want you calling me.” His hand speeds up again. Every stroke of it sends sticky sounds into the air.

“I suppose that’s true.” She’s smiling again and he imagines a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

“And about what you said earlier. It must be a lot to deal with on your own, I’m glad you called me.”

She sighs dreamily and responds, “Yeah, it is. But it’s nice that i have you to vent to.”

“I hope it helps you when i say that you are a good person. I can attest to that.” Dex holds out a grunt as he jacks just the end of his dick, twisting his hand. “You just can’t see yourself the way i do.” The sight of her face comes up in his head again, he imagines the words causing her face to twist in shock, only to quickly melt into something that screams fondness.

His hand moves faster at the sound of her giggle, and pre bubbles over, making the slide even better.

“Aw honey. That’s- that’s very sweet of you. I can’t believe you see me that way.”

“Of course i do. You are always good to me. So good.” She doesn’t catch how breathless he sounds, too preoccupied by the sound of her racing heart.

“Well, for the record, i think you’re a good person too Dex.”

No, i’m not.

The first spurt of cum practically shoots out as he comes. He briefly lets go of the phone to put a tight grip over his mouth. Every pull of his fist draws more and more cum from the messy slit. Unexpected laughter comes bubbling up from his belly and he can’t stop himself. Euphoria washes over him as cum drooled all over his stomach.

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious!” The sound of her own rings through the phone.

With a clean hand he rubs a finger over his closed lids as their joined laughs naturally die down. The phone is once again squeezed between flesh as he reaches over for a tissue; eager to have her voice as close as possible.

“Christ.” He groans. Dex tries his best to clean himself, balling up the used tissues and skillfully throws them into the trash bin at the corner of the room.

“Shit, the migraine again?”

“Yeah. It’s fine though, it’ll pass.” He says as he pulls his boxers back on before walking over to the bathroom.

“You better go back to sleep soon okay?” There it is again, the coddling tone— babyish. Though her voice was partially drowned out by the insistent sound of rushing water. Once the water is off, Dex wrings his hands together and wipes them dry with a towel.

“Okay. I will.”

“And one more thing before you go.”

Dex stops his hand from further shuffling in the medicine cabinet to give her his full attention.

“Thank you for tonight. I really needed it.” She says.

A familiar ache spreads over his chest again as he replies, “Yeah. Me too.”

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷

Thank you lots for taking the time to read! I’m really nervous about this one aahhh! Let me know what you think and don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed it!! <3

[duchessbird]

ghost!reader x honorably discharged!simon

Simon thought he was mental. Coming back to his flat after the most excruciating (and literally career-ending) mission of his life, just to start hearing noises? And for things to randomly go flying off shelves? Simon was sure his head was done in. He’d hit it a little too hard and now he’s reaping what he sowed.

But no! Unbeknownst to Simon, it was you! You’d passed away in 1813 due to a bad, bad case of consumption just before marriage. (Modern-day TB). Floating around in a baby blue day-gown, silk gloves and your hair eternally tied into a curled updo. You weren’t harmful, no, quite the contrary. You were just trying to navigate the new space where your castle had once been.

Blank white walls, tall windows and minimal design was sacrilege. Where is the stained glass?! Why is there no photo of the King at every corner? This space was weird. Knocking glasses into the floor and stepping where the creaks were had to be a part of the acclimation process.

Now, problem is, Simon hadn’t seen you. You saw Simon. ‘Oh, he has to be the head of this house. He must have some answers,’ you thought.

Except, you freaked him the fuck out. All he felt were cold, subtle grazes on his arm and the hairs on his neck standing up. But eventually, the more he started to understand? The more he saw you.

A glimpse of a woman’s perfume bottle in the corner of his eye, only for him to blink and it disappear. The feeling of silks against his back leg in bed when his sheets are nothing of the sort.

And then eventually, one night after the pub, it was you. In the flesh. Well, not really. He was drunk, stumbling into his flat by the skin of his teeth. It started with your voice, a soft giggle in empty air.

“Too much gin, my Lord?” You observed him, a soft silhouette of you on the couch. Proof of your existence in the couch cushion, a shape forming under your weight. A book was open in your hands. Some book on a war you didn’t even live to see.

“The fuck?” Simon sobers quickly, like he’s just been shot. You look appalled, either because of the word he used — or the fact that you haven’t learned that word yet.

“My Lord,” you scold him, hand clutched on your ghastly pearls. “Wretched speak in our castle? Hm,” a disapproving hum slips from your lips, and Simon is … disappointed in himself. And then he realizes he is talking to a ghost.

Ghost talking with a ghost. Very funny, universe.

“Who are you?” He orders, slipping off his shoes. Despite his voice’s aggressive tone, he is cautious in approaching you. Like you will vanish at the sight of barred teeth.

“Perhaps I am your wife. I haven’t got an idea our relations.” You shrugged, setting the book aside. “What a fantastical story,” you laugh softly. It has a soft echo to it, as if you’re in a cave. “Despite it being fictitious, it is very enthralling.” You tap the book, getting up and floating past him.

Floating through him. Shivers scale up and down his body and he feels as though he’s just… well, he feels as though he’s floating in post-pleasure bliss. He gawks at you, because how dare you walk through him?!

“What, my Lord?” You ask, trying your best to open the fridge. You haven’t quite grasped the concept yet. Simon just waves a hand, mumbles something vaguely vulgar and walks to his room. This is tomorrow’s problem.

Tomorrow comes with you — translucent and yet so fucking beautiful — sat on the side of his bed with tea and a wet rag. “My Lord, you are burning like a thousand suns. Your face is the color of a ripe tomato,” you tsk again, pressing the rag to his head and the rim of the teacup to his lips, urging him to drink.

It goes on like this for a while, you materializing when Simon gets home and floating around the house helping him with things. He finally gets to hold you one night, when you are taking some strange kind of ghost-nap, and you have your guard down. Shifting you into his arms, he is mesmerized by the way you feel. Your entire skin is bliss, silky texture and a cooling sensation.

You awake with a gloved hand on his chest, embarrassed with yourself because this man is the head of this house! Surely his wife will come and find you two.

“No,” he assures you, playing with the fabric of your paranormal gown, “I have found my wife.”

No one will ever believe him, but that’s okay.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - five

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst <3333333 for everyone <33

word count: 7.7k

The ride back to home was a blur. The plane ride, the ferry.

Everything. 

Every mile away from Rafe felt like reopening an old wound, over and over. The cops kept trying to make small talk, but you barely said a word. One-syllable responses if anything. Eventually, they just gave up and let you stare out the window in awkward silence.

By the time you pulled up, even the streets of The Cut didn’t make you feel any better. Home didn’t feel like home anymore. It was weird, almost like you didn’t recognize it. Walking in with the officers behind you just made everything feel more real, like a slap in the face of the life you were stepping back into.

“Your brother and your friends were rescued from a remote island a while ago. He was informed of your whereabouts an hour ago, he’ll be here soon.”

You barely processed what they were saying. It didn't really sink in. You just nodded, like you were on autopilot, but your brain was still stuck in everything that went down two days ago. What kind of sister doesn’t freak out when she hears her little brother’s alive and okay?

You should’ve been losing it with relief, right? But all you felt was this weird emptiness. You were supposed to protect him. You didn't.

Their words barely registered.

You nodded numbly; your mind still stuck between the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

What kind of sister had you turned into? Barely phased over the fact your little brother was thankfully alive and well? You were supposed to protect him. 

They could tell you were checked out, they exchanged this look, like they didn’t know what to do with you, then quietly stepped out onto the porch, leaving you to rot with your thoughts.

You wandered around the house, but every step felt so heavy. Every room was just a reminder of what used to be. The couch where you'd would argue over stupid TV shows while Luke was off doing who-knows-what, the kitchen table where it was just the two of you, eating and sharing stories like nothing was wrong... It all felt so distant, like snapshots from another life you couldn’t touch anymore.

You knew, deep down, things would never go back to how they were.

You ended up in my room, collapsing onto your bed, the sheets still smelling like home. But even that didn’t help the ache in your chest.

