#no scratch that - i know where it comes from and its wrong

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 3

Part 1_2

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

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It was less than two days after that dinner that I confronted my master during one of her working nights.

I went to visit her late, the deserted hallways and dim lights guiding me as I made my way to one of the meeting rooms where I knew she would go when she needed a place to concentrate.

I had been tossing and turning for a long time in bed. Time passed as usual, yet it felt as if I had a clock ticking over my head. I could hear the ticking of the seconds, a countdown that kept me awake, though I couldn’t understand its end or meaning. Or rather, I suspected what was tormenting me... no.

I knew.

That acidic feeling twisting my stomach was tied to all those memories that kept replaying in my head, sweet memories that I felt were inevitably becoming more and more tainted every day. I had decided that I needed to take a break, some distance, to grow. And if I couldn’t manage that, then it would be ridiculous to complain about something I wasn’t trying to change myself.

So, I gathered my courage.

As soon as I left my room, I realized that Vernestra was not there. In the shared living room, there were still signs of her passage, like some books piled on the table, the chair moved, and the lamp turned off and left near the rest. Just to be sure, I checked her bedroom, but my suspicions were confirmed when I saw the bed still perfectly made.

I went out after putting a cloak over my pajamas. I knew exactly where she was when she needed her space to work, so I took the stairs to the lower floors.

It was late at night, the moonlight outside lighting my path even though it was mostly clear, given the simple and empty hallways of the Jedi Temple. From a distance, I saw the orange light under the door that I recognized well. I knocked a couple of times before opening it, knowing that just as I expected to see her there, she knew that only I would come looking for her. And indeed, when I stepped into the room, she didn’t even lift her eyes to look at me.

She was sitting at the center of the large oval table, numerous papers spread before her, with some secondary, warm-toned lights illuminating the table's surface. I closed the door behind me using the Force as I approached, sitting on the opposite side from her, the cloak wrapped tightly around my waist, the hood over my head to shield me from the light evening breeze coming through the cracked windows.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked, breaking the silence that had surrounded us after a few minutes of my entrance.

Her eyes remained fixed on the papers she was reading and marking with a pen from time to time. I stared at her in silence, mesmerized by those simple gestures, the rough sound of the pen scratching the paper and the surface beneath it. I could have lived that moment for the rest of my life. In peace.

"I need to talk to you," I began after exhaling deeply. I pulled my feet onto the chair to hug my legs tightly, a cold I didn’t understand shaking me to the core. I don’t know if she noticed something was wrong or if it was just a natural reaction to my words, but she stopped writing to finally look me in the face, her expression furrowed, perhaps picking up on something in the few words I had spoken.

“Of course. Tell me, my padawan.”

I pursed my lips into a line before clearing my throat. I looked away for a moment before meeting her gaze again, Qimir’s name echoing in my mind, "I’d like to receive a mission away from the temple for a while. I need a change of scenery. I feel ready." That last sentence connected to what had happened some time ago when I had a breakdown in Qimir’s arms. We had agreed together that I would stay near the temple until I felt safe again. Even the missions we had done together had always been in safer, more controlled locations. But now, I needed that distance, even if I didn’t feel quite ready.

She placed the pen on the table, her posture now composed as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers slightly intertwined in front of her on the smooth surface. "Is that what’s making you so restless? I could feel you were agitated in your room."

Obviously, she understood that something was going on. It was impossible to pull the wool over her eyes in such a childish way. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you," I replied, buying myself a few moments to think.

She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on mine, making me uneasy. I could almost feel her thinking, as if she were trying to read my mind through my eyes. "Please. You know I would have come here anyway. It helps me focus. But, you haven't seemed at ease these days. I was hoping you’d come to talk to me when you felt ready, and now this is what you're asking me? Is there nothing else?"

We were both whispering, perhaps caught in the stillness of the quiet evening, yet her words hit me like a slap. Of course there was more, I wasn’t a good liar, or maybe the lie itself was too far-fetched to be believable. But I needed to distance myself from Qimir.

"I'm... suffocating here. I want to try and take that next step, even if... it scares me." I admitted, without revealing too much, pulling the fabric of my cloak tightly around my knees, curling into a cocoon on the chair.

There were a few more moments of silence before she lowered her gaze back to her papers. "Alright, you could actually help me with these senators. It’s nothing complicated—you’d mostly be there to reassure them. I can send you with Qimir if—" but I cut her off abruptly, my tone sharper. "No."

I realized my mistake, but it was too late to take it back. She looked at me, still hunched over the sheet she had picked up, then slowly set it down before leaning forward onto the table, her elbows on the surface, hands clasped together once again. "No to the mission? Or no to Qimir?"

She already knew the answer, I could hear it in her tone when she said his name, emphasizing and drawing out the letters. Whether she wanted me to admit it or not, it was obvious she had already figured it out. Their relationship hadn’t been great for a while now, and I knew that well. Still, she had never said anything bad about him in front of me, but now she seemed ready to point fingers.

"I... should go alone, right?" I didn’t feel up to voicing my doubts about Qimir. The guilt was eating me alive, and I didn’t think I had any right to accuse him of anything, but I also couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine in a relationship I was starting to feel trapped in. "It's not about Qimir. Really." I sounded like I was trying to convince myself more than her. "I want to take the next step. To move forward on my own."

I struggled to meet her gaze, preferring to focus on the slight fluttering of the papers scattered across the table, swaying at the corners with the light gusts that came rhythmically every few minutes. She, on the other hand, was seeking out my eyes with thinly veiled insistence. "And that's it? Nothing else to add? If something’s bothering you, you should tell me, padawan."

I nodded. "I need to move forward."

Long moments followed my words, as I lost myself in the light scratches on the table’s surface, and she remained still, her gaze fixed on me. "Okay. Then..." she finally moved, reaching for the datapad casually resting to the side. "Here." She placed the device in the center of the table in front of me. Moments later, a hologram of a planet appeared. "This is Ord Mantell. There are conflicts on the planet due to particularly violent political debates. They have no shortage of soldiers, and the Jedi haven’t been requested as assistance, but there’s a shortage of doctors and nurses. I’ve been organizing a potential team to send, and you could act as an assistant, helping out in the field."

I listened in silence, but with a light in my eyes that grew brighter with every word she said. I had always wanted to serve as a medic. I’d asked her countless times, even at the cost of falling behind on missions, a request she had always denied—until that night.

"Really?!" I squealed, more excited than I wanted to admit, and she nodded.

That was enough to distract me from Qimir, even more than I had imagined at first. I went to bed excited, but also a bit nervous, afraid that it was all just a dream or worse, a lie. But the next day, when I came out of the bedroom, everything was already prepared.

My bags, the transport, the mission details.

Everything.

I couldn’t help but notice the more pronounced bags under Vernestra's eyes, a sign that she had spent the entire night organizing my departure. I didn’t thank her verbally, knowing she wasn’t the type. A single glance was enough to show her how much I appreciated what she had done for me, and I knew from her smile that she had received the message.

It was still early morning when I got into the taxi that would take me to the spaceport where the rest of the team was waiting. I didn’t look back twice, caught up in the euphoria.

There wasn’t room to think about anything else.

From the first day I set foot there, I was already swamped with duties. The situation was truly tragic, between refugees and soldiers. Being there as part of the humanitarian aid meant we had the responsibility to help anyone in need, which in practice meant our base was completely packed in every corner.

The main hospital in one of the safe towns was the gathering point for all sorts of aliens—displaced children, homeless families, wounded of every kind. They were everywhere, crammed inside and outside the base where a tent camp had been set up for when there weren’t enough beds.

For the record, I don’t think I ever saw a bed free.

Once again, my expectations didn’t compare to reality. Sure, they teach you to be ready for anything, but reading or hearing about it was nothing like the real thing.

Maybe I was too young to be there. I wasn’t even the youngest, actually—I saw ten-year-olds helping as best they could, carrying medicine and tools to those who needed them. But there was a huge difference between us.

You could see the war and pain in their eyes. The galaxy had already marked them deeply, but me... I was weak.

I don’t know how many attempts it took me to get used to the pools of blood, the terrifying wounds of the soldiers, the cries of the families. It was all psychologically crushing, to the point that I even considered quitting.

Not the mission.

The Jedi.

I didn’t even have the stomach to help those in need. Was it really worth doing a humble job like a librarian or a caretaker?

Maybe they were better than me—they were there out of vocation, not to run away. I, on the other hand, wanted to flee.

Maybe being a Jedi wasn’t my path.

I stayed there for months. I told myself I’d talk to my master about my thoughts when I returned. Maybe it was too early to judge myself, maybe I really just needed time, maybe I needed to be forced through it. But... wasn’t that all wrong? The fact that I was in the middle of a war at such a young age. Inexperienced... alone.

I managed to make some friends, meet other Jedi, but I still felt a void.

I wanted to talk to my master about my doubts, but I didn’t want to worry her even more.

So, I called the one person I thought I was close to.

Qimir.

I felt uncomfortable calling him after disappearing for months without saying anything, but I believed he would understand. He knew better than I did the pace of our duties.

It was a particularly stressful evening that convinced me to call him. We had suffered many losses, and I had run away every single time. When the patients started gasping their final breaths, I froze, terrified. My hands would tremble, and I’d be pushed aside to make room for someone more capable.

I used to think death was quiet, yet all I kept hearing were breaths drowning in blood and bodies convulsing with unnatural, monstrous spasms, I would say.

I fled, leaving death behind, took a shower with the little freezing water that came from the showerhead, and threw myself into bed, but I couldn’t sleep.

I wanted to clear my head, but I had nowhere to escape to, so I thought of Qimir.

I needed him and his comfort.

So, I decided to call him.

He answered after a few minutes. I expected to see him looking sleepy, but what appeared before me was a very different image. He was wearing his usual tunic, his hair slick with sweat, his face dirty with soil.

"Look who’s shown up."

He smiled at me, but the warmth I was hoping for was nowhere to be found.

"Qimir... I didn’t mean to disturb you, but..." I pulled my legs to my chest, curled up on the bed, the blankets reaching my chin.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?" He interrupted, his voice low, hoarse.

"I... it was a last-minute thing. I talked to Vernestra and—"

He let out a laugh that cut off my words. "I bet. She wanted to get you away from me."

I looked at him, confused. My heart skipped a beat—something about the start of this conversation didn’t feel... right.

"What? No. It was something I had asked for and—"

"So, it was you who wanted to leave?" The question came out almost like a growl.

For some reason, I sat up on the mattress, something in the pit of my stomach making me feel uneasy.

"Qimir, what are you saying? Did... something happen?"

He stayed silent for a few minutes.

Something in his gaze was off... he seemed angry. Or maybe there was more to it—I could glimpse a sinister spark in his eyes.

"Vernestra didn’t tell you, did she? We’re at odds over you."

I remained silent, confused, trying to understand what he meant, and he took that as a cue to continue.

"I asked her to make you my padawan."

I wondered how long ago he had visited her,

"She refused."

I bit my lip, thinking. I wanted to try and lighten the conversation, but it didn’t seem possible. "Qimir... I... I don’t understand. I don’t know why you want me to—" I tried to speak slowly, searching for the right words, but a thud on the other end made me jump. "You don’t understand? Don’t you see? The bond between us? We’re meant for each other. You are mine." The icy expression he gave me took my breath away.

This... this wasn’t right.

"No, Qimir. You’re losing control. I want to help you, I’ll talk to Vernestra and—" another thud interrupted me. Wherever he was sitting, he suddenly stood up, his hands clenched into fists. Despite the small size of the hologram, I could still feel an aura... dark. Suffocating.

"I’m tired of hearing you mention her. She’s the one clouding your mind. I’ll deal with her, and I’ll show you who’s right."

He ended the call.

I sat there, mouth half-open, ready to say words I couldn’t even begin to form.

What was he doing? Why did everything seem worse now that I was away?

I wanted to call him back, but the thought made my hands tremble.

I wanted to call Vernestra, but I didn’t have the courage to say aloud what I was starting to suspect.

So, I wrote her a message.

A long message about Qimir and some of his behavior. I never explicitly mentioned his words—they were more suspicions and general doubts, not accusations.

Again, I was weak... I couldn’t accuse him of anything.

I sent it and got back under the covers.

I couldn’t sleep, and things got worse when I received a response in the middle of the night.

"Qimir has become dangerous to himself and others. Stay away from him. Don’t return to the temple until I tell you."

That was the last straw.

It was confirmation.

No need to say anything explicitly—she seemed to understand exactly what I was referring to.

I spent a long time reading and rereading that message, and the longer the minutes passed, the more a bad feeling weighed on me.

The Force seemed to speak through my nerves, a frightened voice telling me to move, to act before the worst could happen.

I didn’t think twice.

I got up on shaky feet and quickly packed a backpack with my essentials. There were only a few hours until dawn, and it was easy to find someone to ask for help among the other Jedi.

I didn’t say much, just that I wanted to speak to my master about the past few months. In less than three hours, I knew where to find her and was on a shuttle that would take me to the base in space where I’d board a small single-seater to reach my destination.

I ate some rations with trembling hands, spent hours in hyperspace, lost in my thoughts. I tried writing a message—actually, several messages to my master—but she didn’t seem to be responding.

So, in a panic, I wrote to Qimir, something casual asking where he was and what he was doing, but he didn’t answer either.

It could mean everything or nothing, but I was nervous. I needed to see her, to know more about what was happening between those two.

I reached the planet in the middle of the afternoon. It was mostly a research area, with a few peaceful towns, and miles of mountains and swamps. I landed in the town where I knew I would find her along with other Jedi. Nothing seemed familiar, but as soon as I introduced myself, I was warmly welcomed.

"Where can I find my master?" I asked.

The answer I received nearly gave me a heart attack.

"She’s up in the mountains, collecting more samples and traces. Why the rush, though? Not even two hours ago, Qimir was here asking about her as well."

I stammered some nonsense in reply and headed straight into the dense forest.

I didn’t realize that the directions, while accurate, were vague about the distance, and by the time I continued running, the sky had begun to darken.

I felt the Force calling out to me, screaming a warning—the sense that something terrible was about to happen. I wanted to believe I was just being paranoid, but I knew something was wrong.

I started to recognize traces on the ground—signs of digging, markings on the trees... and finally, the sound.

A man’s voice shouting.

I was exhausted from the running and the lack of sleep accumulating with each minute, but at last, I saw them.

They were at the edge of the forest, beyond a cliff that separated them from the other side of the woods.

"You abandoned me!" Qimir suddenly shouted, making me jump. Vernestra was staring at him intently without saying a word, her expression hard, her posture rigid.

"You’re losing your way. Surrender and let me help you."

At that moment, I noticed Qimir had his lightsaber in hand. As he moved to strike, I jumped out of the shadows, shouting his name.

Silence surrounded us.

Both of them realized my presence at that moment, looking at me in surprise.

Qimir whispered my name before taking a step toward me, his eyes wide. The coldness I had once recognized was now clear in his gaze. It terrified me.

Almost at the same time, Vernestra and I drew our lightsabers against him. I took a defensive stance, stepping back, my hands trembling.

"You’re pointing a weapon at me? After all the time we’ve spent together?" His voice was hoarse, low, almost a whisper that made me shake like a leaf.

"Qimir... please... you’re scaring me," I admitted, my eyes locked on his.

I don’t know if seconds or minutes passed, but his response was the final piece of that disaster.

"You’ve been deceived, just like I was, by Vernestra. But don’t worry, I’ll save you, my flower."

With a feline leap, he turned, his blue saber clashing with her purple one.

I stood there, frozen, watching them. I could barely recognize them, so angry with each other. The smiles, the jokes, the time spent together—it all seemed like it had never existed behind those furious eyes.

They fought relentlessly, without holding back. It was the first time I had ever seen two experienced Jedi in battle—fighting to survive a mortal duel.

I knew both of their combat styles well, as they had both trained me. I wanted to act, to move and help my master, but I didn’t have the courage. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of hurting Qimir or of the dangerous fight itself, but all I could do was watch, my mouth trembling.

I snapped out of my trance when I heard Qimir’s furious shout. "I will kill you!"

With a swift move, he struck her hard in the side, and without thinking, I rushed forward, putting myself between them and blocking his next blow.

"Qimir, please, no—" I managed to stop him again. My hands were shaking, and I was gripping my saber so tightly that my fingers hurt.

I pushed him back a few steps, my ears ringing, unable to sense my surroundings, too focused on him—on his rage-filled eyes, his furious strikes, the sound of our sabers clashing, too often close to my face, stealing the air from my lungs.

"Stay in your place, or I’ll teach you a lesson."

I blocked another strike, but I was naïve to think it would work again. With a precise slash, he cut my lightsaber in half, leaving me defenseless.

The crystal in the center of the hilt was shattered, now split into two pieces that I held in my hands.

Still in shock, I let my guard down, and he took the chance to throw me against a tree. I hit the ground, gasping in pain.

In front of me, Vernestra seemed to have recovered and reentered the battle.

The blow had stunned me, leaving my heart in my throat. I rubbed my eyes and got up to reach them.

Everything happened so fast.

A well-placed strike followed by a choked gasp.

I froze.

Vernestra fell to her knees, impaled by that blue saber, hers rolling across the ground toward me.

My ears were ringing.

It was as if my mind had gone blank.

Maybe it was survival instinct, or perhaps the shock I was feeling, but I moved without thinking.

Using the Force, I summoned her purple saber to me and, activating the whip, snapped it forcefully at Qimir’s back.

His scream of pain twisted my insides.

The look of shock and hatred in his eyes as he turned, losing his balance. Before he could move, I instinctively pushed him hard, away from Vernestra’s body.

Maybe I pushed him too hard.

When he stumbled back, finding himself at the edge of the cliff, he couldn’t regain his balance. The ground beneath him gave way, and he fell, staring at me—maybe scared, maybe betrayed.

The silence that followed was chilling.

I rushed toward Vernestra, but it was too late. Her body lay on the ground, her eyes wide open, empty, and the smell of burnt flesh filled my senses.

I wanted to lean over the edge, to see if Qimir was still alive, driven by the survival instinct that, now that everything was over, finally allowed me to recognize the danger.

No.

I didn’t move.

I remained on my knees in the dirt, a dull ringing in my ears that kept me from thinking.

And the lifeless body of my master, whom I had failed to save.

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE MAKE UP SEX — GOJO, TOJI, NANAMI

summary: you annoy your boyfriends, they annoy you, you fuck and all is well. that's the fic.

cw: afab!reader, dry humping with toji, gojo eats you out in the shower, nanami spanks you and fucks you against a wall so slay mdni. come for the smut, stay for the dialogue.

an: this was fun to write actually, I had a whole geto part written but I deleted it all so rip to that, I hope you enjoy. this is barely make up sex tbf its more, your boyfriends being bothersome and fucking you afterwards. not proofread so ignore mistakes pls

☆ GOJO

gojo satoru was an attention whore. you’ve always known that about your boyfriend – loved him for it even. the way he’d bask in the attention from you, his friends, even strangers on the street, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his name. which is you knew when you gave him the silent treatment, it annoyed him like crazy.

“baby please,” he whines, as another hour passes of you being completely silent, “i didn’t mean it.” 

you walk straight past him, trying to keep yourself busy. it was hard to ignore your boyfriend, he was just so lovable — but you had a point to prove. he was tailing behind you, not letting you out of his sight. he was like a small child, a puppy even, his lips pouty, eyes wide, begging for your attention. 

you head to the shower, since surely that's the one place you could continue your charade uninterrupted right? wrong. gojo is right there with you, simultaneously stripping down with a devious glint in his eyes. 

as soon as the shower water turns on, his hands are all over you, you’re just how he likes you — naked and wet. you try to suppress your moan, to stand your ground just a little longer, but it was getting hard with the way his fingers were separating your pussy lips. he lowers down to his knees, his hair brushing against your stomach as he tongue drags across your wet slit.

“you gonna talk to me now?” he mutters, the sound muffled as you push his head deeper into your sobbing cunt. he smirks, knowing that what he’s doing is working.

gojo’s tongue swirls across your clit, nipping at it. his hands work their way up your ass, gripping against it as he nuzzles his face further into your pussy. “f-fuck,” you sigh out, already cursing yourself from breaking your silence, but you just couldn’t help it. the feeling of him lapping at you was just too much for you to take.