It didn’t feel right. Nothing ever did unless your brother was there.

But now, not even the thought of him being back could bring you peace. All you could think about was Rafe. His smile, his touch, his voice—every part of him was still so clear in your head, and it hurt so bad to remember.

That must be your punishment. 

A soft knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You sat up, heart racing. Your body was still on high alert, even the tiniest noise made you jump, like you were waiting for something bad to happen.

The sound of gunshots still echoed in your mind. It hadn’t even been three days.

The old wooden door creaked open, and there was JJ, his bright blue eyes wide and full of worry. He rushed to you so fast, you almost lost your breath when he pulled you into this bear hug.

"Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice shaky, "Holy shit."

Tears just started pouring out of you, and you couldn’t stop. You were full-on sobbing while he held you like you used to hold him when he was little, and it killed you. It was all so wrong. It devastated you. It felt so disappointing. He was never supposed to be the one carrying the family burden, you were.

After what felt like forever, you pulled back and wiped your face, your throat tight. JJ sat next to you, searching your face with those big, worried eyes.

“You’re not hurt?”

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to get a grip. All you could manage was a small “No. You?”

“No,” JJ nodded, lips pursed into a tight line as if he was figuring out what to say next, “They told me about the shooting.”

Your heart sank further at his words. You had hoped to avoid talking about it, at least for a little while. You didn’t want to talk about that. Not yet. But the way he looked at you, like he used to when you'd protect him from everything, you couldn’t just shrug it off.

“I’m fine, I swear.” You reached out and squeezed his hand. "What about you? How did you get off that island?"

JJ let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“It was a mess. We were stuck there for weeks, trying to find a way out. Pope and Kie kept us sane, but it was rough. We finally managed to signal a passing boat, and they rescued us. But the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You squeezed his hand even tighter, his words hitting you like a truck, and the guilt just kept building. You squeezed his hand tighter, trying to keep it together. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, JJ."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. None of this is your fault. I—I should’ve saved you on that ship, okay? It’s on me, not you.”

You felt another wave of tears coming but swallowed them down.

“You did everything you could. We both did. None of this is your fault."

“The one time we changed places, and I couldn’t do it.”

"Jay—"

"I should have been there for you," he cut in, his voice cracking. "I hated not being there. "I hated it."

God, if only he knew. 

If he found out what really happened with Rafe, he’d hate you. It wasn’t his fault—it was yours. You pulled him into another hug, trying to say everything you couldn’t with just your touch. The weight of everything—your guilt, your pain—was too much, but at least you had each other. You could feel his body shaking, and you didn’t even know if it was from exhaustion or emotion.

When you finally let go, you took a deep breath, hoping to find some semblance of strength.

"We’re gonna be okay.”

JJ nodded, though you could see the doubt in his eyes. "I know. It's just... hard."

"I get it. But we're both here, we're alive.”

He gave you this sad little smile, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

You sat there in silence for a bit, and it felt fragile, but at least it was peaceful. Outside, you could hear the waves crashing, like life was still going on, even though yours felt like it was stuck.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he didn't want an answer.

Normal? The nightmares of him finding out about Rafe haunted you every night, mocking at your mind. But You couldn’t tell him that. It made you want to scratch your skin raw. 

“Yeah.”

"Yeah," I lied.

You could see how tired he was, like he was just as drained as you felt. You both needed sleep, but honestly, the idea of closing your eyes terrified you. The nightmares were always there, waiting.

"Let's try to get some sleep," You suggested softly, though you weren't sure you could follow your own advice. "We both need it, ‘kay?”

“Let’s try to get some rest,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I could actually follow through. "We both need it."

JJ nodded, even though you could tell he wasn’t convinced. He lay down next to you on the tiny bed, and you barely fit, but it was comforting. Just having him close made you feel a little less broken.

The minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the waves outside. You focused on them, using them to ground myself. Slowly, you felt the tension start to slip away, just a little.

"Do you remember the first time we went out on the boat alone?"JJ’s voice was barely a whisper in the dark, like he was holding onto a memory that felt safe.

A small smile crept onto my lips. "Yeah. You swore you knew how to steer, and we almost crashed into that sandbank."

He chuckled softly. "We were so scared. But you figured it out. You always do."

The memory was bittersweet, a reminder of when things were simpler, back when your biggest problem was not sinking a boat and you weren't a complete fuck up.

Now, you felt like you were drowning every day.

Your eyes started to get heavy, and JJ’s breathing next to you slowed, evening out. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. If you did, you'd lose him for good.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep and dreamless. Empty, like how you'd been feeling for way too long.

Morning came too fast, sunlight slipping through the curtains and filling the room with a warm glow. You blinked awake, feeling disoriented for a second before everything from the past few days came rushing back. JJ was still asleep next to you, his face finally relaxed, looking so much younger and peaceful.

You carefully slid out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The officer who comforted you after the shooting promised he’d call as soon as there was an update on Rafe. So far? Nothing.

You couldn’t help but wonder if the hospital had already contacted Sarah. She was basically the only family Rafe had left, other than Wheezie, who was just a kid, and Ward… well, a literal wanted criminal now. It made sense for them to reach out to her first.

If you called the hospital yourself, they wouldn’t tell you anything—You weren't family. And asking Sarah? She’d immediately know something was off. There was no way you could risk that.

The kitchen was weirdly quiet, the early light stretching shadows across the walls. You made a cup of coffee, letting the warmth calm the cold ache inside you, but even that didn’t really help. Sitting at the table, you tried to think of some kind of plan. You needed to know if he was okay, but every option felt like a trap.

Suddenly, your new phone buzzed on the table, shaking you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it, heart pounding, seeing an unknown number flash on the screen. Your stomach twisted, but you answered.

“Hello?”

“This is Officer Thompson. I promised I’d keep you updated on Rafe Cameron’s condition.”

You closed your eyes, thanking God for finally giving you some piece of mind, “Yes, thank you.”

“He’s stable,” Officer Thompson continued. “The surgery went well, and he’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he’s fully back on his feet, but he’s out of immediate danger.”

The knot in your stomach loosened just a little. “Thank you for letting me know.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I know this is difficult, but you should focus on your own recovery too. There’s a chance the feds will contact you, they’re building their case on Ward. What happened to you is, unfortunately, considered a minor crime compared to everything he’s done, so maybe you’ll get some peace. If not, you might have to testify against him.”

Testify. The thought of standing in a courtroom, reliving everything in front of strangers, made your skin crawl.

“And Rafe? What are his charges?”

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

A deal. The idea of him getting out that easily should’ve made you angry, but instead, you felt this weird sense of relief. You hated myself for it. You wanted him to pay for everything, for all of it. But now? You were clinging to any slim chance of freedom, even if it wasn’t fair.

You thanked Officer Thompson again and ended the call, setting your phone down with a shaky hand. The coffee had grown cold, but you didn't have the energy to make another cup. You sat there for a long moment, staring into nothing.

The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see JJ in the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, still half-asleep.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“Uh—Officer Thompson. He was at the scene the other day and told me he’d keep me updated.”

JJ tilted his head, his messy bed hair making him look like a confused puppy. “Updated on what?”

“Rafe’s condition,” You replied, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. It was a half-lie, but at least you were giving him something. 

He stopped mid-step, “And you care because…?”

“For closure, I guess," You mumbled, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal.

His gaze softened a little, but not by much. He pulled out a chair and sat across from you. “You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

You winced inwardly. "JJ, you can't just say stuff like that."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why not? After everything he’s done, he deserves whatever he gets."

You couldn’t really argue with that, but something inside you felt the need to defend Rafe, even if you hated that feeling. He had saved your life, and that wasn’t something you could just forget.

“He’s still a human being, okay?”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head like you’d said the dumbest thing ever. "Barely."

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so angry, so defensive. But it made its way up your body until your lips were moving again, practically spitting the words out.

“He saved my life.”

Your brother stared at you like you were speaking another language, “Saved your life? Are you serious? It’s his fault you were there in the first place!”

“He chose to help me. And I can't just forget that."

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This is insane. One good deed doesn’t make up for all the shit he’s done.”