“what was that baby?” he teases, looking up at you, his face drenched in both shower water and your pussy juices. your lips part slightly, the feeling of you about to cum getting overwhelmingly stronger. 

you head rests against the shower wall the water trailing down your tits, landing in gojos hair — making it easier for you to slide and tangle your hands in. he hikes one of your legs onto his shoulder, angling his tongue further into your pussy using the way you scratch and tug at his scalp to go even deeper.

you’re just about to cum, grinding yourself into his face, but just before you can — he pulls away. he stands up on his feet, giving you a peck on the lips, before exiting the shower — feeling satisfied.

“toru, i forgive you,” you call out of the shower, needing him right back in there to finish you off. you couldn’t even really remember what he did to annoy you in the first place, but you both proved your points. “you can come back now bae.”

he damn near twists his ankle running back into the shower, an eager smile on his lips as all he wanted was to hear you speak to him again — to hear you need him.

☆ TOJI

“you forgive me yet princess?” he says with a grin, pressing kisses to your neck. 

“move toji” you snip, half heartedly shrugging him off you. technically toji hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong, it was just one of those days where you were not in the mood — and toji just knew all the wrong buttons to push.

“is your period due or something?” he teases, laughing as you roll your eyes, “i could’ve got the paracetamol, all you had to do was ask?” 

“fuck off,” you retort but it had no real bite to it — you both knew that. 

“aww princess are you upset?” he continues to mock you, a prime example of toji getting on your nerves and enjoying the hell out of it.

“shut up,” you mumble, letting yourself be taken in by your boyfriend as he pulls you up onto his lap. he’s quick to rid you of your shirt, exposing your boobs, to which he grins at — amazed at the sight.

he pulls one of your tits in his mouth, sucking on it hard as his hand works on the other boob pinching at your nipples. “t-toji shit,” you gasp at the feeling of his tongue swirling against your hard nipple, his head resting on your shoulder as his mouth envelopes your tit.

you grind against his thigh, as he continues to suckle on you. his body moves with yours as your clothed cunt drives against his leg. his lips move from your tits to your mouth, pulling you into a deep kiss as his hands start to fondle your breast. 

“you really fucking yourself on my thigh, huh?” he smirks in between kisses, tugging on your tits harder, “i don’t even have to do much to get you off.”

“f-fuck,” you moan out, overwhelmed at the feeling of his hands playing your boobs and your pussy gaping trying to clench around nothing as you vigorously rub yourself against his thigh.

“y’gonna cum for me princess,” he teases, raising his leg up slightly causing more friction between your pussy and his thigh, “gonna make a mess in your panties for me?” you nod, your forehead resting against his as you moan against his lips, buckling against him as you cum. 

he gives you a final peck against your lips, satisfied in pleasing you. “you still mad?” he jokes, already knowing the answer. he lays his head on your chest, using your tits as a cushion, smiling in content as you stroke his head.

“shush,” you hum out with a smile.

“see i knew all you needed was to get your titties sucked.”

☆ NANAMI

“why are you such a slut sometimes?” nanami asks, roughly pushing you forward, your hands pressing flat against the wall. 

you had barely made it inside your house, before your husband had your dress hiked and panties off. you went out on your weekly date night, and tonight you decided just to rile your husband up a little bit more than usual. 

he spreads your legs, easily slotting in between them, freeing his dick out of his pants rubbing it against your wet folds. you liked it when he was like this. any time you had sex with him, it was great, but there were rare occasions when you just wanted him to be a bit more mean — and tonight was one of those nights.

“i’m sorry kento, i didn’t mean to,” you lie, if he could see your face he’d be able to see the pleased smile beaming off it.

“oh cut the shit,” he comments, as his dick slams into your pussy. you were soaked, watching the way he was jealous of the waiter you were ‘flirting’ with earlier, already had you feeling things, “i know what you’re up to.”

“and what is that?” you ask coyly, playing dumb — oblivious to the obvious.

“you’re trying to get me all riled up, so i can fuck your slutty little brains out, isn’t that right?” he asks, his dick hammering into you at an unforgiving pace. he was sliding in and out of easily, driving against your spot with every hit. his hands roughly grip against your hips to keep you in place. “and it’s working.”

nanami continues to drill into you, spanking your ass with hard, repetitive slaps as his hips meet yours. your mouth widens with every slap, the feeling of his large hand hitting against your ass cheeks causes you to moan loudly in pleasure.

“f-fuck kento, fuck me h-harder,” you gasp out, his hand moves from your ass coming under to flick your clit as he continues to pound into you. you were close, he could tell, but he wasn’t letting up with his relentless strokes. 

“are you sorry, baby?” he asks, his thumb still pressing on your clit, rubbing on it just as hard as he was fucking you, “tell me you’re sorry.”

“i’m sorry, i really am,” you mewl, feeling your hands slip against the wall as he drives into you hard, you body crumbling at the force.

“do you want me to cum inside this pretty pussy?” he asks already knowing the answer, his smirk growing as you nod, clearly drunk on his dick as it thrusts into you further.

“p-please, i need to cum,” you whine, practically begging as you throw your ass back on his dick, eager to cum. “let, me cum.”

“c’mon babe, cum all over my dick,” he growls in your ear, spraying your walls with his cum, grinning as you release all over him but he forces his dick back into you, plugging your pussy with both of your cum. “shit, that was great.’ 

he eventually pulls out of you, giving your ass a final slap, “y’know if you want me to fuck you like that again, you don’t have to flirt with a waiter for me to do that.”

an: so what do you think....??? dont use the dividers property of big emp

[dragonsholygrail]

Bite Me Baby

Werewolf bf x fem!reader— rough sex, clawing, marking, biting, brief mentions of blood, edging, aftercare

You had been nervous when you told your Werewolf bf that you were a vampire. You knew there were all those legends about your species being ancient rivals and even worse how some still believed in them. You knew your bf wasn’t like that and yet you were still nervous.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for his reaction. Instead of apprehension or worry, your Werewolf bf’s eyes flooded with lust. About the same time yours overflowed with alarm at the sight of it.

Further alarm moving through you when Werewolf bf jumps to tackle you down onto your bed. Inhaling deeply at your scent he can now pinpoint where he previously couldn’t before he nuzzles into the flesh there, adding his own scent to yours. Tiny growls leaving him as he does. You’re frozen, eyes wide, not knowing what to make of this reaction.

“Do you know how hard it’s been trying to hold back from taking you as roughly as I’ve wanted? Not wanting to break my pretty mates human body,” Werewolf bf snarls.

His hands move down your shape with a new fascination. His love for your body, perfect as it is, grows even deeper. He no longer bothers to be gentle, claws scratching down your form, fingers digging into your flesh, weight leaning on you. All to see how much you can take.

You moan, finally feeling his touch on a higher level than ever before now that neither of you have to hide or hold back any longer. “I want everything you can give me,” you beg.

Werewolf bf snarls, hands rushing to rid you of your clothing. Trying to be respectful but eventually using his claws to simply tear through what left you had on. You cry out, only getting more aroused by his intensified dominance.

“I expect you to bite back,” Werewolf bf snaps cheekily, a feral smirk on his face.

You go to bite back, so to speak, when Werewolf slams his long length inside you in one thrust, turning your words in a fierce shriek. All speech is immediately forgotten as your bf begins pounding into you. Sharp claws digging into your soft hips as he helps slam you down on his cock with his every movement.

Your body curls unnaturally in around his and he chuckles, watching how you squirm for him. Arms wrapping around his neck you bring his warm body closer to yours, allowing his cock to sink in even deeper inside you. Mirroring moans leave you both and Werewolf bf nips at your throat.

While sex with your Werewolf was naturally mindblowing and out of this world, the connection you two manage to reach now is nothing like you’ve ever felt. The pleasure not only coming from your bodies but also from your hearts. Nothing else standing between you two, both of you free to be yourselves and basking in the freedom of it. The acceptance you’re both met with continues to intensify the actions between you.

Suddenly remembing his words you nip back, but being a vampire your fangs naturally happen to sink in even deeper. A load roar echos throughout the room. Your bond with him forming as you mark him brings an indescribable ecstasy. Shocked from the noise you lean back, your fangs leaving with it.

The feeling suddenly fades and Werewolf bf snaps his hips even harder into your weeping pussy as it contracts around his length, eagerly searching to get that sensation back. Your jaw drops, your mind momentarily losing itself as you think about how good he’s fucking you and how addictive the feel of his cock is. Shaking your head of all other thoughts you force yourself to focus on your bf.

“My love, W-what’s wrong?” you pant out, rolling your hips and trying to keep up with his furious speed. Your body practically moving on its own as it subconsciously searches for him.

Werewolf bf merely grunts, brows furrowing as he searches for an explanation. The only conclusion he can come to is that you’re a vampire. Marking someone of his species must be different. Follow different rules and needed different steps.

But in the meantime… until those rules were followed and those steps were taken… you could mark him as many times as you wanted. It would fade as soon as your fangs left him and he’d get to feel that ecstasy once more.

Overcome with a newfound urgency, Werewolf bfs pace gets impossibly faster, making a complete mess out of you as your pussy gushes with arousal. His stamina only achievable due to his werewolf genes. Your bf shakes his head, huffing loudly as he moves.

“Nothing. Nothing. ‘So good, baby. So good. Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Werewolf bf snaps in desperation, tiny whimpers and whines leaving him.

Your hips arch as a gasp rips from your throat. Eyes widening you can see just how deeply you’re affecting him. Satisfaction swirls through your gut. Time and time again your Werewolf bf has managed to reduce you to nothing but weak noises one-word responses. Now the tables are turning and he’s finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

Truly wanting to make him pay, you clench your tight cunt down on his cock and watch as he howls, his eyes growing hazy. You lean up and lap at the drops of blood trickling down his neck. Werewolf bf begins to pant, his cock driving into you as a force of which only two supernaturals could ever withstand. Your bf’s hair stands on end and your body buzzes at the nerves he ignites within you.

“What? Want my fangs in your pretty little neck? Would you like my mark?” You whisper slowly in his ear, fang grazing the lobe.

Werewolf bf’s hips jolt forward, slamming into your cervix and you cry out, the pain mixing with the pleasure in an addictive fashion. You both hold onto each other, squeezing tightly. Using each other to ground yourselves against the friction of your bodies. Neither of you caring to be gentle any longer knowing you can take it as if you were made for each other.

And history called you enemies? When there has never been a match more perfect.

“Yes. F-fuck, please! Mark me. Over and over again until I pass out!” Your boyfriend growls out, his words barely audible through the rumbling animal noises leaving him.

Your eyes widen, having never heard your bf beg before. You start meeting his rabid thrusts with even more vigor and you come to the conclusion that you quite like it. Making your boyfriend a slobbering mess of a pup. With that realization you don’t waste another second before sinking your fangs back inside your Werewolf bf.

He howls his delight, a mix of growls and purrs leaving him as he feels the mating bond form between you. His cock twitches inside of you and he continues the relentless pounding of his hips. The combined sensations clashing together in a way that has him feeling like he can’t even breathe.

But then you remove your fangs and your bf exhales heavily. His mind growing more foggy, eyes growing more glassy, but his pace remaining just as brutal as ever. Never stopping in his pursuit to chase the pleasure he’s certain only you can give him.

Over and over the cycle continues. Sinking your fangs into your bf’s neck, letting the bond form, and then promptly removing them. You feeling the repetitive motion of the bond forming only to have it ripped away just at the precipice. Seeing the way it impacts your boyfriend adds to your already immense pleasure even if you can’t feel it the same way he does.

When you feel your Werewolf bf drooling onto your shoulder you know you have him right where you want him. Throwing your head back with a moan as your bf grinds his cock against the happy spot along your walls, you can see just how deep he is.

“Wanna cum, baby?” She ask through heavy breaths.

Your bf immediately whines, head nodding eagerly. You hadn’t been known he was waiting for your order but you can feel his knot swelling and pushing against your opening. All this too brings a deep satisfaction through your stomach and straight to your tingling messy core.

“Go then. Cum inside me and make me yours. It’s your turn to claim me.”

With those words it’s like your Werewolf bf returns to himself in a snap. With a ferocious roar he’s pulling his hips back and slamming his entire length inside of you. Forcing his knot into your puffy and sopping pussy. Your screams join his own as you two erupt together, your orgasms clashing into each other as you two cum at the same time. The world flashes white as you feel his hot semen splash along your walls, the waves of pleasure more than you can handle.

You both continue your steady rocking, riding out the waves of your ecstasy and prolonging it for as long as possible. His knot and your squeezing pussy keeping you both tightly together. Werewolf bf purrs lowly and nuzzles into your neck, touching as much of you as possible. You reciprocate without even realizing it. The closeness helping you both calm down from what you two experienced together.

The smooth glide of Werewolf bf’s wet nose rubbing along your nose has you humming in content. Adding to the feeling that you’re on cloud nine. A moment later your bf leans back and his content gaze mirrors your own as you look deep into each other’s eyes.

“The mark didn’t stick, did it?” He croaks out the question, his voice holding a tinge of sadness.

You angle your head and look down at his already healed neck. Not even a scar mark left behind. An ache settles in your chest as a sadness overcomes you as well. All it takes is the slow shake of your head to give him a proper answer and your bf lets out a long wolfy whine. He leans back down and nuzzles into your pulse point again.

“I’m going to mark you properly and I’m going to do it soon. Sooner now that I know you’re not human, my sneaky little mate,” your bf rumbles out. He can feel the heat of your blush as it runs up your neck and to your cheeks.

“Now I’ll be able to mark you back…” you whisper in his ear, trying to shake off your embarrassment for having foolishly been nervous to tell your bf the truth about your nature.

Werewolf boyfriend playfully snarls and snaps his jaw near your neck, earning an exaggerated gasp from you. But as your bf’s cock twitches inside your sore cunt, already prepared for another round, you’re not sure how playful that nip was.

You bare your neck to him and your bf instantly grows harder at your submission. Looking into his eyes you issue the challenge and he has no issues meeting it. More than ready to be the one to bite you this time.

[jilixthinker]

slowly to me

=͟͟͞♡ virgin!felix × noona!fem reader

=͟͟͞♡ bestfriends/roommates to lovers

word count: 7.4K

content warning: explicit sexual content, sub!felix, soft dom!noona reader, felix is a virgin, corruption kink if you squint, mutual masturbation, clit play, fingering, cock play, dirty talk, unprotected sex (as usual), creampie, they are clueless idiots in love.

a/c: i wanted to write this for the longest time and now i am kinda nervous sharing it because it feels more personal (?) and intimate than usual. hope you will enjoy it ♡

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

[00:17 AM] fefe 🧚‍♀️

noona 💙

are you awake?

please tell me you are

I can't find my keys 😪

i know it's late

don't hate me

You blink your eyes open a few times. The sound of your phone buzzing on your nightstand is insistent over the chattering noise coming from your laptop. You must have fallen asleep more than 30 minutes ago, considering that you are not familiar with the episode of the anime you are currently watching. Your fingers brush against the cover of your phone and you finally grab it with a sleepy grunt. When you unlock it, not without typing the wrong code twice, you notice that your chat with Felix is already open, a few notifications popping on the screen.

[00:18 AM] fefe 🧚‍♀️

noona 😪😪

[00:18 AM] you

where are you now

[00:18 AM] fefe 🧚‍♀️

outside 😪

noona, my savior

my only light in the darkness 💙

You force yourself to sit on the bed as you yawn. When you read the last text, you chuckle despite of how sleepy you feel. It's a little bit late to be coming back home, even for Felix, but you don't mind. Felix usually stays awake till dawn, always prone to chat and watch tv series together whenever you cannot sleep. You help each other in your own ways, yours being the responsible counterpart in your household.

You find your slippers with your feet and you finally stand up, heading outside of your room and to the corridor. It's pretty warm already this time of year, and you don't even bother putting on something over your light pajamas. It's just Felix anyway, he did see you at your worst so many times that you cannot even remember.

When you open the door, Felix is fighting with the zipper of his denim jacket. He is dressed casually, almost as if he didn't put any effort on what he was going to wear. A pink hoodie is picking out from his black slacks, and his hair is styled in a messy bun, a few locks escaping from the hair tie and covering his eyes.

"Noona, I owe you." he huffs, offering you a toothy smile as soon as you let him in.

"Don't mention it. I don't even have plans for tomorrow morning, I can just sleep in." you yawn in response, plopping on the couch and closing your eyes again.

Felix hums and throws his jacket on the nearest chair of your shared living room before letting himself fall next to you, face immediately finding its favorite place into the crook of your neck.

"How was your date?" you ask him, circling his shoulders with your arm and letting him scooch closer to you.

You feel his cold nose nuzzling against your collarbones and you chuckle, bringing your hand to the top of his head and starting to untie the loose bun. Felix puffs and you can hear his lips curving into a small pout.

"As always." he mumbles. "He was cute. Funny. He paid for my order."

You nod, and your fingers find their way up to his scalp, scratching it lightly and pulling a soft grunt out of his lips. "But..." you add, waiting for the inevitable epilogue.

"But..." he shifts from his position to lay down with his face on your lap. "- I felt nothing. He was very handsome, and smart. He was nice. I could tell he would make a great boyfriend. But I just looked at him and... I couldn't see myself kissing him, or touching him. It felt like looking at a nice painting, you know? I don’t know what is wrong with me."

"Nothing is wrong with you, Lix." you murmur in the dark. Your thumb moves from his soft locks and start circling the plump skin of his cheek. Felix huffs again and rubs his nose against your lower stomach. He does it often, and it makes him look like a small kitten looking for some comfort. Your heart always sinks at that.

"I am serious." you continue. "Feelings cannot be controlled. It's not your fault if you didn't feel attracted to him. Maybe he just wasn't the one."

Felix looks at you from his position, his big pleading eyes are a little tired.

"And who will be the one, noona? I am 23 and I didn't find a single person yet. I didn't even... you know." Felix lets out a sarcastic chuckle. "Can you tell how hard is it to reach this age without experimenting with anyone? I feel left out."

"Does it bother you so much? Being a virgin?" you ask him. Felix and you are used to talk a lot about everything without any sort of embarassment, but he only mentioned the topic of his inexperience a few times in your many years of friendship.

You didn't believe him at first. Felix was... Felix. The most precious human being on earth, smart and kind, generous and funny, witty and reliable. Your bestfriend, your proclaimed soulmate, and the prettiest person you've ever seen. Him being a virgin sounded like a joke to you. He confessed it when he was 18 at the time, and he was a little tipsy after a few bottles of beers you two had shared after moving into your new apartment. You could tell it was an uncomfortable topic for him, and you never asked him again. You just told him that he was young, and that the situation would change quickly in the following months.

But years passed, five to be exact. And Felix didn't have sex with anyone. He finished college, started working and met people, he started dating even, but as soon as the people he was seeing asked him for something more, he shut everything down and disappeared from their lives.

"It does bother me, yes." he answers quietly. "Because I am not afraid of intimacy itself. I just... don't feel the right attraction. I want to, but I can't. All these pretty boys I met, and the furthest I've gone is kissing. I don't know what to do, noona."

Felix shudders and you pull him closer to you. His voice is almost a whisper and his breathing is getting a little heavy. Your fingers go back to stroke through his hair gently, as you try to calm him down.

"Have you considered dating girls?" you ask him. "You told me you felt more comfortable with them."

Felix's arms circle your waist as he hugs you tight. He looks at you intently with a shy smile. He looks so tiny all curled up like this.

"I do love girls. More than boys actually. I thought about that a lot." He murmurs as he pulls you so close that your stomach is pressed completely against his cheek. "But I feel shy around them. I cannot help but thinking that I would mess everything up. With boys... it would be easier. I know how a male body works. But I have no clue on how to, uh —"

You chuckle at his words and you lean forward to pinch at his nose, amused by his reaction. "How to touch them?" you smile at him.

Felix laughs and lets out a breathless sigh. He pulls away slightly, though keeping his eyes locked on you. You can see a light blush appearing on the apples of his cheeks.

"Uhm, yes. That." His voice is still playful, but you can hear the nervousness in his breath as well. "You know I have never kissed a girl before. Just boys. Uh–, I know nothing, noona." he exhales.

You scrunch your nose and you let yourself relax against the sofa behind you. Felix's arms are still linked tightly around your waist. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Lix," you breathe out. "Human nature will do its thing. When you'll find yourself in that situation, your body will know what to do."

"I'm not so sure." he murmurs, starting to rub his nose against your hipbone, sniffing at the fabric like he always does when he is feeling a little overwhelmed.

Your hand finds its way toward the back of his neck and you apply a slight pressure on the skin there. Felix lets out a shaky breath.

"You will see. With the right person, you won't feel uncomfortable at all. It's normal to don't know stuff, you know. We've all been there. And each body, each person, is different. You can figure things out along the way, by asking and learning." You try to reassure him. "It's not a performance. You should just focus on feeling good and let the other person feel good too. I promise it's not so complicated as you think."

Felix hums quietly and a mellow silence falls around you. The room is still dark, it should be around 1 a.m. now, but a beam of moonlight shines through the window, reflecting small glimpses of silver upon Felix's hair.

Felix feels small and soft on your lap. He is still hugging you, and you know him enough to sense that he is restraining himself somehow. You can feel the distress in the way his tiny hands are fisting the cotton of your pajamas around your waist.

"Lixie, sweetheart..." you murmur, voice little higher than a sigh. Felix holds tighter on you, as if he is scared of you running away. As if you could.

The fact is that you love Felix. You always did, in a way. You cannot tell exactly when you fell in love with him, but it happened sometime between your last year of highschool and your freshman year of college. You remember Felix grabbing your hand when you graduated in summer, sweat under your dress from being exposed to the hot sun, waiting for your speech. You remember him intertwining your fingers and smiling at you with devoted eyes when he helped you moving in your new dormitory. You remember him wetting your shoulder with warm tears because you were going to be separated from each other for the first time. And, oh. At a certain point you just knew.

You never talked about that, of course. You didn't think you needed to. Things between you were perfect already, and you were happy you've managed to slip neatly into your routine. Felix needs you in a way nobody else can comprehend. And you need him too, in a slight different way. And it's okay, you've always been good at managing your own feelings.

"Noona..." he answers timidly.

"What are you thinking about? I can hear the sound of your brain working no stop." you shrug, looking at him. The moonlight looks the ideal light to admire him, you find yourself admitting.

Felix looks over at you, his lips upturned with a reluctant smile. "It's just... I don't think I will ever find this person." he sighs softly.

"Why so? I cannot imagine anyone who wouldn't want to be with you. You are perfect." you say, eyes jumping down to Felix's delicate frame. His button nose covered in freckles scrunches a bit over the line of his plump lips. They look moist. They must be soft.

From his gaze, you can see that your words are the last thing Felix was expecting to hear from you. "Because–" he stutters while the pressure of his hands on you becomes almost too much, "–there is already... ugh, nevermind."

The silence that follows his semi-confession is heavy on you. You freeze at the admission, and you can tell from his eyes that he didn't mean to let that slip. That's it – you think – there is someone. Someone who Felix cares about, maybe that he even loves, and that is keeping him from living his life freely. Someone who apparently doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, given that Felix is trying to see other people and complaining about them with you.

Fuck, that hurts. You could have seen it coming, but it still hurts.

You open your mouth to formulate any sort of coherent words of encouragement that you can master, but Felix decides to move from his position at the same time you shift on the sofa to look at him. The impact of your bodies gives gravity a push, and you both go down with a loud humph, landing on the couch with your limbs all entangled. Felix groans as his back collides with the leather, and you open your eyes to check up on him, only to stop as soon as you realize how close you are to each other.

His lean and warm body is all pressed up against the cushions, and suddenly any trace of stoicism has fled the situation. You don't even remember what you were going to say, to be honest. All you are conscious of is Felix's body and the way his eyes are looking at you, making you flush with an unknown tenderness. You take a deep breath and the realization that you can feel his parted thighs caging your hips and his arms pawing at your shirt hits you hard. And maybe it's the late hour, maybe it's because you've spent the last hour talking your hearts out – and the last years repressing your feelings –, or maybe it's because Felix looks so vulnerable like this.

Whatever it is, instead of laughing everything off and move from this awkward position, you keep looking at him as some strands of hair fall onto his forehead and his breathing gets a little quicker. You find yourself thinking that maybe this is the most beautiful Felix has ever looked.

"Noona." he murmurs, and you can feel how the air shifts around you. His make-up is a little bit smudged around his eyes, you notice, and you lift your hand to rub at the corner of his eyelid with your finger. Felix trembles lightly as you touch him, and desire tugs at you, pushing you towards a path that you know is not wise.

"Noona–" he breathes out again, this time not much louder than a whisper. "I want to try something."

"Felix," you say unsteadily as Felix's hand grabs at your pajamas a little more firmly. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why so?" he asks, voice all tiny, shifting closer to you anyway. Everytime you try to look away from his lips it's like your eyes have been glued in place. "You said that with the right person it wouldn't feel uncomfortable. I– you.. I don't feel uncomfortable with you."

You sigh at his words. You are sure there is almost a thousand reasons why you shouldn't be doing this. First of all, Felix doesn’t love you. Not the way you do, at least. And he is hurting now, he is sad. He is not in the conditions of taking such a decision. But you can hardly manage a coherent thought right now, with him being this close to you.

He doesn't like you back, you cannot do this.

"Felix, I am honored that you trust me this much. I really am." you manage, but your voice sounds faint. "But this is not the right thing to do now. You don't want it to happen this way."

At that, Felix pauses and looks at you. He bites his lip, as if he was looking for the right words, and his eyes looks different, almost watery. "Don't you..." he stutters, "am I not good enough?"

You blink in confusion and a thick layer of guilt fills your stomach to the brim. You hate seeing Felix in distress, you cannot stand the way his timid smile leaves his face. You would give him the moon if that would make him happy.

"Oh no, Felix, sweetheart," you confess, bringing your hand to cup his cheek. The freckled skin feels soft and warm under your fingers. "this is not what I meant. I just– fuck," you swear in protest. "I just don't think I am the right choice. You deserve the right person for this."

Felix’s gaze fractures and he suddenly lets out the tiniest sigh, a pleading look framing his delicate traits. He turns his face to the left, leaning on your touch and he rubs his nose on the palm of your hand.

"Noona, you are not the right person. You are my person." He shyly admits, voice muffled on your skin. "But I can understand if you don't want this. If you don't want me the way I do. I am sorry for bringing this out, I should have kept that for myself."

You freeze, guilt becoming dread and pooling on your stomach. Oblivious to any of this, Felix gives you a small, sad smile and continues, "I tried to ignore it, believe me, I did. I kept myself from feeling this much because I knew it wasn't the same for you. But I can't help it, noona. I started seeing other people in the hope that it would eventually fade away. But it didn't. And now I am making a fool out of myself." Felix looks over at you and his smile is not the one you are used to see on his face. "Sorry for ruining everything," he sighs, "I just love you."

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

You feel a fist of air being pushed out of your lungs like a truck. Felix's eyes are big and sweet, and a single tear escapes from his lashes to roll down the apple of his cheek. You fucked up. You fucked up so bad. You misunderstood everything. Guilt nestles in your chest like a stone, scraping at your heart.

"Felix," you say, your voice sounding foreign and groggy, "Felix. You love me? You love me?"

Felix's eyes jump down to your lips just for a second, and then back at you. He sniffs as he brings his free hand to his face, rubbing the tear away. "I do." he admits. "I really do."

The truth in his tone has you let out an inaudible gasp. Then, in the span of a second, just the time of a blink, everything changes.

"Say it again." You whisper as your eyes lock into Felix's. And then Felix opens his mouth, just barely, and his muttered words stay still on the tip of his tongue.

"Say it." You repeat as your thumb shifts, stroking slowly along his jaw and down to his chin. "Wanna hear it again."

Felix blinks, and he looks like he can't come up with something to say at all. "Noona, what are you, uh–" he gasps when your fingers catch his bottom lip, pinching it a little to enjoy its softness.

"Lix, sweetheart..." you whisper, letting your face fall slowly down to his neck. The insides of your tighs press against the outside of Felix's as to trap him there. "You want me, uh? You love me?" you tease him, your hand coming up to steady him by the chin, keeping him still while your mouth finally founds the tender skin of his neck and you place a single peck under his earlobe. "I wanna hear you saying it."

A weak whimper makes itself known at the bottom of Felix's throat when you angle your head to the side and leave a humid trail of kisses all along the column of his neck. "Noona, I... why are you – ah – why are you doing t-this?" he mutters with a sigh.

You grin against his skin at the sound of his affected voice, and you nose at his chin blowing another tiny peck there. "Just say it." You repeat.

Felix's eyes are semiclosed now, but his pupils are wide and dark, and your grip on his jaw tightens a bit. Just another wet kiss on his Adam's apple is sufficient to convince him to give you what you're asking for. "I want you." He grumbles as his legs start to tremble under your weight. "I love you." He breathes.

And that's it. Felix doesn’t have the time to even realize what is going on before you are pressing down with purpose, your lips firm against his and your hands buried in his hair as he lets out a tiny sob. His mouth is cherry red and sweet, and your lips slid against it, applying just the right amount of pressure to have him melting against the couch. The kiss feels almost electric, and the low groan Felix exhales bubbles up into the back of your throat.

Felix is soft, and his body becomes malleable and pliant beneath your touch as soon as he clings onto you with fervent hands, a little desperate to keep hold of how good he is feeling. He moans beautifully every time your lips detach from his to catch some breath, and his fingers find your face too, curling against your cheeks and keeping you close to him.

As soon as your tongue licks languidly at his bottom lip, his mouth opens up to let the warm muscle slip into his mouth with a low grunt. You can feel that Felix is not experienced in the way he is unable to do anything but tremble with pleasure in the bracket of your arms as your lips glide against his, slick and wet. He lets out another whimper when your tongue licks at the roof of his mouth and your head feels dizzy and heavy with desire.

You cannot remember the last time you felt this good and this right, to be honest. Felix’s confession is still lingering in your brain as your hips press against his in a swift movement, coaxing a soft moan out of the boy under you. You smile in the kiss, feeling as if everything in the universe is finally in its designed place and, at the same time, all condensed in the way the two of you are wrapped up in each other so tightly that you can’t keep track of where one of you starts and ends.

Reluctanly, you force yourself to separate from Felix's tender mouth just a few millimiters. "Lix, baby," you whisper lovingly on his lips. "You have no idea how long I wanted to do this."

"Y-you wanted this?" he pants, parting his legs more and allowing you to slot your body inbetween of them. His breath is sticky and hot and you feel yourself getting restless on top of him.

"Sweetheart. You have no idea how much I love you. How much I want you." You confess.

"But... but you've never–" he stutters under your gaze. "Oh God, don't tell me we've been this stupid!"

You chuckle and nod slowly. "Apparently, yes, we have been." You smile, and your chest is so full of fondness and love that it's hard to breathe. "And we wasted a lot of time. But at least we're here now."

Felix nods timidly and you lean in again, this time just kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin under his chin. You move closer to Felix's ear and then back towards his jaw. He starts to breathe harder, hands clutching the shirt of your pajamas, and his thumb brushes against the hardened nub of your nipple, making you hiss quietly.

Felix moans when you start licking at his lips again.

"Good?" you ask, smiling against his skin.

Felix nods. "Yeah. Y-you can keep going."

You comply, because you could never deny anything to him. You softly suck his upper lip between your teeth and let it go with a loud pop. Then you move to his neck again, and you bite him carefully a few times until Felix starts to squirm beneath you. The thought that you are the first person, the first woman, doing this to him has heat rushing to your face and you wonders if Felix wants to do more, or if he wants to keep things over the clothes. You are okay waiting. You've waited for years.

"Can I… can I ask you something?" he stutters when your hands find his hips and you start caressing them in tiny circles.

"Of course, Lix. You can ask me anything." you reassure him, rising your head from the crook of his neck and looking at him fondly.

"You know what we were talking about before," he breathes shyly, eyes big and teary. "I wasn't able to do anything with all the people I dated because... they were not you," he admits. "and – uh, I don't know how to say this. It's embarassing."

Felix sighs as he tries to hide his face behind his hands, but you stop him by grabbing his wrists.

"Do you want to try? Now?" you ask calmly, ignoring the burning lava that is flooding into your veins at the thought of having Felix like that, just for you.

Felix nods again, all soft and timid. "I wanna try. With you." He mutters as his hips buck involuntarily against yours for the first time. And that's when you notice that Felix is hard under you, cock stirring to life when you grind down into him as a response to his movement. "B-but I don't know anything, noona. You have to show me."

You hover your face over Felix's for a moment, searching something into his eyes before diving in again for a kiss. Felix hums languidly against you and you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it before letting it go slowly, teeth dragging. Felix groans deep in his chest and you can feel the vibrations go straight to your pussy. Then the realization that you are finally doing it hits you.

You. And Felix.

I need to stay focused, you think when you start feeling your head becoming too clouded with desire. Felix feels so tender and warm against you, and it's difficult to concentrate when your arousal begins to pool in your panties, just a few layers of fabric separating your core from Felix's poor neglected cock. The kisses get sloppier but Felix doesn’t seem to mind, and you quickly find a rhythm between the movements of your lips and the gentle rocking of your body against his.

"What do you want to do, sweetheart? You can tell me." You hum as your mouth latches again onto the spot between Felix's neck and shoulder, sucking and then soothing the skin with your tongue.

"Ah, fuck…" Felix curses when your hand finally trails down his chest and lightly grazes his cock from over his pants. He feels sensitive and overwhelmed in the best way possible, and he feels like he is losing his mind already. "W-want to touch you, noona, please. Please, I've been wanting to touch you forever."

A tiny moan escapes from your parted lips at Felix's confession and you are pretty sure that your panties are now ruined for good. You can feel the hot stickiness gluing them to your entrance.

"Okay, baby." You sigh, shifting your weight in order to lift your hips a little from Felix's body. "You can touch me. I'll show you how. Is that what you want?"

Felix pants and his fists close again on your shirt as if he's trying to steady himself. "Y-yes please. Show me." He answers, and he looks completely blissed out, hair as a messy crown around his beautiful face.

"Okay." You concede, gathering all of your weight on your right arm to pull down both your pajamas shorts and underwear with just one quick motion, air finally hitting pungently the heath of your pussy.

Felix gulps and you see his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously as he stares at the way a sticky string of slick is connecting your entrance to the cotton of your panties. You feel your core pulsing at the sight and you let the garnments fall on the ground, climbing back to Felix's body and straddling his lap.

Felix looks up to you, but his eyes keep flicking back between your face and the mound of your pussy, and you try to thrust gently against the hard fabric of his jeans, just over his hardened erection. When you rock your hips tentatively on his bulge, your clit gets caught on the cold metal of his belt, making you hiss. Your pussy throbs, releasing a gush of arousal over where Felix's cockhead should be.

"Lixie, baby." You breathe out. "Noona needs your hand for this."

Felix cheeks are as red as cherries and he hiccups at your request, nodding twice and pliantly offering you his right hand. He places it just near your thigh, not daring to get any closer to your heath without any given permission.

You smile softly at him and you wrap your thumb and index around his wrist, bringing his palm to the front of your pussy and letting it brush against the hood of your clit for just a second. "I guess you watched porn before, uh, baby?" you ask him grinding gently on his hand. "I think you know a bit about female anatomy already."

Felix sighs and a wanton moan rises from his throat when he feels your engorged clit bumping against his skin. "Y-yes, I have." He blushes.

You laugh breathily at his shyness and you let his hand slide past your front to eventually press on your labia, guiding his slim fingers to spread the wetness gushing from your hole.

"Usually I prefer to be stimulated here," you say, nudging the pad of his thumb against your sensitive bud. "In little circles." and you move your hand in tandem with him, circling your clit and trembling a little from his insecure touch. Another spurt of arousal drips from your pussy and coaxes Felix's fingers, making him moan.

"But now I want it inside." Your voice is sickengly sweet, and Felix looks like he is one step away from hyperventilating. His teeth dig on his bottom lip and he sighs in pleasure.

"Please," he whines. "Please, let me."

You roll your hips so that the tips of his fingers catch your entrance, and suddenly you sink down in just one motion. His middle and ring finger meet you halfway, and he watches your face in adoration as the two digits push into you. You let out a small whimper when his palm finds your mound again, and you finally sit on him fully.

"Ah – noona. G-god." He keens as he feels his fingers being wrapped up with your warmth.

You lift up from him, desperate for some friction, your hand still grabbing his wrist to guide him and help him. "Baby, fuck, finally." You grunt as your hips swing forward and back to create a sort of rhythm. "Wanted you like this for the longest time, you have no idea."

Felix mewls as he hears the squelching sound of his hand against your throbbing cunt. The schlick schlick is filthy and loud, and his head starts spinning. "Noona, you are so soft, so warm. Fuck, why are you so wet?" He cries, eyes big and round and locked at the way your pussy is engulfing a part of himself.

The drag of his fingers makes your head floaty and you grind further down onto his knuckles, the stretch making you want more and more.

"That's how it's supposed to be with a woman, sweetheart. We are programmed to take." You chuckle breathily as you slowly but steadily fuck yourself onto Felix's fingers. "But you are too, right? My sweet boy. You are just taking what I am giving to you, isn't it?"

Felix moans and his pads involuntarily curl upwards, brushing against your gummy spot as his head falls back, deep groans tumbling out of his parted lips. "Ah – too wet noona, too wet. I wanna, w-wanna..."

"What? What do you want, baby? Tell me, I wanna hear." You sound rightfully out of breath while you fuck mercilessly Felix's digits and you flood his hand with your juices. You shift forward to kiss him on the mouth and his palm finds your clit again, sending jolts of pleasure through your spine.

"Wanna... w-wanna be with you. Please, noona, I've waited. I need – oh, God – I need you fully. I l-love you so much, I always wanted it to be with you." He sighs against your mouth before you can slot your lips together and lace your tongue on his, sucking the wet muscle slowly until Felix is reduced as a squirming mess under you.

"Oh my sweet boy, my angel," you praise him as you try to slow down your movements. If you keep going with this pace you will cum too soon, and you want to finish together with Felix for your first time.

Felix follows your mouth and with his free hand he timidly brushes your left breast, staring at the way it bounces with every thrust of your hips on his hand. It looks mesmerized by the way your body moves and gets wet over him, preparing itself to welcome him inside even if he doesn't properly know what to do.

With a low grunt, you force yourself to stop your thrusts and you peck Felix on his tumid, soft lips. His hand falls uselessly on his hip while you balance your body on his waist to finally get rid of your last piece of clothing, throwing the filmsy shirt of your pajamas away.

Felix looks at your naked body as he if he was admiring a painting and, despite of your confidence, you find yourself blushing a little under his devoted gaze. You dreamt about this moment so much, pondering that it would never come, and now it feels almost surreal to have Felix all for you as you always wanted.

"I love you, Felix." You whisper lovingly, a tear stuck on the corner of your eye. "I love you so much."

And Felix beams. His eyes, watery with pleasure, lit up and bring a smile to his beautiful face, the face that you wished you could caress and claim as yours for so many years. "I am yours, noona. Please, make me yours." He murmurs softly.

You kiss him again, and it's hungrier this time, even more than the kisses you already shared. And then the kissing melts into licking, and then into biting, until Felix's hand finds your waist and then falls to cup your ass.

"I need you out of these clothes in 10 seconds." You mutter with a breathy sound, and Felix is fervent to obey, quickly getting rid of his pants and underwear and throwing his pink hoodie away, far from you.

When you crawl back into his lap, Felix is sitting on the couch. You find your place on his legs, straddling him until you are face to face and you can hear the sweet sound of his erratic breathing against your ear.

"I want to do it like this." You breathe out, gently nipping at his lips and then placing a small kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Wanna see you."

Felix sighs and his aching cock, now finally free from the constriction of his pants, throbs against your lower belly, spurting a gush of precum which dribbles into your navel. "I can't believe this is really happening." He hiccups, pleasure making his head feel dizzy.

You smile fondly. "Me neither." And you bring your hand down, resting your hot palm over his shaft and giving pressure until you are dragging the skin of his cock up and down. Felix melts with a breathy mewl.

Felix has a perfect cock, you think, and then you say it out loud. "You have a perfect cock, baby."

Felix gasps and he throws his head back, hitting the cushion of the couch. You can see that his face is flushed with arousal and embarassment, and that makes you feel lightheaded.

"So perfect," you continue, playing with your fingers and bringing your thumb to the engorged tip, smearing the thick droplets of precum all along his aching muscle until you graze his balls. "Perfect size, perfect girth, perfect color. You know how pretty your cock is, baby? Not too long, but chubby. I love it."

"Noona," Felix sighs painfully, thighs parting under your weight to give you more space. He looks fucked up, and you barely touched him.

"I want to play with it forever," you say, picking up your pace and jerking him fully. "And I will do it. I will touch this sweet cock all day long, making it cum so many times, making it feel so so so good."

"Please, please, please." Felix keens and throbs again on your hand, now hard as a rock and trying to stay as still as he can.

"It looks so tasty, too. Wanna slurp it in one bite." You whisper as you swirl your index on the slit of his cockhead and Felix lets out the sweetest groan you could imagine. It's so easy to pleasure him, and he responds to you so well.