“I know that,” I said, reaching out for him, but he pulled back before I could touch him, your fingers only brushing against his shirt.

“Do you?” His voice was cold, and the way he looked at you—like he didn’t recognize you—cut deep. It was the look you dreaded seeing in your nightmares, and now, it was real, it ten times worse. 

"I’m not saying he’s a good person. I’m just saying… it’s complicated."

He started pacing around the kitchen. "Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is even alive. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who screwed us over gets to play hero for one day, and now you’re defending him."

"I'm not defending him," You said, voice rising. "I just… I saw a different side of him. Maybe he can change. Or at least help put Ward away."

You never raised your voice at him.

JJ stopped and spun around to face you, his eyes blazing. "And what if he doesn't? What if this is all part of some twisted game for him? People like Rafe don't just change, okay? They manipulate, they hurt, they destroy."

“JJ—"

“You sound just like her.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. Suddenly your entire soul felt like it was being drained out and slashed into pieces. A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment. All you life, you’d been told you were like her—just as blind, just as soft.

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s exactly the type of bullshit she would spit out about dad, wasn’t it? And look where it got her.”

"That’s the kind of crap Mom used to say about Dad, remember? And look where it got her."

Memories of mom came rushing back—the excuses she made, the false hope she clung to, and the endless disappointment. You weren't like her, were you? You weren't defending a man who was never going to change. You couldn’t be. You’d spent your entire life trying not to be like her.

It wasn’t fair. You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you mercy. How could he think you were blind to Rafe’s faults? You knew them all too well. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and fiercely defensive.

“I’m not her,” You finally managed to say, your voice cracking, “I’m not defending him like she did.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “I’m not doing this with you, not right now.” 

You turned away, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to keep it together.

He followed you hot on your heels, "Don't walk away from me.”

"I'm not defending him," You insisted, your back still to him, “I’m just trying to understand, okay?”

“Understand what? Jesus, Rafe is who he is.”

"And maybe he can change," You fired back, the words spilling out despite the tightening knot in your chest. "Maybe he saved my life because he wants to change."

"He's manipulating you," JJ retorted, his jaw clenched. "Just like he always does. You went through some traumatic shit together, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face him again. Your head was tingling, the headache already forming itself, and you felt hot all-over. The word "traumatic" set you off.

“Some traumatic shit?” You repeated, “Are you fucking serious?”

JJ raised both his hands, tangling them in his hair in frustration, “You almost died, and now you’re standing here, defending the guy who put you in that position in the first place!"

The accusation hurt. You hated fighting with your brother and he wasn’t wrong. You hated that Rafe was coming between you both, but you couldn’t shake what you felt.

He shook his head, disappointment oozing from him, "Good luck with that. Just don't expect me to sit here and act like everything's okay."

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes, "I'm not asking you to. Can't you see that maybe things aren't as black and white as they seem?"

“All I know is what he's done to us, to you."

“And what about what he did for me?” The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth.

“And what did he do exactly?" Your lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from his mouth, “What did you do?”

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. You couldn’t let it out. Not yet. Not to him.

Not to JJ, not yet.

"I don't expect you to understand," Your voice was strained,"But I’m not turning my back on him.”

JJ's eyes narrowed; frustration etched on his face. "Why?”

“Because I want to!” The scream ripped from your throat before you could stop it, tears spilling over. "I’m still my own person, and I can make my own decisions."

He opened his mouth to fight back, but the words seemed to evaporate from his tongue. The kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and your instant regret.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning away. “Do what you want.”

You watched him walk out of the kitchen, his back stiff with anger and disappointment. It was the first time you'd ever yelled at him, and you hated every second of it.

Alone again in the kitchen, you sank back into your chair, your energy completely drained. Part of you wanted to run after him, to explain yourself, to make him understand.

But he wouldn’t. How could he?

None of them would.

Because unlike you, they weren’t stupid enough to sympathize with Rafe Cameron.

Sitting there, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd crossed a line. You stared at your hands, still trembling from the argument, and let out a long, shaky breath. What was it about Rafe that had such a grip on you?

You heard the front door creak open and shut—JJ leaving. Maybe that was for the best. You both needed time to cool off. You got up, poured the coffee down the sink, watching it swirl away. Weirdly, the sound was kind of comforting, like you were washing away the mess clinging to you.

You spent the entire day locked away in your room, ignoring the sun, ignoring everyone. Your phone buzzed again, and for a second, you thought about letting it go, but you couldn’t. You picked it up, expecting another call from Officer Thompson, but the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Sarah.

With a deep breath, you answered. “Hey sweets.”

“Hi,” Sarah’s voice was almost unsure. “JJ and the police called earlier, told us what happened. Are you okay? I’m on the mainland with John B, we’re taking the next ferry back home.” 

You closed your eyes, somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to face them yet.

“Yeah, I’m…Managing. I'm okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” There was a pause, and then she asked, “Have you heard anything about...Rafe?”

Had the hospital not called her? How much should you tell her.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well.”

Sarah sighed, “Good. That’s good to hear I guess.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should ask, but you did anyway. “Sarah, did the hospital call you?”

There was a long silence on the other end before she replied, “Yeah. But I…I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew it was coming after the police called. But—Yeah, it’s just, it’s really hard.”

You didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the only one not giving me shit about still… caring, I guess. He’s my brother, you know? And I want to hate him. I should hate him. But I can’t.”

"I get it, Sarah. He’s your brother. It’s okay to feel conflicted."

"Yeah," She exhaled heavily, "But I don't know how to deal with it. He's done so much harm, and yet. I keep hoping there's still some good left in him. I know there's no hope for my dad, but Rafe..."

She trailed off, and you knew exactly where she was coming from. She’d seen Rafe before Ward broke him down. And you knew she still carried that guilt—the guilt of being the favorite, never standing up for him, even when she saw Ward lose control.

“I get it,” You whispered. You were both tangled up in love and hate when it came to him, the messiness of family making it impossible to separate the two.

 “He was good to me.”

There was a long pause. You expected her to hang up on you, to freak out and call you a list of degrading names, all of which you felt you deserved. She had enough at the hands of her brother— the same brother you had come to care for, despite knowing the full extent of what he’d done. 

But you underestimated her. You'd momentarily forgotten just how compassionate and noble she was. She possessed a goodness smiliar to your own—loyal, forgiving, and endlessly understanding.

Both lovers and fighters.

 "I know, the feds told me about the shooting," Sarah finally said, "And I think that's what makes it so hard. Picturing him as the same monster from before was a lot easier.”

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, feeling a deep ache in your chest. "Yeah."

"I don't know what to do," She confessed, her vulnerability cutting through the distance between you. "Part of me wants to see him, to talk to him. And part of me wants to never look at him again."

"I think... whatever you decide, it's okay," You offered tentatively, not entirely sure if your words were comforting or just empty platitudes.

“John B disagrees.”

“Yeah, so does JJ.”

"I appreciate you telling me about Rafe," Sarah continued, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing it from anyone else."

Guilt prickled at you. “I’m sorry you had to hear it like this. I wish things were different.”

"We all do," she replied softly. "Thank you.”

“Of course," You said, "Take care of yourself.”

"You too. We'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

You hung up and stared at your phone, the screen going dark. It matched how you felt—empty, lifeless.

You spent the next few days in a haze, avoiding JJ and the rest of your friends as much as possible. You’d only seen Sarah. Somehow her presence didn’t make you feel as nervous as you thought. It weirdly calmed you down. You’d always been close, ever since she joined the group, but now you felt like she was the only one who understood your point of view. 

You knew Pope and Kie wouldn’t, and you couldn’t blame them.

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself.

Your small house felt like a prison. It wasn’t until a week later, as you sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, that your phone buzzed with a message. It was the officer: "Rafe’s awake."

Your heart jumped straight into your throat. You still hadn’t told anyone the full story about what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, you didn’t even know if you ever could. They knew the basics—he was in the hospital, you both got caught in a shooting, and somehow, he’d saved your life. That’s all anyone knew.

But now, with him awake... you were completely lost.