"But not now," you reassure him. "Now I need you inside of me. Need you as deep as you can. Need you to be mine."

Felix forces his eyes open and his hands grip into the underside of your thighs, bringing you closer to him. You cross your arms behind his neck, slotting your lips together once again because you just can't get enough of Felix's breathy moans as you bring him to the edge with you.

"Noona, I don't, ah– I don't have a condom." He urges to tell you when you circle your hips against him and his tip catches the entrance of your pussy.

"We don't need a condom. I am on the pill, and I am clean." You pull away to mouth at Felix's neck, and you suck at the column until you are gliding your mouth over his Adam's apple. "And you are too, obviously. Don't worry about that, sweetheart. I need to feel you all hard and raw inside of me."

You kiss Felix again, breaths coming out in restless wisps, hips frantic. "Can you take it?" you ask against his lips, your right hand gripping Felix's wet cock. Felix nods, gulping loudly. With your arm reached behind you and your head dipped forward, you slap the tip against your cunt, eyes never leaving his face.

Felix swallows, and you can feel his heart racing as you nudge his cockhead against your heath, pussy clenching and unclenching for pleasure. You look at him in the eyes for one last time, and then you sink.

When Felix's tip breeches, you whimper at the stretch with you head lolled to the side. You push your hips down, taking Felix's chubby cock slowly until you’re seated on it. And, with his cock fully inside, Felix groans and tears finally spill from his eyes, wetting his cheeks and rolling down to his chin.

"Ah– oh, God, please! P-ple eh e-ease." He cries as he grips your hips so tight that he is gonna leave marks.

"Easy, baby. Easy." You pant, eyes rolling on your skull at the way the head of his cock presses perfectly on your spongy spot. Felix's tongue lolls out from his mouth, and you take the tip between your lips, suckling lightly on it before lifting your hips up and then slamming back again.

"It's too tight, too tight, too w-wet," Felix sobs, a dribble of saliva forming a tiny bubble at the top of his upper lip. You lower your head to look at the way you are taking Felix to the brim, his swollen balls resting on the curve of your ass, and you let out a lewd sound at the view.

But it's not enough, because this is Felix's first time, and you just know from the way he is trembling that he is not gonna last long, the poor angel he is. You played with him a bit too long considering his inexperience, and now you can feel him twitching inside of you, bringing you close as well with just a few pumps.

"I know, baby, I know. You feel so fucking good too. You fill me so well, look." And you take one of the hands that are gripping your hips, making it slide against your pussy to let him feel the point were you two are connected.

Felix grasps the base of his cock with his wrist and he tries to push it even deeper inside of your wet heath with a loud groan. "It's so, s-so good." He repeats mindlessly.

You gather all of your strength, gripping into Felix's shoulders in front of you and letting you knees carry your weight as you finally begin to ride his cock. You raise your ass up just to feel the tip catch at your rim only to force back down, fast and hard.

"Noona, ah– noona!" Felix grunts out, "F-fuck, I can't, I c-can't!"

At a particularly deep thrust, Felix cries out again, a slew of filthy words and many slurred versions of your name coming out of his red, juicy lips.

"Baby, Felix, baby." You moan, letting yourself fall against his chest and beginning to move your hips in circles. You feel his cock hitting deliciously at your cervix and your clit rubbing on Felix's hip bone.

"I lo-oh-ove you." Unable to help it, Felix begins to thrust up quickly, grinding his cock inside of you and smashing his warm cheek against your shoulder, as you involuntarily squeeze your walls around his shaft.

You are trying to make this last a little bit more, but a tight coil of pleasure starts to form in your lower belly, and Felix's heavy and raspy whines tell you that he is in your same conditions. "Feels so good, sweetheart. So thick and hot, you are making me cum, ah– so quick." You blabber, head feeling floaty. "Are you close too? Tell me you are close. Wanna come with you."

Felix hiccups and his thrusts become messy and erratic, cock leaking inside of you as you clench around him. "Close, close, s-so close." He picks you up by your thighs to throw you onto his cock as if you were weightless. "Can I, ah a-ahhh, w-where can I–?" he sobs out with every thrust.

"Inside, Lix, my love. Cum inside," you praise him. "So good to me. So good." And you whine as Felix fucks desperately into you, a thick layer of sweat on his freckled skin.

Two more pushes are what it takes to have your pussy clenching hard and tight around Felix, and as your clit rubs one last time against his pubic bone, your eyes roll backwards and you cum with a filthy long moan, flooding Felix's cock with your juices.

As the orgasm hits you, you smash your lips against Felix's and suffocate your whines on his mouth. As soon as Felix feels you pulsing around his drooly cock, you see him going cross-eyed. Then, he pushes almost violently into your heath and comes with one final, deep smash of his cock, filling you up.

Voice hoarse with pleasure and a little out of breath, Felix moans softly, face finding its comforting place in the crook of your neck. "I love you." he whispers.

You both stay silent for a couple of minutes, and you loll your head to the side to huff warm breaths that tickle Felix's temples.

"How do you feel?" You asks, bringing your fingers to slowly pet Felix's damp hair. You tongue feels heavy inside your mouth, and your legs muscles sting. But you are happy.

"I feel like I waited for this moment for my entire life." Felix's words are slow and shy, despite of what just happened between the two of you. You can feel him chuckling against your shoulder. "I still have to process what is going on."

"We have time." You murmur, kissing his forehead and hugging him lovingly, keeping him safe in your arms. "Now we have all the time in the world."

Felix smiles. The room is not dark anymore.

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[blockedbykei]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖

🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)

You slam your paper on his desk.

Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96

The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."

"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"

He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.

"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"

You swear steam was coming off your body.

"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."

"Understandable?!"

"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."

"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.

"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.

God, his smile is infuriating.

Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.

At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.

Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.

Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.

When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.

You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.

His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.

🏐 —

"Shit!"

Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.

"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.

"You know he plays horribly when you're here."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"

Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."

You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."

Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."

"Oh? He said that?"

"No. But I can hear him think."

You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."

When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—

Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!

He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.

He had the right to show off. He was better than you.

He was the better thinker; the better scorer.

Tsukishima is better than you.

I'm better than you—

The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.

The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.

"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."

He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.

Hideously alluring.

"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"

"Do better at volleyball?"

"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"

Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.

The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.

Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.

Please don't look at me.

The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.

He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.

🏐 —

No.

Shit. Fuck. No

God damnit. 74.

Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.

He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.

98.

The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.

You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.

He turns around to look at the green haired boy.

"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."

Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"

This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.

"How- What's your score?"

Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."

God, this is depressing.

"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"

There it is. His face says it all.

"Don't you even—"

"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.

"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."

"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."

Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."

"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."

Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."

"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."

"I'm not little."

"Yeah but your brain is."

"Yamaguchi, help me out here."

He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.

Up until now.

"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."

Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"

"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.

"I can study by myself. Fuck off."

You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.

"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."

Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.

"I'm not skipping practice."

"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."

Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."

Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:

"Help me."

You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"

"Help me study."

"Are you commanding me or asking?"

"Please help me study."

"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."

"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"

You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.

"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."

When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.

🏐—

The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.

"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."

They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.

"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."

"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."

Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."

"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.

You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"

He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."

When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.

"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."

"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.

And you're like that for a few hours.

Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.

He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.

Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.

He looks at you.

Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.

"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."

You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"

You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.

"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.

70.

Four points less.

"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."

"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"

"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."

"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"

You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.

"Well?"

"Sure."

His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.

You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"

Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."

"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"

"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."

The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"

"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"

You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.

🏐 —

The way home was quieter than you expected.

Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.

But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:

"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"

"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"

"I'll stab you with that stick."

"Gross."

You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.

There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"

He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.

And then his eyes roam to picture frames.

Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.

The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.

"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."

He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.

An hour passes by.

The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.

"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."

"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."

He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.

Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.

"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."

"Bet you were shit at it."

"I was a middle blocker."

Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"

"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.

"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"

You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.

"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."

"Let's play."

You stammer. "W-what? It's late."

"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."

You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.

Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.

"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.

"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."

Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."

You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."

The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."

You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.

The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."

You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."

"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"

"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."

"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.

"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"

"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."

"And it's just a club."

"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."

You set it back to him again. "I want to."

Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.

"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."

"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.

Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.

Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.

🏐 —

100.

You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.

"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."

"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."

Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."

"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."

"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.

So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.

When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.

"Fuck," you mutter.

But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.

His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).

"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.

Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.

"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.

"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."

"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."

You growl at his tease.

"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."

So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.

"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."

"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.

The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.

Shit.

You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.

And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.

Tsukishima blocks it.

He laughs. "You're horrible at this."

"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.

Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."

"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."

"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.

Tsukishima called you by your first name.

Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.

Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.

But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.

But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.

"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."

"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."

"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."

You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.

Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.

He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.

"Not bad. Try harder though."

You snarl at him.

Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.

The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.

You swallow the liquid in your mouth.

"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."

Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."

"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."

Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.

And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.

"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"

"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."

"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"

"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"

"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"

"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."

His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.

We should go home.

"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"

Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"

You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"

"Why me?!"

Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.

Yours was to the right.

"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.

"Yes."

Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.

"No longer Stingyshima, I see."

"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.

"Why are you walking me home then?"

"Because I want to take a long walk."

"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."

Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"

Your first name. Again.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"

"No." He says. "Get in already."

You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."

"No."

"So you lied to me earlier?"

"N-no."

"So what is it?"

Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.

His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.

"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"

His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.

"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."

Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.

"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"

Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.

"See you tomorrow."

🏐—

A few weeks pass by.

At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.

After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.

And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.

There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.

And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.

Your phone vibrates.

tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am

you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am

tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am

you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am

Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.

"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."

"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."

When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.

So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.

"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.

"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.

He smiles at you.

It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.

You feel your cheeks flare.

After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.

By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.

"Let's study."

Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."

"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."

"You keep saying that."

He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."

"E-excuse me?"

Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."

He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"

"Whatever I want."

His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.

No one's home.

Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"

So you do.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.

"So when are your tryouts?"

You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."

"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.

"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"

You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.

"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"

And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.

Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.

You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"

"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."

Kei.

"Okay, Kei."

Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.

"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.

And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.

Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.

"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"

"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.

"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"

"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."

"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"

"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."

His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.

You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.

When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.

"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."

"You never shut up, do you?"

His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.

Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.

Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.

Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.

Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.

Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.

"You're so pretty."

"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."

"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."

You hit his face with a pillow.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

[aphrogeneias]

i just don't know what to do with myself — one-shot

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x assistant!reader

summary: you and eddie got into a fight for the first time since you started... whatever it is there is between you. it's a lot to process, but he can't stay away from you for too long.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. drinking and driving (don't do that, kids). jealous!reader. smut (+18) with feelings. possibly dubcon (one of them is slightly intoxicated). eddie munson's puppy dog eyes.

author's note: it's been a long time coming... thank you to all those who waited <3

The street around him was busy, the rows of bars all over the block bursting with people. The yellow light from the lampposts and the neon red sign from the bar he'd parked right under lit his car from the outside in, a sickly kaleidoscope of the night life he was trying to run from, but Eddie made no move to leave.

He didn't want to.

It was a way to torture himself — unconsciously, maybe. Life went on around him, loud and bright, but inside, everything was dead still.

Eddie thought about you as he took another sip from the bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the middle console. You were supposed to go home from the shoot with him. Did you take a ride with someone else? Did you take the subway home? If he knocked on your door now, would you answer it?

Had he crossed a line? No, scratch that. He'd crossed several lines the day he led you into his bed, and several other ones before that. That wasn't the question he should be asking, but Eddie couldn't help the thoughts that lingered like a cloud of smoke over his weary mind.

He'd left the photo studio that day a mess, your words ringing in his ears like bells. “I don't want to talk to you right now”, you'd said. Did you mean it? Should he not have insisted, then? Did he make everything worse?

He didn't even know what exactly he did wrong. You'd said it was your mistake, actually, and the more he thought about it, the more it broke his own heart.

Was being with him a mistake? Letting him in, that was your mistake?

Oddly enough, if that was the case, he understood. After all, he was the one who twisted the nature of your relationship, and you let him. It was selfish, but from the moment he saw you, he had to have you. The girl in the background who took his entire attention.

You still had it, it was irrevocably yours. Eddie thought of you every day since then.

And, perhaps, he thought, the worst thing about being away from you was the fact that he'd always believed you had the power to make everything right.

Whether it was your unwavering presence, a rock in the middle of the storm that seemed to be his life, or just your way of coming up with the most logical, practical decision to his most out-there problems — and even when you didn't, you were there. Just there, with a hand to hold, with a lap to lay his head on, with lips to kiss him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

Now that you'd turned your back on him, he didn't know what to do with himself.

The radio was long forgotten, but still on. Through the static, Dusty Springfield's voice came through, the orchestral track rising and rising behind it. He recognized it from one of his mom’s old records, and chuckled to himself, humorlessly.

In one moment, he hung his head over the steering wheel, hitting it with his forehead. In the other, it was like the car gained a life of its own.

Dusty’s voice carried on with the wind.

That small apartment building hadn't always been your home.

It was one of Rick’s apartments, where he'd let you live in — insisted on it, really — because your old one was falling apart and he didn't want you getting in another fight with your landlord. If Rick hadn't, then Eddie was ready to ask you to live with him.

Wouldn't be such a smart decision, looking back at it.

He walked up the stairs feeling less determined, more defeated than in the past few days. Lethargy sat on his bones, and he didn't know if it was the alcohol, the lack of sleep, or his brain that refused to shut down.

He just needed to see you.

Time stood still as he waited for you to open the door.

In those few, but long, moments, Eddie decided he would be fine if you shut the door on him the second you saw who was waiting for you on the other side. At least he would be able to see your face again.

Any other day, he'd laugh at the pity party he's throwing himself, but his heart ached too much to have any sort of self-awareness — see, he had never felt this way before.

When the lock moved, the key turned, and your sweet, confused face appeared through the doorway, something squeezed and bled inside his chest. He couldn't speak, but you did.

“Eddie?” You frowned. “What happened?”

“Hi.” He said, almost breathless, and suddenly, he doesn't feel as tired.

You were on your sleep clothes, a button down pajama set he'd sure seen before. A sight for sore eyes, with your sleepy face furrowed in confusion. If he touched you, Eddie mused, you'd be warm all over. It filled him with a longing greater than he thought he could handle.

“Hi,” you responded, opening the door a little wider, silently letting him in. He noticed you had almost let a pet name slip, “what's wrong?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

He stood in the middle of your living room, hands on hips, ready to wage war. It was frustration, not only due to what you'd said, but also to being in the same room as you and not being able to touch you. It raged inside of him, making his hands itch.

Eddie watched as you sat on the armrest of your couch, and struggled to find your words. “I'm sorry I haven't reached out. But to be fair, neither has you.”

“I thought you didn't want to hear from me.”

“Oh, Eddie. No! I'm…” You sighed, pinching your nose between delicate fingers, and your shoulders fell. “I'm embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed of what?” He asked, slowly. Crossing his arms, bracing himself.

“Of everything I said to you! I overreacted. I saw you with that model and all these insecurities came through. I couldn't keep it in so threw it all on you, and I couldn't take it back anymore. I feel ridiculous now.”

His eyebrows furrowed deep as he listened to you explain yourself, a whine coming through your lips as you got close to finishing. He tried to understand, his resolve slipping through his fingers.

“You could have talked to me instead of walking out.”

“I know!” You finally looked him in the eyes. “Like I said, I got embarrassed, and I thought you were mad at me…”

“I am. Still am, for the record.”

“And you have every right to be.” You looked defeated. Eddie wished he could change that. “I'm sorry. I should have talked to you. Actually talked.”

“It's just…” Eddie turned on his axis, flailing his arms around. “What were you thinking? What was that?”

“I saw you with that model and just couldn't help but think of all the better options you have out there. All the women surrounding you just seem like a more obvious option than me. Sometimes I can't help but wonder why you brother with this complicated thing we have when you could have anyone you want. Easily.”

He crumbled, then. “Oh, sweet girl…”

His feet moved first, towards you, and his knees followed, bending to your level. You looked down at him, eyes wide, as he splayed his cold hands over your bare thighs, making you flinch, but not move away.

“I don't want anyone else. You're the only one I see. All those other people… they don't exist to me. You have to know that.”

Tentatively, you reached out, twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. “Forgive me for doubting you?”

It was his turn to sight then, resting his head on your knee. He stood again, this time taking you with him. “C’mere.” He said, pulling you in.

Those same cold hands frame your face, pull you to his lips with fervor. He kissed you like he never did before. Hungry, ready to devour. Bumping your body back into the couch behind you, careless in his eagerness. Hands gripped you tight, pressed you close to his body. Begging silently, don't go.

“Ed,” you pulled back slightly, resting your forehead on his. “How much did you have to drink, honey?”

You must have felt it in his breath. He felt ashamed too, just as you did a mere minutes ago, but didn't have it in him to argue.

“Baby, please.” He said, running his nose over your heated cheek. “Not much, not nearly enough. Jus’ need to feel you. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Your breathing trembled as he ran his hands over your waist, down to the hem of your sleep shirt and under it, feeling your skin under his fingertips.

It felt like redemption.

He didn't take time to answer you, instead kissing you again. Tasting you on his tongue, drinking from you. Eddie kissed with his whole body, entangling himself on you, surrounding you on him. He needed to be the only thing on your mind. Bruising your lips with his, sucking your tongue as you mewled against him.

It didn't take long until you were clumsily walking back into your room, bumping into the walls along the way. He'd walked you back into the wall in the small corridor, kissing down your neck, unbuttoning your shirt with unusual dexterity for someone who had way too much bourbon in one night. Your pajamas fell into the floor before you even reached your bed.

Eddie whispered sweet nothings as he took in your body, never leaving you without his touch. He took the time to remember you — because a few days were enough for him to miss you to the point of forgetfulness.

To remember the way you liked to pull on his hair when he was between your thighs, covering your pussy with his mouth. He sighed with reverence against your swollen clit, pulling it between his lips, revelling in the sounds he pulled from you.

He let you grind against his mouth, fucking you with his tongue.

“Baby, baby, baby.” You whined. “Don't stop.”

He let his body answer for him, pulling you closer by the thighs, letting them close around his head. Letting you use his tongue, he let you ride out your high, but just barely enough until he was crawling over your spent body, still trembling under him, peppering kisses all over your torso.

“Missed you so fucking much.” He mumbled into your skin, “Don't do this to me again.”

You shook your head into your pillow, “I won't. I won't.”

Still keeping your legs open, grip hard enough to leave bruises, he positioned himself in your entrance. He couldn't stop touching you — face pressed into your face, taking in your scent, running the reddened head of his cock over your sensitive cunt.

“Don't want you away from me ever again. Promise me, baby.”

“I promise.”

It was no more than a broken moan as he entered you, filling you up to the brim, barely giving you time to adjust. You squirmed under him, grasping for purchase on his back, nails scratching down his skin.

“Fuck, baby.” He breathed. He knew he sounded frenzied, desperate for you. It wasn't like he had it in him to care, not when you felt like velvet around him. “That's it. That's it.”

He kept a slow but steady rhythm, fucking into you with purpose, heavy balls hitting your ass with each long stroke. His head hung in your neck as he heard your moans grow louder and louder, the wet sounds of your sex filling the room.

“Yeah? I know. I know, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the junction between your neck and shoulder, feeling your skin rise. “You missed me too, didn't you?”

“S’much.” You whimpered, clenching around him harder.

Without warning, he picked up the pace, feeling you were close. One of your legs lifted to his shoulder as he pistoned into you, hellbent on making you cum. He thrusted again and again and again, like a mantra. Like a plead.

As you shook underneath him, he kept going. Going and going and going.

He hoped that was enough to make your thoughts stop running from him. You could talk in the morning.

[jiminrings]

if-then

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 7k

glimpse: you're an alien in prince jungkook's planet — both literally and figuratively.

alternatively, jungkook gives his nickname for you to someone else in a fit of anger, and you've never been more upset.

[ fluff, angst, painfully oblivious n dense alien koo, mutual pining (yes MUTUAL!!!!), the glaring concept of not being good n whole enough to deserve love (yikes but i Swear it gets better), mentions of injuries ]

notes: after being asked for literal years to write an alien au, it's finally here!!!! mwah thank u for patiently waiting :D

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook’s fond of appraising things.

He’s fond of assigning values to things that may or may not hold some bit of importance to his life, whether its value proves itself in the present or the future. Jungkook likes setting his literal ducks in a row, and the little inanimate yellow tokens that his brother brought back from Earth serve as a discreet (not really, though) reminder that he may have some hoarder tendencies.