With shaky hands, you fumbled for the phone, dialing the number the officer had given you. It rang a few times, "Hello, this is St. Michael Hospital. How can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm calling to check on a patient, Rafe Cameron. I was told he’s awake."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, just the faint sound of keys clicking away. "Yes, Mr. Cameron is awake. Are you a family member?" the nurse asked.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. "No. Uh, a friend, I guess—" You almost started rambling, but instead, you settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

"Okay, just a minute, please."

You stared at the sand, biting your lip, trying to figure out what you’d even say to him. When the nurse finally came back on, her voice was softer, almost pitiful, and you immediately knew you weren't going to like her answer.

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Your whole body went numb. You wanted to throw the phone, scream into the void, drown yourself in the ocean and not come up until you didn’t feel anything anymore.

 What the hell? 

You’d spent weeks thinking about him, on edge, worrying if he was gonna make it, praying for him even though you weren’t even sure you believed in any of that. And now...he didn’t want to speak to you? Unbelievabl, like all of it—every single moment you spent worrying, crying, hoping—it was for nothing. You didn't have it in you to put up a fight.

"No, that's all. Thanks," you mumbled before hanging up.

You stared at your phone, trying to process it. Rafe didn’t want to talk to you. It was like someone ripped the ground from under you. Everything you thought you had shared, everything he did for you, saving your life... Had any of it mattered to him?

Had you just imagined it?

You tried to think back—Rafe had kissed you, touched you like you were precious, like he didn’t want to break you. And that moment when he’d saved you—had that meant nothing to him? Maybe you were just fooling yourself. Maybe, to him, you were just a temporary distraction, someone who didn’t mean anything outside of that life-or-death situation. Just a pogue.

You were just sitting there, staring out at the water, trying not to fall apart. The sun felt too bright, the world too loud, everything too much. The anger, the hurt, the confusion—Before you even realized what you were doing, a scream tore out of you, raw and guttural.

It ripped through the air, echoing across the beach as if it could somehow take away everything inside. Tears came next, hot and salty, and you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to.

Without warning, a scream ripped from your throat, raw and unfiltered. It echoed across the empty beach, a primal release of everything you had been bottling up. You hadn’t cried properly in weeks. 

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give. The sun cast long shadows on the sand, the beach deserted except for you. Collapsing back onto the sand, you let the tears flow freely. 

There was no one to judge you, no one to see you fall apart. You’d spent a lifetime pulling yourself together, it was only fair you finally got to breathe properly. When the tears subsided, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and took a shuddering breath. The tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by a hollow ache.

You were many things, but none of them were weak and yet...It was almost unbearable, the way your mind replayed every interaction, every look, every word, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that would have warned you not to get attached.

Footsteps crunched in the sand, and you tensed, knowing who it was even before you turned to look. JJ. Of course, it was him.  You still weren’t ready to face him after the argument. But he sat down next to you without saying a word, just looking out at the water like you were.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mom,” he continued, sounding just as broken as you felt, “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from the scream. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I get it.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust him, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in all this.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

JJ turned to you, frowning, “What do you mean?”

“I called the hospital. They said he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to speak with me.”

You could barely get the words out without choking up.

Your brother frowned, his protective instincts flaring up. “That fucking piece of shit. After everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. ““Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s for the best.”

JJ sighed, softening as he looked at you. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, trying to believe his words. “I just... I thought there was more to it. That maybe he could change.”

“People like Rafe... it’s hard to change.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill again.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wanting to see the good in him.”

He spoke with such gentleness and wisdom. You forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he’d also done his fair share of growing up way too fast. 

You leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” JJ said firmly. “Together. You and me, like always.”

You nodded, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the beach, you and JJ sat there in silence. The waves continued to crash against the shore, a reminder that life moved forward, even when it felt like everything was falling apart.

Maybe things would never go back to the way they were, but you had your brother, your friends, and a resilience you didn't know it was capable of existing until then.

Six months had gone by since that day, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Life had somewhat gone back to normal, or at least a version of it. The days were getting hotter, like the summer was showing off, making everything sticky and slow. You’d spent the afternoon alone, sprawled out on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading, barely feeling the breeze from the old fan struggling against the heat.

You were in the middle of rereading the same sentence for the third time when loud banging on the door made you jump. The knock was so aggressive it had to be someone with a serious problem, and the sound jolted you upright.

You groaned, rolling off the couch and heading for the door. "What the—"

Before you could even finish, you yanked the door open, annoyance already building up. And then, just like that, it drained out of you.

“Rafe?”

It was him. Standing there. Looking... well, looking alive, which was more than you expected after months of silence.

You froze, staring at him, and instinct kicked in. You tried to slam the door in his face, but he was quick. His hand caught the edge, holding it open. “Seriously?” you hissed, shoving harder. “Get the hell off my porch.”

"Maybank—"

"If you don't get off my property, I swear to fucking God—"

“Wait—Maybank—just listen.”

“Nope. Get lost. Now.”

“Please.” His voice cracked, and his hand shook where it held the door. “Just give me a minute.”

You glared at him, every instinct telling you to push harder, to shut him out. But something in his eyes—fear, desperation, a flicker of the Rafe you once knew—gave you pause.

The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out and terrifyingly pale. It wasn’t the cocky Rafe you remembered. The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out, barely conscious. And now he was just... here. What the hell was he doing here?

The last update you had on him was from Sarah, months ago. He had left the hospital and kept sporadic contact, reaching out to her only every few weeks. You never asked her about his well-being or what he was doing; despite guessing that he was cooperating with the police.

At least you hoped he was. 

You were determined not to care anymore.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking worn out in a way that made you pause for a second too long. “You look good."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. Was he for real?

You were going to slap the lack of common sense out of him. You weren’t about to let him waltz back in like nothing had happened.

You scoffed, not letting your guard down. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down, trying to find the words as he scratched the back of his head, “I... I needed to see you. To talk.”

“Yeah, no. Get back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

You tried to slam the door again, but he held firm. “Please, just let me explain.”

“You had six months to explain.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was— It’s messed up, okay?" his words coming out rushed and uneven. ”I’m still working with the feds. I was losing it. Still am, probably. But I need to explain. Please, Maybank, just a minute.”

Maybe it was the part of you that used to care, or maybe you just needed answers after everything that had happened. You stepped back, letting the door open just enough for him to walk in.

“Fine. Talk.”

Rafe stepped inside, looking around your small living room as if seeing it for the first time, which you now realized he'd never been in your house. And now that he was standing here, you regretted letting him in.

He turned to face you, his expression earnest. “I didn’t know what to say. I felt—“, He took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, “Ashamed. I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Ashamed? You’ve done a lot of things to be ashamed of. You can’t just show up after six months and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know,” He admitted, taking a deliberate small step closer to you, “I wasn’t expecting that. I just... I wanted to tell you that I’m trying. I’m in therapy and rehab, trying to get clean. I’ve been going to meetings. It’s been hell, but I’m trying.”

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. He wasn't high.

You eyed him skeptically. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you’re the only person who ever saw anything good in me. And I can’t forget that. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know that your faith in me wasn’t for nothing.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you by surprise. You had expected anger, arrogance, manipulation—but this was different. Genuine. It felt like you were back in that motel room, in his arms.

You scoffed, turning away from him. “Is that all? That’s why you showed up here out of nowhere?”

“No, it’s not,” he said, sounding more desperate. “I just—Shit. I need to make things right. With you. I don’t know how, but I need to try.”

You took a deep breath.

You didn’t want to talk to me.”

He winced at that, his guilt obvious. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t. But I’m here now, trying to fix what I broke.”

Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him another chance, but the other part of you—the part that had been hurt and abandoned—was screaming not to fall for it again.

“So you shut me out?” You snapped, “You made me feel like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, head whipping up, then immediately softened his tone, taking another step closer. “That’s not true. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I was getting better for you."

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you, pretty.”

You recoiled at the nickname, taking a step back, needing space. 

“Cameron.”

Another step closer. His eyes pleading with you to understand. 

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I never lied to you," He repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "I was scared and confused, but I never lied.”

“Scared and confused? That’s your excuse?”