Jungkook’s not really a hoarder-hoarder; it just happens that he likes keeping things, sometimes for no apparent reason at all.

He likes swiping the flashlights that the night guards use to stash in his own personal “emergency” (not that there’s ever been one, nor will there ever be) cabinet, just because he wants to be prepared for a natural catastrophe that won’t probably ever happen in his area. He’s already seen a couple of films that humans have made, and if ever comes a time that Planet Twell has a dinosaurian monster battle it out with a gigantic prehistoric ape, Jungkook’s proud to say that he has a couple flashlights for him and his brothers to use.

In addition, Jungkook likes picking flowers just before they go out of season. His eldest brother’s already cussed him out for it, but he’ll still do what he does best (?), if best means “preserving” the flowers by drowning them in water every ten minutes so they wouldn’t wilt and he’d still get to see them during off-peak days.

Prince Jungkook likes appraising things in his own definition and pace. They’re never categorized in his head for what they actually do, but for what kind of unexplainable fulfillment fills his chest whenever he thinks about the item.

The youngest prince of Twell didn’t like it when there was a commotion at the lily field and the citizens ran out to see what it was about, instead of eating their slices of cake with the fondant that he made out of scratch. Jungkook didn’t like the fondant either because there must be something insanely wrong with itself (or it’s just that he made it just as bad), but he didn’t like being alone either when finding out about the taste.

He didn’t like seeing the tiger lilies he planted himself squished underneath an unknown figure, who may or may not have fallen from the sky, judging by the way you’re wincing alone with no aircraft, no parachute, nor any other person with you.

Jungkook didn’t like seeing you, an alien, who’s just as confused with the entire ordeal. You can’t remember anything about how or why you’ve gotten here — all you know is your name and who you are, and unexpectedly so, the first prince who’s gotten to where you are isn’t so thrilled about the fact.

He’s fond of appraising things, and although he’s not extremely excited about you just as he had been when Yoongi brought home trinkets from him during his trip to Earth (including the very seeds for the tiger lilies you’ve destroyed), he’ll make do.

Jungkook will try and make you mean something, if not everything, to him.

.

.

.

Prince Jungkook has come to learn that you’re part human.

You’re neither fully his kind nor his type (or atleast that’s what he thinks so) and he doesn’t know what to feel about that. He doesn’t know what to feel about only the slight panic that filled you knowing that it’s still unexplained of how or why you’re in Twell; even more, he doesn’t know what to feel that you’re neither scared nor intimidated by him.

You don’t know what to feel either when Jungkook, who’s only mildly shocked about your existence in general, delivers his first question to you and it’s not of the sort that you expected. He looks soft and round, unlike the hearsay about his kind that only amounts to half of you. He doesn’t look aloof and unaccepting at all — if anything, he looks at you like you’re the one who’s cruel instead of him.

Jungkook almost completely does not care about who you are or where you’re from, but what he cares about is if you have any trinkets with you that he could possibly have. Out of anything he could possibly solicit from you, he only asks for so little, no matter how odd.

“T-trinkets?” you squeak, brows raising in surprise. “I’m sorry, Prince Jungkook — y-you’re asking if I have trinkets so you could have them?”

“Yeah,” he nods, lips pursed and cheeks puffed out as he confirms your confusion. “It’s my birthday, and I want to have a trinket.”

“Oh,” you blink once, twice,  a small smile playing on your lips to replace the fact that you’ve been confused for the entire half hour since you came back to consciousness. “Happy birthday, prince.”

“I see.” 

“It’s thank you,” you mutter automatically, coughing lightly when he only knits his brows at you. He’s cute this way — innocent, even. “I-I mean you’re supposed to say thank you when someone greets you, or when someone does something nice for you in general.”

“Okay. My brother forgot to teach me that,” Jungkook hums in recognition, eyes briefly glowing with a bluish hue before he regains his composure. “Thank you.”

You wonder if staring is also frowned upon in this planet.

You wonder if it would get you a mean glare or a sarcastic snicker if you were to stare at Prince Jungkook a little longer without any thoughts floating in your brain, except for the fact that you are completely unaware that you’re already zoning out on him. 

You wonder if it would be wrong for your eyes to take in every single detail of him from his short hair that softly falls onto his forehead, to his supposed birthday attire that only consists of a white button-up, to his gleaming royal jewelry that rightfully so, only looks like it would belong to him and him only.

“Trinket?” he reminds you, head tilting and eyes widening as he cranes his neck to look at you beyond the table that separates the both of you.

“Oh! U-uhm,” you scour your pockets immediately just to present something, and bluntly put, you haven’t even checked your well-being, much less the possessions you have on yourself. You feel more than relieved to know that it isn’t empty, because oddly enough, you’d feel a little upset— a little down if you were to disappoint a prince you just met not more than an hour ago. “I have this handkerchief, I guess.”

“Perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, leaning to grab the baby blue square from you that’s embroidered with your initials that are unfamiliar to him. He clutches it into his hand tightly with a smile on his face, the happiness later dwindling when he realizes he has no clue of what he’s holding. “What is it supposed to do?”

You blank at that, meekly scratching your temple. “Nothing, I think. It’s just there for most people, but I’ve never had to use it.”

“You’ve never had to use it, but you still take it with you?” he attempts to clarify, a slight frown embedded into his lips as he looks down on your averagely prized possession.

“I don’t mean never as in never ever, and I’ve used it a couple of times like everyone else does, but it’s just-…” you trail off, shrugging helplessly because you can’t describe the concept of nothing to him easily. “It’s just there.”

You’re more than fatigued and a lot more confused (albeit less worried) about the semantics of your presence here in Twell, specifically in Prince Jungkook’s office, but the latter doesn’t seem to take mind as he takes you with an open mind.

“Okay. Thank you. I’ll have it,” he announces, shifting his eyes between you and your (his now) handkerchief that he’s slowly and hesitantly unraveling, only to put back into its original square form after every move.

“You will?” you almost snort, a tiny bit amused that a prince is clenching your handkerchief like its the most interesting thing in the galaxy.

“Yes,” he hums distractedly, looking up at you as he lightly scratches the embroidered teddy bear at the corner of the fold. “I will have you too.”

“You will?! You’re not going to dispose me or anything?” you straighten immediately, eyes more frantic and disbelieving to hear that you’re being taken care of (or something of the sort) than just awhile ago when you were unsure of your fate. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” Jungkook shrugs just as easily as you do. “I just want to.”

( ♡ ) 

Prince Jungkook isn’t so bad, and neither is Twell.

The planet isn’t so bad in the sense that although you don’t feel the most welcome you have ever been in your entire life, there’s a recognition that seeps into your bones that some of them, if not most, would set out a plate for you if ever Jungkook came into their homes. He’s the social butterfly of his family; the baby lamb that’s set out into the field to check up on everyone else and act as a mannequin of sorts that’s a little less superficial, and a little more warm.

Jungkook isn’t so bad either in the sense that although it’s the bare minimum to do so, he doesn’t throw his kindness back to your face even in the most critical situations, with now being the sole exception.

With the exception of now, Prince Jungkook has not ever acted rashly towards you. He wasn’t annoyed with you when you kept asking him questions of what it would mean to act as his security detail, and he wasn’t irked either when your questions about your heritage (and his by extension) toed personal lines that no one else would dare cross.

With the exception of now, Jungkook’s never acted rude towards you. He wasn’t as guarded with your existence like his older brothers were; as a matter of fact, he even came to your defense when some of them theorized that you were only here in their planet to act as a precursor for their downfall.

With the exception of now, Jungkook’s never been this cruel; with the ultimatum of his pride over your heart, he’s never made you feel this different and alienated from him — with, of course, the exception of now.

Heartbreak is a human emotion.

The weakness of the concept is disturbingly human and vulnerable. There’s no escape from it, even if the said percentage of human in your blood is barely half and could light a candle to your more evolved, far more powerful Twellian genes. It’s a sickening emotion to feel, much more have it get you carried away from what you have to do at hand.

The grip that said heartbreakhas on you is unimaginable, far more different than what your people, not humans, tell you how it’d feel like. There had already been an uproar when it was announced that you were appointed as Prince Jungkook’s guard, the news of an impure Twellian bearing the coveted position receiving every reaction possible — from fear, to distaste, and even to genuine amazement.

All of the kingdom’s advisers had theorized that despite you of being impure heritage, youwere superior in terms of physical capabilities. With everything else you’ve been theorized to lack at, you bite at the possibility that the ache in your chest is attributed to your stunted emotions.

You feel painfully human. You feel what heartbreak is, and compared to what others have made it out to be, it’s an emotion that you can’t put into words.

“You can’t, Jungkook,” you firmly say once more with your ears ringing, not because the volume of the club makes you want to get down on your knees, but because you’ve perhaps heard something far worse; far more grating, and far more overwhelming than what your heart could even bear. "All of your brothers specifically insisted for me to bring you back before midnight."

They say that your hearing’s supposed to be better. They say that you could see far more colors than what your alien counterpart could ever do. They say that for everything else you lacked, you made up for with the way you’re more physically advanced and therefore adept to protecting the planet’s youngest prince.

No one’s ever said that you’ll be safe from Jungkook himself.

"Jungkook, let's go home. Please," you plead through your teeth, the word you’ve last spoken being the latest term you’ve taught him. Jungkook, along with everyone else, is not familiar with begging; they’re not familiar with desperation so wrung out, there’s actually a word made just for it.

Jungkook only scowls at you, eyes turning a bright red as opposed to his usual pink allotted for you. "Butt out," he murmurs, tightly crossing his arms as his nostrils flare involuntarily. ”You promised me I could be out tonight."

You’re starting to get over the heartbreak little by little, the tantrum thrown by the young prince making you indifferent. 

Maybe you just misheard a few minutes ago — maybe, it was only a fluke and you didn’t hear it correctly the first time. Maybe it’s only your faulty impureness that made you susceptible to just hearing your nickname out of nowhere. Maybe, it’s not heartbreak that you were feeling, but rather only a subdued version of it by seeing Jungkook disappointed at you doing your job.

It’s your fault, you guess. Perhaps it’s the fault of the bustle of the club and the hundreds of dialects you could hear all at once finally got to you, overwhelming you to the point that you heard Jungkook calling for your name, despite not looking at you all.

You’re about to plead even more for the both of you to go back already; to save him from a lecture from all of his brothers and for you to be spared an even harsher scolding because they think you’ve gone too soft for him — but then you hear it. Again. 

Jungkook clenches his jaw tightly, eyes glowing a bright magenta before he opens his mouth.

"Come on, princess," he calls you by his term of endearment for you, yet his hand is outstretched for the female Twellian on his side.

He’s not calling you — he’s not even paying attention to you. Jungkook isn’t giving you a shred of his focus but he wants you to hear him call someone else the endearment he had playfully made up for you, to which you grew accustomed to without fail. He wants you to see how he gives it to someone else easily, the syllables falling from his tongue easily getting into the girl’s head.

Jungkook wants you to know how angry he is over you doing your job, he hits you where it hurts. He has no idea what heartbreak is supposed to feel like, but he doubts that you’d even feel that emotion over what he’s done — and if you actually do over something seemingly simple (for him atleast), he could only think that everyone else is exaggerating what it felt like.

Your heart, whatever is human of it, skips. It tightens and it loosens alarmingly so, almost as if you have no control for the liquid hurt that compromises you.

“I’ll show you a good time tonight, princess,” Jungkook whispers to her ear loudly for good measure, eyes darting up at you, only for him to see that you’ve been watching the whole time. 

You almost can’t tear your eyes away until Jungkook crashes his lips into hers, your nickname easily falling out of his lips as if the endearment is free for everyone; as if it’s never been yours in the first place and you only borrowed it out of desperation.

Your whole flight home is quiet.

Jungkook makes it back home before midnight, but you don’t.

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook’s been looking for you the whole day.

He’s been looking for you since he woke up, and that was fifteen ungodly hours ago when he had risen in a cold sweat. Jungkook felt sick to his stomach, and despite his insistence that something must be severely wrong with him for him to feel that way, the palace doctor (along with every other physician, healer, and reader he knew of) confirmed that nothing was out of place.

Jungkook’s supposedly okay, yet it feels like every part of him is being wrung dry. There’s an ache to his chest that renders him stupid because he feels like he’s forgotten every word, every lesson, and every vaguest bit of semblance that would detail about what he felt.

All of a sudden, Jungkook feels like he’s forgotten what the palace looks like. It’s as if he’s forgotten how tiles are supposed to feel cold on bare feet and how bleak his days are when he doesn’t have you by his side, even if the palace is also occupied by his brothers and the grounds are teeming with staff.

The young prince suddenly feels that he’s forgotten the very layout of his home because his mouth is agape at each room he walks in, simply because you’re not there. He’s practically turned the palace upside down just to grab a whiff of you somehow, and yet you’re nowhere to be found. 

Nothing from his or his brothers’ belongings are missing. There’s not a single piece of furniture that’s tilted askew. Nothing has been taken from Jungkook except his peace of mind and the capacity to just stay still because your sudden disappearance unsettles him like no other.

.

.

.

You’re back home, except you’re no longer dressed in the same outfit you left him in. 

Your uniform’s been ditched for something more casual — something more worn and lived in to the point that it looks like a shirt that’s never been yours in the first place. The sight of you, dressed in clothes that’s not yours, puts a bitter taste to Jungkook’s mouth.

He’s never been that selfish before. He’s generous and lenient as far as a prince could go, and yet he’s never felt this territorial over something seemingly as trivial as a shared garment.

The concern feels too vulnerable to the point that only a silly human, something Jungkook’s not, would consider it as a burden.

“Where were you?” he asks with the gentleness he didn’t think he’d possess after being worried shitless about you, the panic he had harbored for the longest time immediately dissipating at you.

Jungkook wants to be mad at you so, so, so badly. He wants to be angry at the way it was irresponsible for you to be alone because after all, your strength wouldn’t compensate for the gleaming fact that you’re not from here in the first place.

“I was on my leave,” you answer simply, keeping your hands behind your back as if this was any other outing with Prince Jungkook and not just Jungkook, the same man who’d call you princess for fun and hold your hand just for the sake of it.

“I didn’t say you could be on leave,” he lowers his voice, jaw tightening at the sight of you being indifferent towards him.

“I asked your brothers.”

Jungkook feels that sickness again. He feels that tinge of metal that lingers in the roof of his mouth and he wants to spit it out in front of you just to see if he’d find something else that’s not the sensations he’s been experiencing since you came around; if he’d find something else that’s not your doing yet affects him just as much.

“What if I needed protecting, hm? What if something happened to me while you were gone?” Jungkook half-taunts, shrinking on himself despite doing his hardest to appear big by crossing his arms.

“I knew you were in good hands, prince,” you tense, the tide that comes with your tone washing over Jungkook until he drowns in the realization that you were there while she was in his quarters. “I made to sure to hear that you were in very good company before I left.”

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook’s on a self-imposed break from his duties.

The prince’s duties almost exclusively involved chatting and being charismatic in general, along with the occasional goodwill event wherein he had to be all over the place just to take care of things, and not once did he ever take this long of a radio silent break — or atleast that’s what one of his brothers said.

He’s been cooped up in his room since you came back two weeks ago. Despite your absence (if you could even call it that) that barely lasted for an entire day, along with your confrontation just spanning within minutes, it’s been theorized by one of Jungkook’s brothers, again, that it’s because of your doing.

The youngest prince is theorized to be sulking over you and you simply cannot believe it.

You refuse to believe that Jungkook is bedridden with sadness because to begin with, his kind isn’t even supposed to feel such type of intense emotion. He shouldn’t be swayed by you — he shouldn’t be preoccupied with such pathetic, human emotion that you thought only you could feel because of him.

You rebuff the idea that he’s paralyzed with guilt, not only because you feel that it’s physically impossible for him to be, but because it’s him. Someone of Jungkook’s power and influence wouldn’t be so ridden with guilt that he refuses to show his face to you because he’s ashamed of hurting you.

You reject with your whole heart each and every idea that his brothers pitch you. You stay stationary with Jungkook and yet you will yourself to amount to something, even if it isn’t for him, just so the sickening feeling of being replaced won’t ever creep up to you.

You’re in love with him and it’s terrifying.

What’s even more terrifying is that you’re not the only one who knows so.

“I suggest not falling in love with Jungkook.”

You look up so sharply, your neck aches at the speed. Yoongi stands above you with a perfunctory smile, and with just the tiny bit of effort for him to come near you almost makes you forget that he’s Jungkook’s brother who had been particularly vocal about being wary of you.

“I’m sorry?” you murmur in disbelief, eyes wide and unblinking as you take into account his perfect tone.

“It’s obvious, you know?” he smiles tightly, pulling a chair to sit himself down across from you. Yoongi looks relaxed as he takes you in, almost as if he hasn’t spent half a year avoiding you. “I’ve seen the way you look at my brother. I’ve seen it over and over again when I was sent for a mission on your planet.”

You want to ask him why he’s telling you this. You want to ask badly why he’s saying this now when you’ve been certain for the longest time that your adoration for Jungkook wasn’t apparent in a land of creatures that don’t know what love, in your own terms, is supposed to look like.

You want to ask Yoongi why it shouldn’t be Jungkook, but you can’t bring yourself to — not because you know the answer deep down in your subconscious, but because you’re afraid that he would only make sense—

That he’d only solidify why Jungkook should never be in your orbit.

“Oh,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “How do you like my planet then?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m sorry, my prince,” you immediately apologize, looking down on your lap as you wait for the impeding lecture; maybe even the impending punishment (you’re not sure what it is, but you know it would hurt someway and somehow) that comes with loving the prince, even by the sidelines.

“Jungkook is a wildcard at best,” he trails off, exhaling heavily as he listens for the heartbeat in the room behind you that houses his brother. “He’s brash and stubborn. He’s driven by emotions we are not even supposed to have.”

If Yoongi stands up now and jiggles the knob to Jungkook’s room with just the slightest bit of force, he can guarantee that the latter would be falling face-down to the floor, just because of the way he has his ears pressed to the door.

Jungkook is moping and sulking and to this day, he does remain miserable — the aforementioned factors don’t stop him from being desperate and nosy.

“What I’m saying is that he’s weak, Y/N,” Yoongi sighs. “The strong isn’t for the weak. That’s always been the case.”

“I know I’m weak, prince, but I-…”

“What?” the prince laughs out loud, the smile on his face wide and cheery. He’s so amused with you that his eyes glow into pink, throwing his head back as he regains his composure. “Jungkook’s the weak one. Not you, obviously,” he snorts. “He’s basically a loser with a crown on his head. He’s the one who doesn’t deserve you and not the other way around.”

You’re not the one who’s being insulted, and yet it feels like it. Your throat tingles and your ribs burn at the sudden urge for you to protect Jungkook, even if he’s in no real threat; even if it feels like all the baser parts of you are coming together just to make sense of the way you grow simultaneously weak and strong for him.

Jungkook, the actual subject who’s being insulted and is proving his brother right by being weak because he’s wallowing in his room out of self-deprecation, sadly hums to himself in agreement.

“I’m not-…”

“Don’t refute it — that’s an order.”

“Prince Yoongi,” you relent, trying to find the right words. “May I ask why you’re telling me this?”

“Because Jungkook’s weak,” Yoongi answers simply. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to be weak with him and for him.”

( ♡ ) 

You’re eating dinner by yourself in the staff room when Jungkook walks in.

It’s the first you’ve seen of him in three weeks. He’s evidently moving on from what seems to have been a rough period for him, right when you’re at your lowest that you’ve ever been.

Prince Jungkook decides that after three weeks, he should take you by surprise and meet you in the staff room wherein you’re alone, pushing your dinner around your plate instead of doing any other menial task you’ve assigned yourself just so it would feel like you’re in use.

You’re just there. You just happen to be there and no one, even you, could do anything about it. You just happen to be there with no exact purpose and it’s gnawing at you from the inside out.

It feels all over again that your family is the runt of the entire extended bloodline. It feels that you’re not remarkable enough for your relatives to surround you and that you don’t amount to anything enough, in whatever aspect it is, to get a shred of attention that isn’t pity,

It feels like the sinking sensation in your chest wherein you have to see that all your mom could contribute to the table is her trusted homemade recipe during holidays, lost amongst a sea full of pre-ordered meals that only your relatives could afford. Like it’s how your dad’s side of the family is borderline batshit crazy and he’s the only one that turned out to be good, and you can’t do anything but watch strangers your have for blood relatives belittle you. Familiarly so, it’s like you’re a kid again with your siblings sitting on the carpet and cleaning up wrapping paper from gifts, not because the gifts are for you, but because you just happen to be there.

You feel like the alien that you are wherein you don’t belong; wherein your family has to sit on the spare chairs dug up from the basement, situated on a portable table outside of the actual, solid dining table where everyone’s sat. 

Jungkook sits with you at that dusty, old portable table. He sits himself on the flimsy chair that’s only used for stepping and for laundry.

Jungkook sits with you, not because he just happens to be there, but because he’s there for you.

“I’m… sorry for calling someone else princess.”

“It’s no problem,” you murmur, putting your fork down as you keep your hands glued to your knees underneath the table.

“But there is a problem,” Jungkook counters, lowering his head to get you to look at him yet you don’t budge. “I’m not okay with calling anyone else princess other than you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Then suit yourself,” you quip, even with your voice shaky and your vision blurry.

“I’m-…” Jungkook starts again, racking his brain for the limited vocabulary he has that surely isn’t enough to make up for his grave msitake. “I’m very sorry for making you feel bad. It must have hurt.”

“It’s no problem.”

“There’s a problem,” he insists. “I’m saying sorry because I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“But I did,” he frowns, beyond confused to why you keep denying the fact that he’s hurt you in ways he can’t even imagine.

“You really didn’t.”

“Why do you not want me to say sorry?” Jungkook questions, voice raising yet he still looks confused— innocent, even. “Did I… hurt you that much?”

It’s the last straw for you. The pure innocence in Jungkook’s words is and should be the last straw for you because it only makes you realize that he’d never understand you. It resonates in your head, more than ever, that you’ll never be able to understand him fully either because you’ll never be the same.

The only option the universe provides you is for you to love Jungkook halfway.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Prince Jungkook. I shall go back to-…”

“Can I not say sorry to you?” Jungkook bursts, darting his hand out blindly to get a hold on you before you leave.

“You can’t say sorry to me because all of this would feel real,” you ramble, shaking your head vehemently. “You should not say sorry to me because that would mean that I’m hurt because I love you.”

Jungkook looks at you innocently with his eyes wide and lips parted, blissfully unaware of the name to the sensation that keeps tugging at his chest to the point that it feels like it would burst open, yet above all else, he still dives in head-first.

“Can you not love me, princess?” he tilts his head. “Is it not allowed?”

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s words lie heavily on both you and Jungkook.

The prince’s sentiment stays on your chest like a paperweight that only grows heavier the more that you try to push it off. You know Yoongi means well, no matter how his words come across otherwise, but the longer that you think about his own suggestion regarding his brother, the more you feel unsure.

Jungkook’s made complete sense of his brother’s words on the other hand, and instead of being filled with a type of rage that only bubbles up when being looked down on, oddly enough, he comes to the truth quite easily.

He knows the truth that he’s weak despite painting himself the opposite, and he feels it the most now that you’re the one who’s distancing yourself from him. Jungkook feels like swallowing the sun and chasing it down with water when you respond to princess, even if it’s jokingly uttered by his brothers and not said sincerely by him alone.

He knows the truth that he’s the weak one in the family, if not the weakest, whenever he stands next to them. Jungkook may be the poster prince for the citizens but he knows the most out of everyone that he’s not as vital to the kingdom as the others are. He may get an assigned seat at the actual, solid dining table, but he knows that he’s not at the head of it.

He knows he’s weak, with and for you, and that’s never bothered him until it actually did.

Jungkook’s eyesight isn’t as good as yours.

Unlike you, he’s restrained by the entirety of his Twellian blood from immediately focusing his gaze on anything. There’s a lag that registers whenever he fixes his sight on anything, just like everyone else but you, and that hadn’t been a bother to Jungkook the whole time.

He had falsely assumed that since you’re the only one who’s different here, the only exception in the planet by being impure and partially human, you’d be the one who’ll have a hard time adjusting your daily life to his — not the other way around.

Jungkook, who had not once ever felt insecurity before, suddenly feels inferior. He feels like dirt and yet he’s angry, not because of the fact that he comes second to your abilities, but because he can’t do shit when it comes to you.

The prince’s eyesight isn’t good enough to notice the tiny little expressions that litter your face whenever something remotely intriguing happens to you. His hearing isn’t on par with yours because he can’t register the laugh in your voice as quickly as you could recognize his. He’s not on the same level as you and it’s only now that it bothers him—

The realization creeps into Jungkook, slowly yet unsettlingly, when he sees the cut on your cheek; the liquor of inferiority, chased down by Jungkook’s own rage, only hits him the moment he sees that a nasty bruise is blossoming by the corner of your eye.

Jungkook grips your jaw lightly out of nowhere, making you look up at him unexpectedly when you had been only preoccupied with fixing him his drink. The prince, no matter the unmistakeable rage that’s brewing in red, is the softest he’s ever been when it comes to addressing you.

“Who hurt you?” 

He has all his attention on you and it’s almost sickening with the way he doesn’t want to break off. Jungkook’s hand is still on your jaw and his eyes are still fixed on yours and yet his mind, whatever remains rational of it and not just vengeful, is going a million miles per hour.

“Get your hands off me,” you spit, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence and the vitriol that spills out of him so clearly, the air around both of you shifts.

“I asked you a question,”Jungkook repeats, putting is hand on your wrist firmly instead. He makes the grave mistake of looking down, though, because as soon as he realizes that there’s blood caked underneath your nails and that your knuckles are stained with your own blood, Jungkook can no longer hold himself back. “Who. Hurt. You.”

Jungkook’s reflexes are slow, but the moment your bottom lip trembles in vulnerability and pure bitterness, he feels as if time has caught on to the point that it’s only your anguish that sharpens his senses.

His feelings, even.

“If I tell you, would it make a difference? If I’m considered weak, Jungkook, then that means you’re even weaker,” you scoff, eyes trained on the ground with your head low so you could muffle the tremble in your voice; not that it would make your prince any less attuned to you.

Jungkook’s eyes remain narrowed at you, breathing heavily as you only state the facts not to insult him, but to remind the both of you of your place — or whatever is left clear of it because Jungkook can’t even think straight the longer that he looks at you hurting.

“What, prince? What are you gonna do about it?” you spit as the last resort, standing up abruptly to storm off and make an escape for it just once so you’ll be free of the burden of being yourself in Jungkook’s existence, yet he doesn’t let you.

The grip that the prince has on your arm is unstable yet unyielding at the same time, as if it’s taking everything in Jungkook to remain standing despite wanting to hunch over by the unexplainable tremor that roots from his chest.

(It is taking everything in him.)

“Burn,” he utters. “I’ll burn everything.”

“You’re-…”

“Weaker than you? I know that,” Jungkook interrupts, his lips set in a straight line as he lets himself be swept by the current that is you. “All the more reason to do everything for you then.”

The young prince doesn’t even break his gaze from you once, even if his pupils are trembling and his teeth are chattering out of the sheer trepidation that comes with being scared for someone else who carries your heart with them.

He doesn’t break his gaze from you, even for the briefest second, as he fishes out his (your) handkerchief from his pocket that’s there, not because it just happens to be, but because it’s allotted for you.

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides, and Jungkook no longer wants the star to swallow him whole because he doesn’t want you to be burned.

Jungkook wants to love you all the way.

[deadsnakey]

𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐘!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐱 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄

ˋ°•*⁀➷fluff ೀ Headcanons. . .ᐟ 0.7k wordsᥫ᭡┈─★

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ it probably started with Theo and Matty being dared to kiss each other in truth or dare, sparked their bisexual awakening and then make out in a broom closet while drunk asf at a party a month later.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ from then on out, they started kissing just for fun resulting in feelings developing, then you came into the picture and y'all were really good friends and then confessed feelings to each other and now y'all are dating!!!

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ yeah y'all are like THE trio, being friends and while dating.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ They both wealthy asf, meaning theyre always getting you anything you want.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ Also meaning they spoil each other a lot too, sometimes ending up in them bickering lol.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ You definitely have scary guard dogs privileges.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ Very gentle and sweet, to you and each other only though.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ No one dares to fuck with you, but if they think they can get away with it when they arent with you, they are completely wrong. Theyll always find out.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ They both are really smart, so if you ever need help with anything especially school wise theyll gladly help you. Youre passing with all As almost because of these two.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ Lovesss late night baking. Like 1 or 2 am baking with you, its always so fun and filled with lots of laughter tbh and when they cant sleep and youre also up its a great activity to get tired out.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ If you have any hobbies like, painting, drawing, a sport, games, fashion, literally anything, theyll always encourage you and support it. Definitely loves your art if you do anything with creativity.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ Its obvious i think that theyd show you off but are also possessive and overprotective of you, especially at parties or in front of groups they know might try sum with you.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ Mattheo is a whore for scalp scratches, theodore is a whore for kisses.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ They both slutty whores for your attention.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ i think mattheo had to get used to being gentle or at least less aggressive since he didn't grow up with gentle or nurturing treatment. you and Theo had to kindly talk to him and let him know when he's hurting you because its never intentional; he doesn't know his own strength.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ but once he does start getting used to being more gentle he doesn't have to think anymore to be less aggressive; it comes more naturally now.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ i think Theo and mattheo love to team up on you just randomly.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ teasing you; especially in public. they even gang up on you to tickle you and bonus points when you're sleepy. they think you're so cute when you're sleepy.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ in love with your laugh, giggles, smile, voice, allat.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ dates are always fun for everyone, planned out and everything. if by chance at some point someone isn't haven't too much fun or sum that will immediately be rearranged.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ if you're more introverted, have anxiety, etc. they are more then understanding especially Theo, if your social battery is getting far too low just say the word and they will happily leave and go somewhere where you're more comfortable.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ these two are very playful, Mattheo is more shameless about it and wanna see you flustered, Theodore just likes seeing you get shy lol.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ do not even try to insult yourself in front of them, they will scold you and dog cuddle pile on you for hoursss, girlie good luck escaping.

᧔ ⑅ ᧓ if you cook, they eat yo shit like fiends who don't get fed at home. cookies? ten minutes record and shoved down their throats. chocolate chip brownies? devoured, shit doesn't stand a chance. they definitely greedy and refuse to share with anyone but you. they're constantly asking if you can bake them something and especially on a bad day.

[miirohs]

moon, 12:04 am [l.m.h]

pairing: Husband!Lee Minho x Fem!Reader wc: 0.7k cw: n/a an: yall am i famous yet. also stream offonoff!!! cause their music is such a vibe!! i should not be awake at 2 in the morning!!!

“Min…?” You whined, rubbing your face into the crook of your arms as you heard quiet creaks across the floorboards.

It was dead silent, aside from the occasional rustling, a warm hand reaching out to run itself through your hair. His fingers scratched your scalp, and you sighed. You could hear Pickles meowing, and you could imagine him pawing at Minho right now, begging for some of his attention as well.

“What are you doing on the floor baby?”

You curled up, bringing your arms up to shield your face as you felt him lean over you, tie dangling over your cheek. Pickles was now poking you, trying to dig into your sides.

“Aww, you’re awfully tired, did all that overthinking finally tire you out?” He huffed, crouching right next to you as you watched him through glossy eyes, hands leaving your head.

“What time is it?”

“It’s four minutes after twelve, I think.”

You jolted up, adrenaline suddenly running through your body, head colliding with his outreached hand. Forcing your head to turn to the clock that hung on the wall, you blearily looked for the confirmation of what he had said. Pickles looked at the both of you, slipping onto your lap in an attempt for some form of cuddles..

You suddenly felt cold on the floor as you read the numbers the hands pointed to, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Guilt washed over you, the realization of unfinished chores waiting to be finished hitting you.

“Oh god, Minho- I’m so sorry, i must have lost track time playing with Pickles, and you know how its been with the whole apartment as of late-”

“You’re doing it again.”

You stopped speeding through your thoughts, stomach dropping as you looked at him.

He was just as beautiful, if not a little disheveled. His coat had been long abandoned, now wearing a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. His hair stuck out in all sorts of directions, but the little glimmer in his eyes hadn’t been lost to the tiring office environment of his life.

“I’m doing what?”

“Rambling.”

The heat rose in your cheeks, and you looked down at the wooden floors, mapping out where you had previously been a couple moments.

“Y/n. Baby?” 

You finally looked up, scooting closer into his vicinity.

“It’s cute when you do it,” He yawned, kneeling next to you, “act all worried. You don’t need to be apologizing because you didn't do anything wrong.” He pursed his lips, offering a hand to gently pull you closer to him.

“What do you wanna ask me baby? I can tell you have something to say,” He teased. You cleared your throat. “Why were you so late? I thought you’d be coming home early today.’

“I would’ve come home sooner, but Chan-hyung wanted me to stay back for something, then the bus got late so I had to take a taxi home.” He sighed and frowned, running his hand up and down your back as he held you close to him. Pickles climbed into his lap, purring as Minho finally pet him.

“Sounds like you had quite the day.” You whispered, muffled as you were pressed up against him, hand on his chest, “more so than me.”

"Yeah, it was a bit hectic," He admitted with a small chuckle,"but it was all worth it to come back home to you, and you too, Pickles."  Pickles meowed, as if acknowledging that he had been recognized by Minho.

You leaned into his embrace, his lips pressing against your forehead as he kissed you tenderly. The familiar warmth of his lips sent shivers down your spine, bringing your arms up to wrap around his neck.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice soft as he pressed his face against the crown of your head.

“I love you more,” You whispered as he slipped his hands around you, surprising you as he lifted you off the floor. He carried you with ease, retracing old steps as he made his way down the hall, towards your bedroom. 

As he push you down on the bed, he leaned down to press another kiss to your lips.

“I'll be right back in bed once I finish changing.”

“Don’t take too long,” You stared, watching him linger in the light of your bathroom door.

“Night baby,” He said softly, grinning as Pickles jumped up, curling up right next to you, “sleep well."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

 There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

[pulisicsgirl]

in my hour of need - mason mount

summary: eight months after the end of their relationship, Y/N and Mason find themselves at the same event—a charity gala—and the night’s events leave them both unsure of where they stand with each other

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 8.4k

warnings/tags: inappropriate joke is made about the reader, angst, self-doubt, exes-to-lovers, hurt/comfort (hee hee hee), ends with fluff of course don’t worry, lots of crying involved along the way

requested: no

based off of this concept from @mountttmase and @saltyheartnightmare

A/N: I’m so excited to finally have a fic ready to post for y’all again!!! I’ve literally been working on this one for the last three months, so it’s definitely a relief to put it out there! This is set during the TFSL gala that Mason attended back at the beginning of March, so some things might be a bit”outdated” by now… I hope yall enjoy!!!

Seeing Mason tonight had been more difficult than you had anticipated.

Eight months had passed since the fairly amicable breakup between the two of you. Things had ended on fairly good terms, but it had been the little things that built up that had led to the end of your relationship. Between Mason’s injury along with the situation at United and new, huge career opportunities that had arisen for you in the last year, the two of you seemed to be in completely different places in your lives. It seemed like you barely saw each other for a few minutes after you woke up in the morning and a few minutes before you fell asleep at night.

In the end, the disconnect was too much, and the two of you agreed to end things before they could get ugly.

You were thankful to have avoided the period of fighting and bickering that you knew would inevitably come with the track that you and Mason were on. Your relationship with him had many fond memories attached to it, and you didn’t want to see those tainted by a messy breakup. But every day that passed, you missed waking up in his bed, being by his side, spending time with him— all of it.

The two of you had tried your best to remain friends, truly. You had texted back and forth a bit, doing your best to keep up with each other’s lives and keep each other updated. You met for coffee about three weeks after the split, but after that your communication had quickly fallen off. You wondered if, like you, Mason had realized that trying to maintain a friendship had grown too painful. If, like you, it was killing him to have you sitting across from him and not be able to hold you, to kiss you, to call you his.

But there was no way for you to know— the two of you hadn’t spoken since.

It hadn’t come as a surprise that he was making an appearance at the charity gala. After all, it was him that had connected you with Together For Short Lives, the organization that Mason had a long-standing relationship with and also the organization benefitting from tonight’s events. Mason’s passion for the charity and its work had sparked something within you, and you had quickly pulled some strings to get your workplace involved with it as well— all of this while you were still together.

So when your boss told you about his contribution to the charity gala and has asked you to be the representative for the business at the auction itself, you knew that seeing Mason would be inevitable.

But it’s been eight months since the split—seven since you last saw him. Surely, you’d be fine by now, you had thought.

Unfortunately, you had thought wrong.

The first glimpse of him in the sleek black suit had sent a sharp pang through your chest, a wave of emotions crashing over you. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed and the softness of it immediately made you think of how it felt when you would run your fingers through it, or the scratch of his beard when you would cradle his jaw in your palm. His shoulders seemed to have grown broader, if that was even possible. His eyes looked brighter, and he seemed far more well-rested than you had seen him in the months leading up to your breakup.

And then the terrifying thought had hit you.

Maybe he was better off without you.

Maybe the breakup had been good for him. Maybe you had been the thing draining him in the last months of your relationship.

You felt the tears spring to your eyes as soon as the thought crossed your mind, blinking them away quickly.

But the thought continued to plague you as the night went on. There were a thousand things that were making you feel unsure of yourself and the thought that your relationship with Mason had actually been detrimental to him was just the cherry on top.

This just wasn’t the kind of event you usually found yourself at, even less a setting that you felt comfortable in. You would much prefer a quite night in or the opportunity to fade into the background. When you had been with Mason, you found yourself at a few events like this one, but you always had him at your side. Often you would allow him to navigate the evening for you, so you didn’t even have to think about anything. Tonight, instead of standing next to you so you cold hold tightly onto his arm when you felt unsteady, he was 100 feet away, engaged in conversation with someone else.

To make matters worse, you had asked a friend of yours to help you find and choose a dress for the evening, and she had insisted you would look and feel great in this elegant, low-cut, dark green dress that had an open back. At the time, she had convinced you that the piece complimented your figure and would make you feel confident and sexy. However, it was completely out of your comfort zone, and you regretted your decision to listen to her as you tugged on parts of the dress to try to cover yourself up more throughout the night.

Between the unfamiliar environment, the dress, and Mason’s presence, everything left you feeling quite unsure of yourself.

When you reached your seating assignment, you were relieved to see that you were familiar with a few of the individuals that were sitting at your table—acquaintances that worked for the same company as you who, no doubt, were also sent as representatives for the charity gala. The relief was short-lived, however, when you realized that, directly in front of you, a mere two tables over, Mason’s seat was directly in your line of sight.

You did your best to sink into the shadows, allowing conversation to flow around you without making any contribution, unless someone directly asked you a question. You also tried your hardest not to look over at Mason— this sight of him happily engaging in conversation, seemingly unaffected by your presence, was too much for your heart to handle.

A wave of relief washed over you when someone got up on the stage, removing any pressure to engage in conversation at the table as everyone turned their attention to the announcer. He spoke a bit about Together for Short Lives and the work that they did, soon announcing that it was time for the items to be auctioned off.

Some of the auction items piqued your interest, seeming like items or experiences that you thought you might enjoy. But any sort of intrigue faded when you heard the amounts of money that some of the gala’s patrons were volunteering for them, quickly realizing you were way out of your depth in this room of people.

Before too long, the announcer introduced a “Manchester United Experience,” involving a tour of the team’s facility, accompanied by the team’s star boy himself. Mason approached the stage, walking up the short flight of stairs as applause rang throughout the room. You didn’t hear much of the discussion of the experience as you got caught up in watching Mason and the playful way he interacted with the announcer and the crowd. His silly boyishness sent a pang through your heart, missing the playful way he used to interact with you.

You could’ve sworn his eyes caught yours as they swept the room, and you flashed him a short, forced smile as a sort of sign of goodwill. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you stood, but you wanted to show him that you didn’t harbor any negative feelings toward him, despite the loss of contact.

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned his attention back to the announcer who had just asked him a question— one that Mason had to ask him to repeat.

Soon Mason was leaving the stage, having earned an ungodly amount of money for TFSL with his promised tour of Old Trafford.

A sick feeling settled in your gut, knowing it couldn’t be much longer before your company’s contribution was auctioned off. The mere thought of stepping onto that stage sent a rush of fear through your veins.

Before you knew it, you found yourself standing to the side of the stage, awaiting your queue to join the announcer on it. Your palms felt sweaty, your heart racing as you tried your best to compose yourself. Applause rang through the room, and you put all of your focus into not tripping as you walked up the stairs.

The room felt ten times bigger from atop the stage, filled with many more people than you had realized were in attendance. You tried to focus on smiling and nodding at the appropriate moments as the announcer explained what your company was auctioning off.