Rafe flinched at your words, but he didn't back down. “I know how it sounds. I handled it all wrong. I’m trying to fix it.”

“You think saying sorry and showing up out of the blue makes it better?"

His hands reached out, his palms open as if he was dealing with a wounded animal. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want a chance to make things right.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You spat, your voice trembling with emotion, “How it felt, watching you almost die. I spent days wondering if you were going to be—” 

You stopped yourself, knowing that if you continued your voice would crack and the tears would start pouring down your cheeks.

You already cried enough for him. 

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You took a step back, putting more distance between you, needing the space to think clearly. “I needed you to be sorry six months ago.”

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier. 

Rafe noticed your eyes wandering to his head and ran a hand through his short hair, a hint of a self-conscious smile flickering across his lips.

“Yeah, I uh, made some changes. Trying to start over, I guess.”

“I’m happy for you, but I can’t do this.”

“Pretty—"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you cut him off, “I feel guilty enough as it is around everyone else.”

“I told Sarah.”

His words hit you like a punch to your gut. 

“What?”

“About us.”

You felt your stomach drop and your vision narrow, the world tilting sideways. “You what?”

“I told her.” 

“You absolute fucking—” You hissed, your voice rising without warning, “Are you serious?!”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” His tone faltered to one that could’ve fallen on deaf ears if not attentive enough. “I needed someone to talk to, and she’s…my sister.”

You were fuming, pacing the room. “Do you realize what that could do? My life here—everything—could be ruined because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Rafe flinched, taking a step back. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Of course you didn’t,” You nearly growled, pacing the small living room. “You never think about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Listen— “ He opened his mouth undoubtedly to fire back with another half-assed apology - but you barreled forward, letting the months of bottled resentment continue to burst open.

“You’re so selfish.”

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone,” His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, “It’s okay.”

“You really believe that?” You stopped pacing and turned to face him, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “This is too much for her to keep to herself. It’ll eat away at her until she tells someone. And when that happens, my life here is over.”

Rafe looked stricken, “I just—I needed someone to understand what I’m going through.”

For the first time, he took the time to explain what was going on in his head instead of letting his frustrations take over and kissing you.

“And what about what I’m going through?” You demanded. “Did you ever stop to think about that? I’ve been trying to move on, to rebuild my life, and you just waltz back in and blow everything up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You spotted his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely before.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Bitterness began to overpower the pit of your heaving chest, “Sorry doesn’t make it go away. You can’t just undo what you’ve done.”

“I know,” One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare., “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear.”

“Make it right? You can’t make this right, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying, pretty. I really am.”

You felt a smidge of sympathy despite your anger.

You could see the pain and desperation in his eyes, the same pain and desperation you had felt for the past six months. But that didn’t change the fact that he left you hanging for so long.

“I need you to leave."

You expected him to put up a fight, to lash out, hide his emotions with empty threats and petty names. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to leave. You watched him go in silence.

Part of you wanted to run after him, to give him another chance, to believe that he could change. But another part—the part that had been hurt and left to heal on its own—knew that it wasn’t that simple.

You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out for good.

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the raw honesty in his eyes. "I don’t regret what happened. Between us. I regret how I handled it, how I hurt you, but I don’t regret feeling something real for once."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the suffocating heat seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto your anger, your resolve. But his words had hit a nerve, bringing back memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

You looked away, unable to look at him, "It doesn’t change anything."

"I know.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving you standing there, your heart in pieces all over again. You pushed away from the door, needing something to distract yourself. 

You picked up your book, but the words blurred on the page. You tossed it aside, your thoughts too chaotic to focus. Instead, you paced the small living room, replaying the conversation in your mind.

You eventually collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. You did the right thing, so why did it hurt so bad? 

You felt like a wound had been reopened, and you hated him for it.

But you hated yourself more for letting him get to you.

The hours dragged on, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows through the windows. You tried to lose yourself in anything—TV, reading, cleaning—nothing worked.

You only saw Rafe's face, his desperate eyes, his trembling hands.

You remembered the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice when he was vulnerable. The memories were too real, too persistent. You couldn't bring yourself to explain it to yourself. Your eyes begin to itch, warning you to think of something else.

Anything else but Rafe.

Was this heartbreak? No—it couldn't be. Why did it still hurt?

You weren't in love with Rafe Cameron.

At least, you didn't think you were.

You had never allowed yourself to consider it, to dwell on what you felt for him. But now, in the stillness of your small living room…it was different. You never had a good parental figure to teach you these things. All you knew was destruction, violence, and heartbreak. And although you’d done pretty well for yourself, all things considered, this was new to you.

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you. 

You were in love with Rafe Cameron. 

[tsuyalovebot]

cw. sfw. knight caleb x princess reader, royalty au — short drabble based on upcoming piece. :]

Once upon a time, you and Caleb swore to never let yourself be divided. Honeysuckle sweet on your tongue, some flowers strewn into your hair after rolling around in the grass, the younger version of him had plucked the petals out from the tangled strands. It was when the naïvety of childhood consumed your thoughts, and nothing else mattered but the center of your framed universe.

"I'll never let us be separated," he had whispered, as if afraid of letting anyone else hear, even though it'd only been you.

The words of a child were fickle, but so was the mind at the age of ten. With a grin adorned by empty spaces of some of your teeth, you tackled him — laughter echoing in the yard as you rolled down the hill together.

As you lay side by side in a bed of grassy weeds near the riverbed, your pinky finger is extended toward his. Purple eyes met yours, fond.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Your pinkies locked, and you maneuvered your hands to hold his.

And like a man of honor, a title he's brushed off countless times, he keeps his word. Even after you're swept away into a palace and a life so far beyond your child self, sobbing at the unfamiliarity, his temporary absence from your life.

You're soon to be sixteen when you're sitting by the vanity, Grandma in the doorway as you're preparing yourself for the morning. It's a lush bedroom, unlike the humble attic you and Caleb often slept in. Times of the countryside still flood your memory every time you subconsciously compare the opulence of palatial vessels to your quaint home.

And, like clockwork, there's three knocks from the balcony door.

Grandma lifts a brow in suspicion when you do not spare a glance toward the noise. She's dressed in lavish robes, yet looks no less graceful as the day she took you in.

"I beg of you, tell me that isn't Caleb."

Your lips lift into a smile. "I regret to inform you, it most likely is."

And when the doors click open, fresh air rushing into your bedchambers, the sound of metal rattling comes with the rhythm of his footfall.

You turn. He's already got that signature boyish grin, a hand on his hip as his brows lift in acknowledgment. Fresh from his morning routine, it would seem, the gleam of his exposed triceps from his training attire.

"My Lady."

To attempt to hide your glee would be a blatant mistruth. So you allow your joy to show in your face as he crosses the space eagerly, heart skipping a beat in time with his steps.

"My knight."

He kneels at your side, seeking your hand to grace it with a teasingly soft kiss, before intertwining your fingers with his gloved ones. That's new. You must look ready to inquire on the new gesture incorporated in your daily greeting, because he simply sends you a disarming smile. Perhaps, it shall come at another time.

"This morning, you are as luminous as the moon was last night," Caleb declares, squeezing your palm.

You squeeze back before you could think much of it, forgoing etiquette. It takes a moment, but you glare at him.

"There was no moon last night, idiot—"

Before you could raise your other hand to unleash a flurry of attacks on his person, Grandma's exasperation radiates from the doorway in waves. "Caleb, doors exist for good reason. Can't you simply knock?"

He spares her a glance. Mischief flits in and out of his eyes. "I did knock. Thrice, might I add."

"It is improper of you to enter through the balcony of an unmarried woman."

You scooch over on your cushioned seat, letting him sit beside you. It's natural to lean your weight onto him once he does; this time, he does not try and dissuade you with the poor excuse of him being dirty.

You give your grandmother a gentle smile, laughing at her scowl. "I've permitted him to enter through the balcony. And he is my knight. It shouldn't be an issue, no?"