“And of course, we’re very appreciative of Miss… uhm…”

“Y/L/N,” you spoke quietly as the announcer trailed off.

“Yes, we’re very appreciative of Miss Y/L/N being here with us tonight,” the announcer resumed his charismatic personality after it had faltered briefly. “She’s certainly doing her part to raise money for a good cause. I mean, with this much skin on show, that has to be worth a few extra pounds on your bid, right?”

Your stomach sank to your feet as laughter erupted in the large room. You felt the heat in your cheeks, your smile faltering at his words. You suddenly felt ten times more self-conscious of yourself as you stood on the stage, feeling like a zoo animal being laid bare and displayed for everyone’s entertainment.

“With that, we’re going to start the bidding off at…” The announcers voice faded as the room felt like it was closing in on you. Your eyes flicked through the crowd, jumping from face to face until you found the one you were looking for— Mason.

While everyone else seemed to still be composing themselves from the eruption of laughter at the joke the announcer had made at your expense, Mason’s eyes met yours with the saddest expression you though you had ever seen. You could just barely make out his lips mouthing the words it’s okay, you’re okay, before your misty eyes could no longer make out his face.

You composed yourself just long enough for the announcer to finish off the auction, and you offered him a forced smile before you rushed off of the stage.

All you knew was that you needed to be anywhere but this room. You needed to get out, away from all of the people who had just witnessed your very public humiliation.

You made a beeline toward the back of the large hall that everyone was seated in, spotting the double doors that you knew led out to the hallway. Your heels click on the floor as you push through the doors and find the exit out to the decorative garden off of the side of the building being used for the gala. Thinking a bit of fresh air would do you good, you rushed outside, ignoring the chill that rushed through you as the cold air met your skin. Moving quickly away from the building, you ducked behind some hedges in the hope that no one would see you.

Your breathing was heavy as you tried your best to dampen the emotions welling up inside of you. Your throat felt tight as you fought back the tears of embarrassment, frustration, and regret. Forcing yourself to breath slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth, you did your best to wipe gently at the corners of your eyes, praying that you wouldn’t ruin the makeup you had done only a few hours before.

“Y/N?” you heard a voice call from around the corner. Your heart sank as you recognized the gentle tone and the footsteps let you know that he was close. This was surely not the circumstances you had hoped to be in when you spoke to him for the first time in months.

You turned your back just in time for Mason to round the corner and find you hiding away in your little nook. There was nothing you hated more than the idea of letting him see you cry in this moment.

“Y/N, love-“

“I’m fine, Mason.” Your voice came out harsher than you had meant for it to. “Really, I’m okay. Just go back to the auction.”

Undeterred by the way you had spoken, Mason took a couple of steps closer to you. “No, you’re not, Y/N. I know you better than that.”

You couldn’t respond, and you knew he hadn’t missed the small sniffle you had let out as you bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

It was only a moment before you felt his fingers gently take hold of your arm, turning you to face him. Your head was bowed low, still unwilling to let him see your misty eyes.

“C’mere, love,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you in for a tight hug. You couldn’t keep yourself from returning the gesture, your arms wrapped under his as you pressed your palms into his broad back to hold him close. You tucked your face into his neck and suddenly, your heart felt more settled than it had in months.

“He had no right to say anything like that— about you or about anyone,” Mason mumbled into your hair, pressing a barely-there kiss to your temple. “It was completely inappropriate, and you have every right to feel upset. I’m so sorry.”

He brought a hand up to cradle the back of your head, holding you closer to him. You didn’t fight it at all, settling into him more and taking comfort in the proximity.

When he could tell that your breathing had steadied, Mason pulled back, still holding you with one arm as he looked down at you with a soft smile.

“There she is.” He brought his free hand up, brushing his thumb gently under your eyes to wipe away a tear that had fallen. The gesture was so gentle and intimate that you felt like your knees were about to give out, thankful that he still had one arm around you to steady you. “Whatever waterproof makeup you’re using is working because you still look perfect,” he joked, warmth flooding through him at the soft giggle you let out before dropping your forehead onto his chest.

“For the record, your dress is beautiful,” Mason said softly. You knew he must have sensed your discomfort with how much skin you had on show, even before the gala announcer had made any comment about it. “And, in the least creepy, predatory way possible, you look amazing tonight.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, wanting to convey your gratitude to him while trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his words. The one thing you did like about the mostly open back of the dress is that you could feel Mason’s palm flattened directly against your skin as he held you close, his thumb rubbing back and forth in soothing motions. This, combined with the look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place as he looked down at you, made your skin feel like it was on fire, the heat rising up your neck and into your cheeks.

You brought your hands to his chest, holding the lapels of his jacket in your hand before you spoke quietly. “We should go back inside before anyone realizes we’ve gone.” You felt suddenly overwhelmed by the interaction with him, feeling yourself falling back into old habits without even intending to.

Mason unwound his hands from your waist, seeming a bit discouraged by your comment as he merely nodded, holding his arm out for you to take. You did so, holding onto his elbow to keep yourself steady as he led you back inside.

It was quiet between the two of you, neither sure what to say to the other after the intimate moment in the garden. Once back inside you squeezed his elbow gently, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up really quickly, but I’ll see you back out there,” with a gentle smile. Mason nodded, letting you step away from him and into the bathroom.

In truth, while you did feel a need to freshen up a bit after the tears you had shed outside, you needed a moment to collect yourself— not because of the auction announcer’s comments, but because of Mason.

You stood at the small sink in the ladies’ room, watching yourself in the mirror as you tried to stop the way your head seemed to be spinning. The last time you had seen Mason was seven months ago, engaged in stiff conversation because neither of you knew how to speak to each other after the breakup. But now, he had come to your rescue without a second thought and held you as if the breakup had never even happened.

And it felt right…

You shook your head, telling yourself not to read too much into it— Mason is a caring person and just because he ran to your side when someone had said something hurtful about you doesn’t mean he wants you back. You were self-aware enough to recognize that you had a tendency to let your thoughts run away with you, and you did your best to shut it down before it got out of hand.

At the same time, Mason’s mind was also running wild. His brain felt as if it was under some sort of fog, intoxicated by the feeling of being able to touch your skin again. He was like an addict who had quit, cold turkey, some months ago, and the first taste of your proximity had nearly done him in. He couldn’t stop thinking of how it felt to be so close to you again— to feel your weight against his body, to smell your shampoo that was still the same, to hear your soft voice, muffled by his own neck, your gentle breaths fanning over his skin.

He was worried that maybe he had been too forward— maybe you hadn’t wanted him to run after you. He didn’t want you to think he felt like he needed to rescue you from every poor situation, but after hearing the announcer’s comments and seeing the way it had so clearly upset you (even though everyone else seemed to have overlooked it), he knew he couldn’t just let you be on your own.

He been wary of overwhelming you, but it felt right to pull you into his arms out in the garden. It felt right to hold you close to him and rub gentle, soothing circles into your back with his thumb, the way he’d always done before.

Mason felt unsure of himself. He worried that your hurry to get back inside was to get away from him. He pondered with the idea of going back into the gala so it didn’t seem like he was hovering. But he battled with himself internally, thinking that you may not have wanted to be left to your own devices.

He hated that the months he had spent apart from you had robbed him of his ability to read you. He just wished he could figure out what was going on in your head.

In the bathroom, if you hadn’t had a full face of makeup on, you would’ve taken this opportunity to splash your face with cold water. However, a few deep breaths while you told yourself to get it together would have to do, and you exited the bathroom, planning to find your way back to your table and leave as soon as the event was over. It would be best, you thought, to not engage too much with Mason to avoid getting your hopes up before they were inevitably crushed.

Those plans were cut short the moment you stepped out of the bathroom and into the building’s foyer. There, Mason was waiting for you, and your stomach did a flip at the soft smile that took over his face when he lifted his head and saw you.

A wave of relief that you hadn’t expected washed over you at the sight of him waiting there.

“It sounds like they’ve wrapped up the auction in there.” Mason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the large hall that you had fled from just a bit ago. You could hear the sound of loud conversation and laughter, signaling that Mason was, indeed correct, and the guests would be starting to exit the hall soon.

Unsure of what you were meant to say, you were thankful when Mason spoke up again. “Look, I’m here, and you’re welcome to stick with me if you’re still feeling a bit overwhelmed, but if you want me to just leave you be, I understa-”

“No, please,” you rushed to cut him off, the thought of having the face the room full of people before you alone sending a feeling of dread down your spine. “I mean… I just… can I just walk with you?” Your voice was small when you spoke again, feeling pathetic for being incapable of facing an event without him by your side.

A warm feeling spread across Mason’s chest at your words, feeling a sense of pride that his presence made you feel even a little bit safer in the unfamiliar environment. Wordlessly, he offered his arm to you again, a reassuring smile on his lips.

As much as you wanted to portray yourself as an independent person who was able to take care of yourself, you had to admit that the rest of the evening felt much easier with Mason at your side. It was so easy to slip back into the same old routine—everyone wanted to talk to the star footballer, and you were happy to stand quietly at his side while he shook hands and unleashed his irresistible charm on each one.

Mason kept you close to him at all times, and the warmth of him settled your nerves tremendously. The gentle placement of his hand on your lower back sent tingles up your spine every time, and it took everything in you not to wrap your arms around his waist, afraid of overstepping.

It wasn’t much longer before Mason was leaning down, mumbling in your ear to ask if you were ready to leave. He knew this wasn’t your scene at all and had been looking for an opportunity to get you out of there since the two of you had stepped back into the gathering hall.

You had to hold back a shiver as his breath fanned over your neck, nodding in response. You let him know you just had to pop over to your table to grab your things and he nodded, following as you led the way.

Once you had retrieved your clutch and bid as quick of a goodbye as you could muster to those that were still lingering at your table, you and Mason turned to leave, heading back toward the set of doors you had entered through. The hall had grown more crowded, and as you weaved between tables, you allowed Mason to grasp your hand, leading the way through the sea of people so you wouldn’t be separated.

As you entered the foyer, Mason tugged you forward gently so that you returned to his side. The two of you exchanged a short smile.

“Is your hotel close by?” you asked, trying to make a bit of small talk as the two of you walked toward the exit.

When the bridge of Mason’s nose went red, a shy but unsure smile on his face, you slapped a hand over your face, realizing the double meaning of your question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you felt the heat in your face as you, no doubt, were turning bright red. “I was just trying to make small talk. Clearly, I’m not good at it.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Mason couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Uh, I’m actually making the drive back to Manchester tonight. We’ve got training tomorrow morning, so I’ve got to get home.” Mason reached the door, holding it open for you. “What about you? Are you nearby?”

“Yeah, actually.” The two of you reached the sidewalk in front of the building, coming to a stop as you turned toward each other. “I’m supposed to be a hotel just a bit that way.” You pointed behind him, toward the accommodations that your job was paying for.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you.

“You know… you’re welcome to tag along back to Manchester with me, if you wanted to. I could use the company to keep me awake.” Mason smiled softly at you, remembering how much you hated staying in hotels.

“Don’t you have Lewis or someone with you? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Mason shook his head in response, mumbling a quiet, “just me.” He was subtly rocking back and forth on his feet, and you could tell he was nervous about your answer.

Getting to go home, rather than sleeping in an uncomfortable hotel bed did sound pretty nice after the turn your night had taken.

Mason watched your eyebrows furrow in thought, an anxious feeing settling in his tummy as he awaited your response.

“You’re sure?”

Mason did his best to conceal the excitement he felt at the idea of getting to spend a couple more hours with you. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he whispered. “Come on, you and I both know you won’t get any sleep in that hotel bed.”

You couldn’t deny that he was right.

It wasn’t long before you were ducking into the passenger seat of Mason’s car, making sure the bottom of your dress was all the way in before Mason closed the door behind you.

The drive started out quiet, neither of you sure how to navigate the situation that you found yourself in. But as soon as you asked Mason about the FA Cup quarterfinal win over Liverpool where he had made his return following injury, his face lit up and things felt like they were almost back to normal.

You did your best to keep the topic of conversation on Mason and his life, not wanting to speak about yourself. Any time he seemed to be coming to the end of one topic, you were sure to ask another question before he had the chance to ask one to you.

Because, truth be told, life had been nothing but dull since the two of you had parted ways. Seeing him tonight was the most interesting thing to happen to you since… well, since the last time you’d seen him.

It was no secret that the transition to Manchester had been difficult for the both of you. There was no doubt it had contributed to the ending of your relationship. Leaving behind your friends, your old flat, and all of the things you had known had been no easy task. Thankfully, you had been able to stay in the same line of work, merely transferring to a new location. But you had struggled to adjust to the new, unfamiliar city, even more so when you didn’t have Mason at your side. Weekend visits back to London to visit your old friends were all that had kept you going in the last months.

As you listened to Mason telling stories of all of the fun things he had gotten up to with the boys on the team that he had grown closer with, the self-doubt creeped back in. He seemed to be doing so much better since the two of you called things off, and again your mind told you that maybe he was better off without you.

Mason noticed the change in your demeanor almost immediately. The car grew quiet, and you sat with your head leaned against the window, watching the lights as they passed. It may have been months since he last saw you, but he could recognize the signs of you overthinking from a mile away, unsure of whether it was about the announcer’s comments from earlier in the night or the fact that you were sitting in a car with him.

Wanting to provide a bit of reassurance, Mason reached over, taking your hand in his, bringing it up to his face, and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. He placed your hand back in your lap, moving to put his back on the steering wheel, but your grip tightened slightly to prevent him from doing so. Your head remained pressed against the glass, but the small gesture brought a smile to Mason’s face as he shifted to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Mason didn’t press you for conversation, allowing you the space to process the events of the night however you needed to. Before long, Mason heard the soft sound of your deep, steady breathing, and a quick glance in your direction revealed that you had drifted off to sleep, your hand relaxed in his. The dull ache that had settled in his chest all night grew a bit sharper as he stole a few glances in your direction, admiring the peaceful expression on your face.

As much as he tried to hide it, as much as he tried to put on a brave face and talk about all of the amazing things that had been going on in his like recently, he couldn’t deny…

He missed you.

He missed having you like this, at his side at the end of a long day. He missed the feeling of ease that washed over him just by knowing you were close by and being able to have that same effect on you. He missed catching up with you at the end of the day, instead of trying to accurately recap the seven months that had passed since he’d last seen you.

He just missed you being in his life and had spent the last eight months trying to find out how to get you back in it.

*

You were jostled awake as you heard the sound of a car door closing. You sat up straight, blinking your eyes a few times as you tried your best to figure out where you were. You recognized the interior of Mason’s car, a flash of confusion running through you before the memories of the night came flooding back in.

The car door at your side opened, Mason appearing at your side as he crouched down, offering you the gentlest of smiles.

“Hey there, love,” he spoke softly, and the kind look in his eyes made your heart flutter. “You fell asleep on the way back, and I realized I don’t know where your new flat is.”

The little flutter of your heart quickly died, the reality of your failed relationship crashing back in after you had been able to put it to the back of your mind for much of the night since Mason had come to your aid.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, reaching for your bag to pull out your phone. “I’ll just order a car, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t be silly, just stay here. I’ve got some extra things you can use, and I’m going into training late tomorrow anyway, so I can drop you at home on my way,” Mason smiled at you, and the way his eyes shone hopefully meant you wouldn’t need much convincing, whispering a soft “okay” in reply.

Mason took your hand, helping you out of the car and leading you inside as you wiped your bleary eyes. He led you to his room, releasing your hand as he wandered through the room, laying out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for you to wear. He wandered to the bathroom for a few moments. When he emerged, you watched with confusion as he collected a few things in his hands and walked toward his door.

“You can sleep in here tonight. I still had some of your skincare products left over from before, so they’re out on the counter,” he smiled at you. “I’ll just be in the guest room, if you need anything.”

His generosity caught you off-guard, and before you could come up with a response, he placed a quick kiss to the top of your head and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

You stood in the middle of the room for a moment, just looking around, taking it all in. You never would have suspected that you’d find yourself here again, and you couldn’t wrap your head around the turn that this night had taken.

Finally snapping yourself out of it, you slipped out of your dress, pulling Mason’s shirt over your head. The scent of his cologne mixed with the laundry detergent he always used brought a wave of emotion crashing over you, and your lower lip wobbled as you walked into the bathroom.

Along with a spare toothbrush that he had set out for you, all of your skincare products were lined up on the counter, and the thought that he had held onto them for you after all this time was what finally caused the tears the spill down your cheeks, the emotions of the night finally catching up with you.

When you crawled into the bed, face washed and feeling fresher after the long night, you allow the tears to flow, pressing your face into Mason’s pillow.

All of it was so overwhelming. Seeing him again after so long. How unsure you had felt of yourself throughout the night. Being humiliated in front of an entire audience. The way Mason had run to your side without a moment’s hesitation. The way it had felt so natural to fall back into conversation with him, to touch him, for him to touch you. Being back in the house that you had once shared with him.

It was all too much.

Not even 30 feet away, Mason was lying on his back in the guest bed, eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling. There was no way he was falling asleep any time soon, the thought of you in his bed only a few steps away enough to keep him awake.

After an hour had passed, accompanied by only his racing thoughts, Mason toyed with the idea of sneaking down to his room to see if you were awake. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to you, and he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get to say them soon.

But he thought better of it, guessing that you were probably already asleep, and he didn’t want to disturb you.

However, Mason had guessed wrong. Instead, you were lying on your side, legs tucked up close to your body, staring at the small, framed photo of the two of you on Mason’s side table. It had always been there during your relationship, and the thought that he had kept it in the time since you had split brought such a weight of sadness over you that you felt sick.

Did he miss you the way you missed him? Did he, too, regret not fighting harder for your relationship with every day that passed?

The thought kept you awake until the early hours of the morning.

When Mason awoke the next morning, a heavy exhaustion weighed on him as he had only slept a few hours, tossing and turning the entire time. He crawled out of bed and slipped a shirt over his head, his feet padding softly on the carpeted floor as he moved down the hallway to check on you. He noticed that the door to his room was already open, and when he peeked his head in, you were nowhere to be found.

From the way the blankets were shifted, Mason could tell that you had slept on his side of the bed, and his chest tightened at the thought.

The sound of clinking pots and pans coming from the kitchen caused Mason’s ears to perk up and led him in that direction.

As Mason rounded the corner, he found you, with your back facing him, standing in front of the oven. Your hair, falling across your shoulders, still held some of the curl that you had done for the event the night prior. Mason’s heart clenched at the sight of you in his shirt and a pair of his sweatpants.

A few pans and bowls were scattered across the stovetop and counters, and Mason recognized all of the components of the hearty breakfast you used to make when both of you had the day off. The combination of smells was so specific, and the déjà vu nearly made him dizzy.

You turned around, reaching for a bowl on the counter and jumped slightly when you saw Mason there.

“Sorry,” he breathed, still at a bit of a loss for words. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

You just gave him a small smile and a short “s’okay” as you turned back to the stove. “Sorry if I woke you.” Your voice sounded so small—Mason hated it. He hated the tension that hung in the air between the two of you. He hated the fact that you had nearly become strangers to each other.

In the hours that you had spent, lying awake with your thoughts running wild in Mason’s bed, you had resolved to avoid complicating things further than they already had been. Things were awkward enough between the two of you after Mason had graciously come to the rescue, despite the ending of your relationship, and you were determined to make it home without making it worse.

You owed it to yourself— your feelings for Mason were still there, hidden just beneath the surface. But you refused to put yourself out there and put your heart through that pain again.

You wished you had it in you to be cold with him, completely cutting off any chance of rekindling something between the two of you— any risk of getting your hopes up. But you knew Mason, and you knew that he often wore his heart on his sleeve, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him like that, either.

But despite your resolve and determination, the sorrow-filled gaze in Mason’s eyes had already begun to pierce through the armor that you had put around your heart.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Mason slipped into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the island countertop. His eyes followed you as you finished preparing the last of the breakfast. You dished out two plates— a portion for yourself and another, larger portion for Mason.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know?” Mason spoke softly as you set the plate in front of him.

You shrugged, standing on the opposite side of the island from him as you stared down at your own plate. “It’s the least I could do. It’s your food anyway,” you mumbled, poking at your eggs with a fork, suddenly feeling too sick to eat anything.

“Well, thank you, Y/N,” Mason said, earnestly. “I really appreciate it.”

Mason couldn’t help but feel discouraged by your stony demeanor. He had hoped that after the night prior, the two of you might be on the right path to sorting things out between you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He kept stealing quick glances at you as he ate, savoring every delicious bite. But he could tell how uneasy you felt as you stood there, tucking your hair behind your ear as you took small bites from your plate.