You could feel Caleb press his nose to your hair, approval thick in his manner. As you swat at his head, your grandmother sighs deeply before striding over to the two of you. Caleb's arm, which was slung around your shoulder, is promptly pushed off. He groans from your side, and you pout.

"You are to be of age soon. It is important that you two must behave appropriately by then."

"I know, I know. I always do my best," Caleb says halfheartedly. You stare at him, incredulous because since when did he ever? He gives you an amused look, pinches your nose after. "Don't look at me like that, you. The only reason we ever end up like this is from your insistence."

You huff, "so, you don't appreciate my company?"

He deadpans. "Now, you know for a fact that that is not true."

Grandma sighs yet again, prying you off of your lounging position against his firmer body. Her hands direct your posture, straightening your back and shoulders despite your open groans and complaints. Caleb laughs from beside you, pokes at your sides while you powder your face just to annoy you, surely. She's still trying to redirect your behavior, lecturing the two of you — not like you nor Caleb were listening.

It takes a while for you to notice, but he's still holding your hand. You don't let go. Neither does he.

You are turning sixteen when Caleb holds your hand for the first time in half a decade.

You are eighteen when he lets go of you.

[troyo-boyo]

Midnight Snack Adventures (KK Arnold x Reader)

Summary: A quiet night in the dorm takes an unexpected turn when KK’s midnight snack mission turns chaotic.

Wordcount:1k

The dorm room was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep and feels like a blanket. I lay in bed, wrapped in KK’s arms, her warmth lulling me to sleep. The faint hum of the heater filled the room, but it was otherwise silent. The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the walls.

KK shifted slightly, her breath even and steady against my neck. For a moment, I let myself savor the calm. It wasn’t every day we got to enjoy moments like these, away from the demands of classes, practices, and everything else. Sharing her dorm with Paige made privacy a bit of a luxury, but tonight, the stars had aligned.

Or so I thought.

A muffled thud jolted me awake. I blinked in the darkness, trying to place the sound. Another faint noise followed, this time a metallic clink. I turned over to find KK’s side of the bed empty, the blanket rumpled and cold.

“KK?” I whispered, sitting up. No response.

I swung my legs off the bed, my feet touching the cool wooden floor. Another sound, a muffled yelp this time came from the kitchen. My heart skipped a beat. What was going on?

I padded toward the door, squinting into the dim hallway. The dorm was pitch black, save for the faint glow of the streetlights outside. A crash echoed from the kitchen, followed by a hissed curse.

“KK,” I muttered under my breath. What was she doing?

I stepped into the hallway, the faint chill of the night air creeping through the cracks. As I approached the kitchen, another figure suddenly appeared in the shadows. My heart leapt into my throat.

It was Paige, clutching a baseball bat, her posture tense and ready. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen, then back to me.

“Stay back,” she whispered urgently, her grip tightening on the bat. “I think there’s an intruder.”

“Paige, wait—” I started, but she was already moving. I followed her as she crept toward the kitchen, her movements cautious yet determined.

The sound of a drawer slamming shut came from the kitchen. Paige’s shoulders tensed, and she raised the bat.

“Whoever you are, you better get out before I—”

She never got to finish her sentence. I stepped into the kitchen just as KK emerged from behind the counter, holding a bag of chips in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. Her wide eyes met Paige’s, and she froze like a deer in headlights.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” KK exclaimed, dropping the bag of chips and raising her hands. “It’s just me!”

Paige lowered the bat slightly but didn’t relax. “What the hell are you doing creeping around in the dark?”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone,” KK said defensively, still keeping her hands up. “I just wanted a snack.”

“You didn’t want to wake anyone, but you’ve been banging around like a one-woman demolition crew,” Paige snapped, finally lowering the bat completely.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Okay, everyone just calm down. KK, maybe next time you could turn on a light?”

KK’s sheepish expression made me chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, okay. My bad.”

Paige rolled her eyes, muttering something about “athletes and their midnight cravings” before heading back to her room. KK looked at me, her face a mix of guilt and embarrassment.

“Sorry I woke you,” she said, her voice soft.

I shook my head, stepping closer. “It’s okay. But seriously, what were you thinking?”

She shrugged, setting the soda bottle on the counter. “I was hungry, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, you’ve definitely kept things interesting tonight.”

She grinned, her earlier embarrassment melting away. “That’s me, always keeping you on your toes.”

We cleaned up the mess together, stifling our laughter to avoid waking Paige again. Once the kitchen was back in order, we returned to the bedroom. KK climbed back into bed, pulling me close.

“Thanks for not letting Paige knock me out,” she whispered, her lips brushing against my temple.

I laughed softly. “You’re welcome. But next time, just turn on the light.”

She nodded, her arms tightening around me. “Deal.”

As I drifted off to sleep again, I couldn’t help but think about how life with KK was never dull. Even in the quietest moments, she had a way of making everything feel like an adventure. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the blinds woke me. KK was already awake, her phone in hand as she scrolled through social media. She noticed me stirring and smiled.

“Morning,” she said softly, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

“Morning,” I replied, my voice still groggy. “Sleep okay after last night’s excitement?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, once my heart rate settled. Paige, on the other hand, might still be mad.”

I laughed, stretching lazily. “She’ll get over it. She’s used to your antics by now.”

KK pouted playfully. “My antics? That was a one-time thing.”

“Sure it was,” I teased, sitting up. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t bring the bat to breakfast.”

We both laughed, the sound filling the small room. It was moments like these that made everything worth it. No matter what chaos life threw our way, we always found a way to laugh through it together.

As we got ready for the day, KK’s lightheartedness was infectious. She danced around the room, singing off-key to a song stuck in her head. I couldn’t help but join in, our laughter echoing through the dorm.

When we finally emerged from the room, Paige was in the kitchen, sipping her coffee and eyeing us suspiciously. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly still recovering from the night’s events.

“Morning, Paige,” KK said cheerfully, grabbing a piece of toast from the counter.

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Morning. Try not to scare me half to death again, okay?”

“No promises,” KK replied with a grin, earning an exasperated sigh from Paige.

I shook my head, hiding a smile as I poured myself a cup of coffee. Life with KK might be unpredictable, but it was never boring. And as Paige muttered something about “midnight snack disasters,” I realized that even the chaos had its charm.

[tipsynight0]

The weight of blood //part one

Jeff the killer x female reader

TRIGGER WARNING - suicide attempt, blood, graphic violence, self harm, stitches.

Word count - 900

Author’s Note: I’m sharing my thoughts and feelings in this piece, but I am in no way romanticizing these themes. If you are struggling or feeling this way, please seek help.

Synopsis - Jeff returns home after a long mission to find something terribly wrong.

The quiet drip of water from the faucet echoed in the dark, empty room as Jeff flung open the door, its rusted hinges groaning under the strain. He kicked off his boots, fatigue weighing down his every movement as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness. The mission had been grueling, each step back home feeling heavier than the last. His gaze instinctively traveled to (Y/N)’s side of the room, the place he always found her after the chaos. But the bed was still made, untouched, as though no one had been there in days.

A hollow emptiness spread in his chest. He shook it off, chalking it up to exhaustion. “She’s probably just out,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his sweater over his head with a weary grunt. Sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed, he closed his eyes, listening to the soft patter of water from the bathroom. The noise nagged at him. His brow furrowed as he turned towards the door, annoyance replacing the fog of weariness.

"Jesus Christ, (Y/N), you trying to flood the damn room?" Jeff growled, irritation prickling at the edges of his voice. "How do you forget the faucet like that?" He stood up, muttering under his breath as he made his way toward the bathroom, the cold floor shocking his bare feet. But as he neared, something shifted—a strange tension in the air, a stillness that made his heart pound just a little faster.

His fingers wrapped around the bathroom door handle. It was locked.

“(Y/N)?” he called, his voice rasping in the silence. No answer. His pulse quickened, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. He knocked harder. “(Y/N), open the door! This isn’t funny.”

Nothing. Just the steady trickle of water.

Bile rose in his throat, panic creeping up his spine. He slammed his shoulder against the door, once, twice, until the lock finally gave way with a splintering crack.

“Are you—” His words froze in his throat as he stepped inside. The room was flooded, water pooling around his feet, but that wasn’t what made his breath catch.

The tub.

(Y/N) lay motionless in the clawfoot tub, her skin pale, the water around her stained with a sickly pink hue.

“No… no, no, no…” The words spilled from his lips as he stumbled forward, almost slipping on the wet tile as he lunged toward her. His arms wrapped around her lifeless form, pulling her into his chest. Her skin was cold, her body limp, and as he pressed her to him, he could feel the blood soaking into his skin.

“What the fuck, (Y/N), no, no… What the fuck!” His voice broke, choking on the words as his hands trembled, desperately trying to assess the damage. Blood. It was everywhere. He pressed his fingers to her wrist, his pulse racing as hers slowed to a whisper. Her head lolled against his chest, her eyes barely open, distant.

"Don't you dare leave me," he whispered, his voice raw, barely holding it together as he smoothed her wet hair, rocking her back and forth in the rising water. "Don't you fucking dare."

The sloshing water, the sound of his ragged breathing, the cold creeping up his legs—it was all a blur as he carried her out of the tub, the water spilling onto the floor in waves. He laid her gently on the bed, but the sight of her pale face, the blood pooling beneath her, sent a jolt of terror through him.

Grabbing his discarded hoodie, he pressed it hard against the gashes on her wrists, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me, come on, please," he muttered, his eyes scanning her face, her skin a sickening shade of gray. He lifted the hoodie for a second, just to check, and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank god, no major arteries.”

But it wasn’t enough. He needed to act fast.

"You're not allowed to leave me," he barked, though his voice cracked with desperation. He fumbled for the first aid kit on the nightstand, his hands slick with blood as he rummaged for the needle and thread. He’d stitched himself up enough times, but this was different. This was her.

His hands shook as he threaded the needle, biting the cap off the super glue. He worked as fast as he could, pulling her skin together, sealing the wounds with precision born from desperation, not care. "Stay with me. Don’t you dare fucking leave me," he whispered over and over, as though repeating the words would make them true.

Finally, he pressed his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was faint, but it was there. His breath hitched, relief crashing into him like a wave, though it did little to ease the ache clawing at his insides.

"Please…" His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the fading sound of the dripping faucet. "Please don’t leave me."

Her pulse was weak, but it was still there. And for now, that was enough

[anantaru]

ayato likes fingering you ok runs bye he just loves your cute noises and the expressions you make he’s a people watcher after all hfsggsghshs

cw. fingering, teasing you, fem! reader

at your echoing babbles, ayato's hand dwindles to a standstill as he glances down at you through eyes gone diamond-bright of both lust and love— and you bewail the loss of his searing movements, immediate and in recognition of your soreness beneath his rough fingers circling across your wetness.

"had enough, have you?" the yashiro commissioner asked, deceptively sweet as he knew how, the suggestion drawing close to your lips as you suck in a nervous whine, the sudden absence of his slender fingers only amplifying the ache in between your legs, leaving you exposed and feeling too open, too empty.

"no!" you complain back, pulling at his hair so he could look at you, see how desperate you were in hopes for him to continue, the grip on your complete frame, your body and soul was unmistakably strong, in fact, in every sense your clever little mind could imagine.

"...please don't stop,"

evident and in no need for further clarification, ayato was aware you weren't overly pleased by him stopping his hand out of the blue, in fact, he did it on purpose of course, now twisting his head to the side to nibble ruthlessly at your bottom lip as he forces two fingers back inside of you with the sheer strength of it knocking your hips into the mattress.

needless to say, ayato could recognize what you desired by touch alone, or by your delicate noises and lewd mewls, by the way your breathing would come and go the slightest bit higher, or how your feet would shuffle and thighs twitch as he leisurely pumps his digits all the way inside until he was knuckles deep in, taunting you breathlessly as each curl of his fingers pushing up were timed with his thrusts.

"just had to make sure, my love…" ayato coos, already sending the aching nerves in your body trembling with a mixture of reactions that you couldn't possibly hide, nor could it ever satiate him from examining you closer, so close in fact, that each twitch and flutter of your walls suckling in his fingers were memorized by him.

and it almost felt like a perverse sense of enjoyment when he watched you, helpless lust manifesting in your hips stuttering into his thrusts— his fingerpads moving across your velvety walls before he scissors you recklessly, the intrusion past the tightness of your entrance pressuring you with immediate pleasure in a league of its own.

your back arches off the bed as you crush your chest into his own, your erection nipples shattering over his chiseled muscles when your fingers tighten in his silken hair— a mind-shattering heat overwhelming your wet sex as you muster out only the softest, most angelic moan to the man you so utterly desired when you feel his lips suddenly press against your doused cheekbone,

"...so beautiful, you're so beautiful when you make such face for me." 

ayato places a soft kiss on you, taking his time and watching you, always watching you close, his eyes narrowed and fingers roaming in your swollen walls, "...because of me,"

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[satori-runa]

—24/7

Summary: In which Leon and you go on a nightly grocery shopping trip to satisfy your nightly carvings.

Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, slight comedy, ooc

Words: 0,6

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵�� ˚ ₊⊹

The faint squeak of the fridge door echoed in the quiet apartment. Leon stirred in bed, one eye barely fluttering open.

That old second-hand fridge really needed a bit of oil—he'd been telling himself that for weeks now. But instead of thinking about why it was making noise at this hour, his groggy brain just chalked it up to some dream-induced illusion.

Naturally, he closed his eyes again.

Then came the second sound—a soft groan, drawn-out and unmistakably disappointed. One he knew all too well. His hand instinctively patted the bed beside him, finding only warm sheets and an empty space. He learned about your nightly cravings early in the relationship.

"Lee!" your voice called, muffled by distance and a slight pout. "We're out of Fruit Loops! And there's no pudding left too!"

The light from the fridge cast a glow into the hallway, and Leon blinked toward it, watching your figure illuminated in soft blue hues. You stood there in his t-shirt, which was more like a short dress for you, hair messy, eyes squinting at the barren shelf in front of you like it had personally betrayed you.

Leon couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Even with a cute frown and messy hair, you were utterly adorable.

“Sorry, my love.” he mumbled as he walked over and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest. His hand gently cradled the back of your head, and you felt the warmth of a kiss pressed into your hair.

“Wanna grab some? Now you made me hungry too.”

That was a lie, Leon wasn’t hungry in the slightest. But he knew you. Once the craving hits, there’d be no sleeping. And if he didn’t offer, you’d feel guilty for even thinking about dragging him out. It was this typical back and forth. If he don't want to eat, then you wouldn't as well, claiming: “A meal tastes better if you eat it together.”

“Really?” you beamed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Midnight shopping spree?”

His soft nod sent a wave of warmth through your chest, and you stood on your tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his neck, still tasting a bit like sleep and love.

Minutes later, the two of you were out the door, bundled in pajamas and giggles, driving through quiet streets under blinking amber lights. Leon's jacket was draped over your shoulders to shield you from the chill, the sleeves far too long, swallowing your hands in warmth and the scent of him.

The 24/7 grocery store was nearly empty, echoing with late-night radio and fluorescent hums. Leon, ever the romantic, insisted on pushing you in a shopping cart while you cradled your coveted box of Fruit Loops like treasure. He tossed in your favorite snacks one by one, occasionally aiming a bag of chips or a chocolate bar straight into your lap, laughing when you scolded him through giggles.

Eventually, the mix of comfort, excitement, and his familiar scent lulled you to sleep, curled in the cart with your head resting on the cereal box. Leon glanced down, heart swelling at the sight of you so content, so peacefully knocked out in the middle of the snack aisle.

He carried both you and the groceries to the car, careful not to wake you, placing soft kisses on your temple before buckling you in.

When you awoke hours later, tucked into bed once more, it was Leon who stirred this time, his hand gently resting on your waist as he whispered against your ear:

“Love, we ran out of pudding. Again.”

[unintentionalseductress]

Oh my ! The thirsty list is delicious! 🔥

May I requested Nanami Kento and Fem!Reader Lingerie, please? >\\\\\\\\<

Thank you !

🐾

Hello! Thank you! I tried to make it extra yummy. Do you want paw prints to be your emoji?

Lingerie

--------

You fidgeted with the lingerie you were trying on, trying to pick one from the various sets that you had hung up inside the fitting room. They all left little to the imagination, tiny bits of lace and silk that were not meant to be on your body for too long. You wondered if Kento could help you narrow down your choices and the idea immediately makes your pussy wet, the thought of him joining you inside this stall.

You quickly text him and wait. You can hear shuffling from the fitting room next to yours as some unsuspecting occupant tries on something and the hustle and bustle inside the shop with the customers and staff. You jump slightly as there's a knock on the door, followed by a deep drawl. "Open up darling."

Trembling slightly with the excitement of how he'd react upon seeing you, you crack open the door just enough for him to slip in. He squeezes his broad body inside the fitting room and locks it with a click. His eyes roam over you, becoming positively feral as the small pieces of fabric work their magic.

He stalks you slowly until your back touches the wall and he reaches out to trace a finger against the swell of your breasts which pop up invitingly thanks to the bra you're wearing.

"You look good enough to eat." His head dips near your ear and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I wanted your opinion. Does this look good or oh..." A sigh leaves your mouth as he nips your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.

"It looks good. They all look good. But do you know what you look best in?" He presses little kisses to your jaw before sucking the pulse point in your neck. "Absolutely nothing."

"Kento wait." You try to move but his hands grip your hips and hold you in place, his intentions clear. "Which ones should I buy?"

"All of them. I'll give you my card. All I expect in return is..." His finger hooks into the lace neckline of your bra and pulls it down, freeing your breasts, nipples already pebbled from his proximity.

"Kento not here!" You say in a hushed squeak as he takes one of the peaks into his mouth to suckle. Pleasure fills your body as his clever mouth sucks and you let out a wanton moan and immediately cover your mouth, acutely aware there's someone in the next stall.

He chuckles before letting go with a wet plop. "Why not here? It's as good a place as any."

"Someone might hear us!"

"So?" Leisurely, his hand dips down to cup your mound, rubbing your clit through the fabric.

"Kento!" You're mortified, but so pathetically turned on. "I haven't bought these! They still need to scan it at the register!"

Pretending like he didn't hear you, he continues to rub circles on the bud, and your will crumbles. You try and fail to contain the moan that leaves your mouth and Kento grins at your reaction.

"That's it...cum for me. Let everyone here know you're not alone." The lewd words said so sinfully have you crashing, your climax hitting hard, the panties soaked with your arousal as your pussy spams gratifyingly from orgasm.

Without wasting a second, Kento spins you around and your front comes in contact with the wall as he pushes the crotch of the panties to the side and slides his cock into your wetness. You walls clench around him and he grunts, a low crunchy noise, as he starts rutting into you.

Your restraint snaps and you unashamedly moan out your desire, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing in the small space of the fitting room.

That's it...nice and loud. Let everyone know you're getting properly fucked." His hips stutter and he pants, slamming into you then with a moan, he empties his balls into you, his sticky cum filling your cunt. He pulls out and lets the panties slide back into place.

The panties were utterly ruined, you knew that as you took them off to put your clothes back on. "You realize I have to buy these now?"

"Of course my love. We already got our money's worth out of them after all. Besides," he adds with a wicked grin. "I can't wait to see you carrying that set to the checkout counter and handing them over to to be scanned while they're soaked with my cum."

He laughs as you flush red.

[moremaybank]

BREEDING — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, fingering, language/dirty talk

author's note happy first day of kinktober, lovelies! don't forget to like and reblog! ♡︎

kinktober masterlist ;; jj masterlist

⋆༺♱༻⋆

“Love this pussy. I love it. So wet and creamy and tight, princess. Can’t fuckin’ stop.” 

Looking down at where you two were joined, it was a sight that he marvelled at. Your pussy sucked him in tight despite how long he’d been inside you, hot and soaked and promising to stay that way just for him. His cock was drenched, coated in the creamy goodness of both your past releases. He’d been shooting his cum deep inside you for a while now, with no signs of stopping. It dripped out of you, creating a trail from your seeping entrance down to your ass, and then soaking the sheets beneath you. 

You leaned up onto your elbows, one hand snaking around the back of his neck so you could pull him into a searing kiss. He moaned into your mouth, tongue dancing with yours desperately as he tasted himself on you. When you pulled away, your fingers scratched at his scalp lightly before you tugged on his locks. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop until you’re fucking empty, J. Want it all."

He kissed you again, hard. Your words ignited a fire in him that he’d previously thought was starting to burn out due to his exhaustion. Somehow, thanks to you, his energy spiked and he started to move faster, guiding your legs tight around his waist to be closer to you. His hands slid down to your hips, using them as leverage while he pulled you toward him to meet his thrusts. 

“Pretty girl just wants to be filled ‘n covered with my cum, huh?” JJ taunted. His voice was fucked out, hoarse and breathy as he fucked into you deep. The tips of his blonde strands hung forward while his eyes roamed over you entirely. Your pretty tits bounced with the impact of his thrusts, the hand you had working at your clit. He reached your face, glowing and sticky from perspiration, your kiss-swollen lips parted, allowing your euphoric sounds to escape. The same ones that sent him into a trance and drove him to fulfill every single one of your wishes. 

“I wanna drown in it, daddy.” 

A low growl emitted from his lips.  “So fuckin’ dirty, baby. Gonna knock you up for sure, make you the prettiest mama on the island.”

“Yeah?” You asked. “You want everyone to know whose pussy this is?”

“Damn fuckin’ right. Whose is it, baby?” He smacked your hand away and thumbed at your clit while his eyes held yours in a locked gaze. “Tell me.” 

Your toes curled as warmth spread throughout your lower belly for the umpteenth time that night. “Yours, J.”

“Louder.”

“Yours!” Your brows pulled together, your head flung backward as JJ fucked into you with reckless abandon. Every last bit of him shoved into you, nudging your cervix harshly and stretching you out wide. Your stroke on his possessive side did wonders, allowing JJ to fuck you the way his carnal desires craved. His skin smacked against yours loudly, and he felt himself on the verge of his orgasm. “Gimme your cum, baby. Please.” 

“God, fuck!” His voice echoed off the walls as he released hot spurts inside of you, painting your walls with his cum again. The squelching noises oozing from your pussy sounded like heaven and felt even better as he slipped in and out of you, helping you reach your high. You clutched onto his length hard, milking him as you started to unravel. Your moans changed to cries as you dove headfirst over the edge. “That’s right. Take my fucking cum, baby. Take it. All of it.” 

He punctuated his orders with cruel, deep thrusts, going and going until he knew you’d come down from your orgasm. Slowly, he pulled out, still toying with your clit as he ducked down and buried his face in your pussy. His kisses granted you sloppy kisses over your puffy folds. 

“Show me,” he said. “Come on. Show daddy, baby. Show me how much cum that pretty pussy’s holding.” 

You pushed his cum out of you as per his request, feeling it seep out of you. His eyes shone with wonder as he let out an excited gasp. “Wow. Look at that. Pussy’s so good, baby. Held so much of me.” 

You let out a whine when you felt his fingers scooped up his release and pushed it back into you. His other hand ran up your body, cradling your cheek as his thumb swept across your skin. The action was soothing, trying to encourage you. “Can’t waste a drop, baby. Want you carryin’ my baby by the time I’m done with you.” 

“J, baby, I can’t.” 

“Shh.” His fingers abandoned your cunt, shoving themselves into your mouth to quiet your whimpers. He gripped the base of his cock, sliding his length up and down your core in a warning. His tip caught against your clit, causing your hips to jerk up. He then slotted himself back inside of you, sliding back inside of you with an easy glide. 

Though overstimulated, your pussy still clenched around him. You were still hazy, the effects of your last orgasm not having abandoned you yet. Your head slumped against the pillow beneath it, and you shivered when JJ started to move slowly.

“See? You’re still squeezin’ me, pretty girl. Know you can take it. Wanna give you more cum, let me give you more.” 

⋆༺♱༻⋆

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