The tension was thick as the two of you ate in silence, neither one sure how to even begin the conversation. Did you talk about last night, or leave the topic untouched?

The longer the silence stretched between the two of you, the heavier the weight on your heart grew. As much as you had tried not to get your hopes up, and as many times as you told yourself that your relationship with Mason was well and truly over, a small part of you had still hoped that he would say something this morning— anything, really. That small part of you wanted to believe that this chance encounter was the key—a sign that the two of you needed to find your way back to each other.

But despite it all, the spark that you had hoped was still there seemed to have been snuffed out.

You kept your eyes glued to your plate, afraid that Mason would see them shining with tears and start asking questions. You didn’t want him to think you were pathetic— needing him to rescue you the night before and now here, standing in his kitchen, crying because he didn’t want you back.

You took a breath and steeled yourself to pack up your things from his room and get the fastest Uber back home you could manage.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you scraped the last of your food into the trashcan, no longer able to stomach another bite, and placed the empty dish in the sink. You left the kitchen as quickly as you could, trying to hide your face from Mason as the first tears fell.

Mason was taken by surprise at your sudden rush to leave the room, the noise a stark contrast to the silence that had hung thick in the air. He watched your back as you walked out without so much as a glance in his direction.

His stomach sank. He had hoped, after lying awake all night thinking of you, that you had been cooking breakfast for him as a sort of sign—a signal that you wanted to talk things over again and revisit the topic of him and you. But the unpleasant aura that had remained between the two of you while you ate had gotten you no closer to that conversation.

Maybe he had read too far into things. Maybe the breakfast had just been a ‘thank you’ for driving you back to Manchester last night. Maybe he had pushed too far and inviting you to stay at his was too much, too soon.

Mason pushed his plate away from him, dropping his head into his hands and huffing a sigh as he felt his eyes burn with tears that surprised him. He hadn’t realized just how much the last 24 hours had gotten his hopes up for reigniting a relationship with you until you seemed to have walked away from it altogether.

It was almost like he could feel his heart breaking all over again.

But no, Mason resolved. He refused to let you walk away from him again, not until he had fully expressed to you how deeply he missed you, how much he still cared for you.

With renewed determination, Mason stood from his chair and nearly ran to his bedroom.

Standing outside of his own bedroom door, Mason hesitated for a moment, again overthinking his decision to confront the issue head-on.

But that didn’t last for more than a second before he was tapping his knuckles gently on the door three times.

“You can come in,” he heard your small voice.

When he opened the door, slowly, he found you just returning from the bathroom, several of your own items in hand. As you attempted to collect all of your things, Mason didn’t miss the tear you tried to inconspicuously wipe from your cheek or the soft sniffle you tried to hide with a cough. His heart softened— seeing you cry had always been one of the things he hated most.

“I have an Uber on the way. Should be here any minute. I don’t want to ask you to drive me again,” you spoke hurriedly, as if overcompensating for your fragile state by talking too much. “I can, um, just wash these clothes and drop them off sometime. I really-“

You were cut off when you turned to walk around to the other side of the bed and instead, ran straight into Mason’s chest.

He steadied you with a hand on each of your arms. He held an unreadable expression on his face, and you knew there was no hiding the tear streaks on your cheeks now. However, Mason’s eyes shone with as he looked down at you.

It was silent for several seconds until Mason spoke in a whisper, pleading.

“Don’t go.”

And the silence returned. Your thoughts were spinning a mile a minute. Your mouth dropped open, your brain making its most valiant attempt at forming a response, and yet no words came to you.

Mason took your loss for words as an invitation to continue. “I miss mornings like this. I miss falling asleep with you in my arms and waking up next to you. I miss talking to you at the end of the day,” his lower lip wobbled as he paused to collect himself. “I miss you, Y/N.”

His words pierced right to your heart. Whatever walls you had built to keep him out were nowhere near strong enough and you could already feel them beginning to crumble.

“Letting you walk away was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ve spent every day since then wishing I could go back and change it all. I would’ve fought harder for you— for us.” Mason pleaded softly. “Seeing you last night made me realize that none of that has gone away, I still feel the way I did before. Please— please tell me you feel it, too.”

The tears poured freely from your eyes now, and there was no holding them back. You rolled your lips into your mouth, attempting to hold in a sob. Mason’s hands left your arms, coming up to cradle your cheeks as you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. His thumbs swiped at your cheeks, trying to dry your tears.

“I can’t, Mason. W-We can’t,” your voice trembled.

“Why can’t we?” Mason was desperate, resting his forehead against yours. The proximity was making your head spin, the feeling of his breath fanning across your face too familiar, too overwhelming.

“Who’s to say it won’t be the same as the last time?” you cried, finally looking back at him. “I can’t go through that pain, not again.”

“We decide that it’ll be different.” Mason was ready to get on his knees and beg if he had to. “Things will be better this time— I’ll be better.”

He knew that what you had was worth fighting for, and if there was any chance—even a shred of hope—that you would give him another shot, he had to take it.

You looked up into his tear-filled eyes as he whispered, “I just know I can’t lose you, Y/N, not again.”

Like a dam breaking loose, a sob wracked your body at his words. Whatever had been left of the walls you had built up came crashing to the ground. Mason was quick to pull you into his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head as he rubbed soothing circles into your back.

It was like all of the hurt and emotions from the last eight months tore through you at once. Mason, feeling the way your frame was shaking, held you tightly to him, as if he were the only thing holding you together in that moment. He kissed the top of your head, and you could hear him sniffle, knowing that he was crying, too.

As your cries grew softer and you began to calm down, you clutched Mason’s shirt tightly in your fists, afraid that if you released him, he would disappear.

Mason eventually leaned back to look at you and you lifted your head from where it was buried in his chest. There was the softest hint of a smile on his face as he tried to wipe away the remaining tears.

“I-If we do this…” Mason’s tummy flipped at your words, clinging to the sense of hope that they brought. “If we give this another chance, we have to take it slow.”

Mason nodded quickly, his eyes flicking all over your face for any sign of hesitation. “Anything you need, love. Anything at all.”

Your lower lip wobbled as you took him in. “I’ve missed you so much, Masey.”

Mason pressed his lips firmly to your forehead, his heart soaring at the use of his nickname. “I’m here now, and I’m not leaving— never again.”

You leaned forward, pressing your face into his neck and hugged him again, trying to drink if the feeling of being back in his arms. You let him overwhelm your senses— the feeling of his arms around your body, his comforting scent as you breathed him in, the sound of his heartbeat that calmed you so easily.

“I know we’re taking it slow, but I have a couple more hours until training,” Mason spoke softly as you pulled back, looking up at him. A hopeful smile played on his lips. “Will you stick around? Cancel your Uber. I can take you home on my way.”

“Are you sure?” There was still that shred of lingering doubt, the fear of imposing yourself.

“I’m so sure,” he smiled. “I don’t think i’m ready to let go of you just yet.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips before you whispered a soft “okay.”

Never, when you left for the gala the night before, did you think this was where you would find yourself—back at Mason’s house, as he led you to the couch to cuddle while you talked about what your next steps would be. But as you lay in his arms, admiring the soft scattering of freckles across his cheeks, you felt a piece of your heart that had been missing those last few months begin to heal.

And you couldn’t be more thankful that you had your boy back.

As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated!!! 🤍

tag list:

@hischierswhore @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @brasiliangp @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @sid-vii @captainpulisic

[peachesofteal]

dr. riley has me in a chokehold

(anon is talking about this and my previous ramblings about Simon as a shrink but they were too long ago so now they're lost to the ether, thanks Tumblr search)

He's in the pub.

The bar is a safe space. A spot where you can slink into the darkness and allow alcohol to nurse your wounds, the scars scratched into your mind so deep they'll never fade.

You can't do it yourself, so you let the drinks do it instead.

You've had enough tonight that you can't read the screen on your phone without going cross eyed, and the edges of your vision blur a bit.

You should stop.

But you won't.

The raw saw of the blades have finally stopped ringing between your ears. The buzzing hums at a low, tolerable whine.

You're ordering another one, when you spot him. Turned on your barstool, you catch a glimpse of his shoulders, the ones so wide, so thick he's more sequoia than man, his profile complete with the crooked nose, glasses resting on the bridge. He's shaking his head at another man, but when he shifts, you see her.

There's a beautiful woman at his side. Her hip rests against his thigh, beer cradled in her hand as she leans into him. All smiles. Beaming smiles, radiant like the sun.

Not broken, like yours. Scarred and misshapen, like yours.

You came back. But you came back wrong.

You're not stupid enough to see you're falling victim to the Florence Nightingale effect. Dr. Riley is kind, and patient, and he knows what you've been through. It almost feels like he understands you, knows you. He doesn't get angry when you struggle or fail, he lets you try again. He encourages you.

It's been a really long time since you've felt like anyone understands you.

And, the way he touches you has to be professional, but to you, it's starting to turn to something else. Something dark. Craven. His wide palm resting between your shoulder blades, a firm squeeze of your hand when he holds it, a soft rub of your shoulders. Practiced, therapeutic reassurance on one end, and the other: fire roaring through your body until you're slick with flames.

You're too distracted by your wandering thoughts, zoned out staring at the trio across the bar that the other man sees you, and cocks his head. Fuck. Like a slow motion car crash, you watch the man say something to Dr. Riley, the bulk of his body turning, searching through a sea of faces until his gaze lands on yours.

Double fuck.

Black tar wraps around your heart in vines, and your vision melts to double. You throw notes, too many, onto the bar top and nearly sprint for the exit, heavy wooden door squeaking on its hinges as you plunge into the cool air.

The world is spinning. The alley is dark, the asphalt is firm beneath your feet and still, everything turns on its side.

"Clover?" You turn, exerting too much energy to keep yourself upright, stable.

"Hi, Dr. Riley." He traces you from head to toe. Slowly. No doubt tabulating the state you're in, the way your eyes have trouble focusing, how your balance is blatantly askew.

"It's... good to see you, out and about."

"Oh. Yeah, well, I'm just here for the alcohol, ya know." It escapes from your mouth before you can shove it back down, and he frowns.

You've seen that frown before. It's the 'I'm worried about you, clover" frown, or the "I need to see more progress clover, you know that" or, your personal favorite, the "I understand you're upset, but I'm not going to compromise on making sure you have the care you need."

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah. I'm grand." You hold your arms out, palms up, babbling still, "I'm great, Dr. Riley, just peachy," and then try to spin for added effect. See? I'm fine. Totally fine. Normal, even.

It's embarrassing how fast you lose control and careen towards the pavement, your forearms coming up just in time to shield your face, alcohol burning in the back of your throat, warring with your control, attempting to come back up.

He lunges, heavy arm catching you around your middle. He's warm, scorching even, and you grip his forearm to try to get your legs beneath you. Once you're right side up, one of his hands settles at your shoulder and the other... your waist.

"S-sorry."

"It's okay." He's looking down at you, the glow from the street light catching in the umber flicker of his eyes, and you think you see something different in them, something deeper, something more. Your mouth is dry, and you lick your lips, his gaze dropping. You shudder, skin crawling with goosebumps and electric shock, confusing thoughts and feeling cycling through you like a storm. A storm destined to destroy everything in its path.

Stupidity blooms in your blood. You're close enough to smell the peat and sting of bourbon on his tongue, track the back and forth of his eyes as you rise to your toes.

A bold swell rises, a tide so strong it sweeps you to see, drags your toes across the sand like small weightless anchors, until you can no longer touch, until you can no longer see the horizon past the curve of the waves.

You let it drag you under. Fill your lungs. You let it push you further, faster, harder, and before you're even aware of it, your lips are pressed to his.

There's a beat. A single heartbeat, where you're fused as one and then-

He jerks backward, eyes wide. His hands envelope your shoulders and create as much distance between your body and his. He looks... surprised. Shocked even.

Not at all what you wanted.

What did you want?

He's still holding you by the shoulders. At first, it's confusing, because why would he do that? But when you listlessly tilt to the side, you understand. He's just keeping you upright.

The full scale veil of shame comes quickly. Horror coats your tongue. You fucking fool. You bleeding idiot. What have you done? He's inside with a woman, for fucks sake. The shock at yourself, at the loss of control, makes your chest tight, eyes darting around wildly, in a panic.

"Clover." You've never heard this tone before. It's serious, and very heavy. There's a hint of lecture in it, a shade of disappointment. "You're very drunk. Let me get you an uber so you can get h-"

"No." You jerk away, marveling at your ability to stay steady. "No, no. I... I'm sorry. I'm actually already waiting on one." Lie. How will you get out of that? "It'll be here... be here soon, 'round the corner." You pull every piece of your still functioning brain forward to get it all out without slurring too much, and melting into the ground from embarrassment. He gives you a stern look. It's awful.

"I'm jus' gonna go inside and grab my phone, okay? Stay put." He's still using that voice, the serious one without a hint of softness, the one that sounds nothing like the one you hear in therapy, when you're on his couch with your eyes closed, slowly walking through your thoughts with your eyes closed.

"Okay, sure." You try a reassuring smile, but he only scrutinizes you closer, before heading inside. He's moving fast, faster than you expected, but it won't matter. The block is short. You'll be a few away by the time he reappears.

You swallow your nausea, shake your limbs loose, and then...

you run.

[messylustt]

teach me — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : ethan comes to you with a surprising request…

contents : kissing, i don’t really know how to kiss, so don’t mind the “teaching” part, virgin/innocent ethan. wc 1.5k.

pt one pt two

“what did you want to talk about?” you ask ethan as he takes a seat on your bed beside you.

you turn to him, lifting your knee to get comfortable.

“i, uh,” ethan begins gulping. why was he so nervous?

“is something wrong?” you question, worried that it may be related to the wandering ghostface, but ethan just shakes his head.

“no, i just—” he breathes, finally meeting your gaze. “its kind of embarrassing.”

you chuckle, wondering what the hell he could be on about.

“have you ever, like…touched someone?” his question comes off so innocent, that it takes you a moment to process his actual words.

you furrow your brows as you tilt your head. “as in…sexually?”

ethan diverts your gaze. “yeah.”

“oh.” you say before sitting straighter. “yeah, i have. why do you ask?”

ethan scratches the back of his neck. “well, there’s this girl i like, and I want to impress her. i plan to ask her out…but if we kiss i want it to be…good.”

“ah, and if you go further you want to know what your doing?” you guess.

ethan carefully looks away with a quick nod and an awkward chuckle.

“well, for one, i don’t think she’d mind if your a virgin. most girls don’t care.” you say honestly. ethan meets your gaze. “but I totally get if you want to impress her.” you smile.

you pause. “so, why did you come to me? i mean, i’m sure chad knows what he’s doing.” you chuckle.

ethan joins you. “yeah, but he’d tease me for it and not actually be very helpful.” he scoffs.

“ah,” you hum, nodding. “well, what do you want to know?”

ethan meets your gaze. “h-how to kiss…maybe.”

you nod, crossing your legs as you fully face him. ethan turns to face you more as well, resting his hand back against your duvet.

“so, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” you begin. “focus on her bottom lip, and press lightly as first. then when you want to add tongue you brush yours along—”

“can you show me?” ethan speaks quickly, watching you carefully. “i-i just mean so that i can actually…practice, you know?”

your slightly shocked that ethan asked that, but you know that it’s just as he says. ‘practice’. “i mean, sure. if your comfortable?”

ethan nods, maybe a fraction too quickly, as his eyes dart down to your lips. “i just want learn.”

you take a breath before sitting closer, ethan moves as well until your legs are touching. you lean forward.

“just let me know when you want to stop.” you say, as you lift your hand to his cheek. “obviously i’m used to being with guys rather than girls, but luckily kissing is the same both ways.”

you draw closer, hearing ethan’s thumping heart. “focus on the bottom lip.” you instruct as you wrap your lips over his top, pressing into him.

ethan copies you, wrapping his lips around your bottom as you both kiss. moving against each other slowly at first, as ethan copies your head movements. you pull away as your hand on his cheek drops to the side of his neck. “good.” you nod. “your a natural.”

ethan blushes at your compliment. “then?” he breathes out.

“then you have to know where to place your hands.” you begin, as ethan’s eyes dart down to your lips continuously. “depends your position of course. but, let’s say it’s sitting, like we are.”

you reach to grab his wrists. “the waist is always a good place.” you pull his hands to your hips. ethan listens to your words as he slides his hands further around your waist.

you slide your hands up and around the back of his neck. ethan leans closer to your lips, awaiting your next instruction.

“you can move your hands from here whenever you want.”

“to where?” he questions intently.

“anywhere.” you say. “like rubbing up and down her side, or under her shirt, if your brave enough.” you smirk, earning a small chuckle from him.

“alright.” he says, leaning back in. “anywhere.” he confirms to himself before he’s pressing his lips back to yours. he captures your bottom lip, carefully sucking. he’s soon dragging his hands along your side, before edging the hem of your shirt. “is that ok?” he asks against your lips.

“uh, yeah, good. that’s what you should say to her.” you gulp.

“and then?” ethan asks, as you back away a fraction.

“then you can add tongue. but if your not comfortable doing that with me, totally under—”

“no, i, uh, i want to.” ethan nods, his hands hitting against your thighs.

“alright.” you hold down the shakiness in your voice as you nod.

he pulls you back in, placing his hand on the back your neck now as he kisses you. a little more confident than before.

you take the next step and run your tongue along his bottom lip, asking for access. ethan got the hint as he opens his mouth a fraction. your tongue dives in, meeting his as his breath shudders against you. you let your tongue dance with his before your pulling back.

ethan follows your lips, his warm breath staying close, before he realises what he’s doing. he leans back looking bashful. “sorry.”

“it’s alright.” you say softly.

ethan meets your gaze. “can we do that again?” he pauses, catching your expression. “just so I can get it right.”

“yeah…sure.” you lean in again as ethan quickly places his mouth against yours, copying how you ran your tongue along his bottom lip. you open your mouth as he finds your tongue, taking control of this kiss, as you let him take the lead.

his hands are suddenly at your hips. “can you straddle me?” he asks, a little dazed. your eyes slightly widen.

“i’d want her to straddle me.” he says quickly noticing your expression.

you carefully nod, as you raise your leg over him, not quite sitting down though, just hovering.

ethan eagerly watches you, his hands still on your hips. then he’s pulling you in for another kiss. “am I doing it right?” he asks against your lips before he’s kissing you again.

“mhm.” you hum into his mouth as he laps at your tongue. growing more confident by the second.

your hand finds his hair, twisting in his curls as he lets out a small whimper. he blushes, having not meant to let that slip.

his hands draw under your loose shirt as he brushes up your sides. you slightly shiver at the slight coldness. “sorry.” he says, but you shake your head.

“your hands are just cold, that’s fine.” you assure him. “so, i can do this?” he asks as he runs his fingers along the skin by your ribs. you unintentionally arch as you nod. “she’d like that.”

ethan nods, absorbing all your words. his hands stop just under your bra, before they splay across your stomach. “can i?” ethan asks fiddling with the lace of your bra, looking extremely distracted.

“for her you should.” you say, remembering he’s doing this to impress a girl. you go to pull his hands out when his grip tightens around you. you jolt slightly. “i want to learn more.” he sounds nearly breathless.

“ethan.” you say catching his gaze. “i don’t think we should go farther if you like another girl—”

“what if i’ve already kissed her?” ethan cuts in.

your brows furrow. “then why did you—”

“what if i want her to show me how to touch her.” he sounds desperate as he pulls you down onto him, making you gasp. “to show me how to please her.” his breath hits your collarbone. and that’s when you feel how hard he’s grown underneath you.

out of shock you go to move away but you end up just moving along his bulge. he whimpers, bucking up into you. “fuck.” he whispers.

that’s when you realise that the girl is you. he had planned this.

ethans mouth hangs open as he holds you by your hips, grinding his bulge into you, becoming a quick whining mess.

you gasp. “ethan!”

“ugh, you feel so good. that feels so…good.” he whines as he uses you to rub himself.

“ethan.” you gasp-moan as he rubs right along your clothed clit.

ethan picks up on the sound straight away, watching your expression closely. he grinds again, watching you this time as he waits for another sound to fall from your lips. his expression is a mix of eagerness and pleasure. you moan again as he juts into you.

ethan smiles, finding more pleasure as your breathing stutters. you place your hands on his chest, trying to stop his movements.

“i thought you just wanted to kiss?” you ask, partly breathless.

ethan shakes his head. “no.” he leans in again, and captures your lips. “though, i do like kissing you.” he smiles against your lips.

“i didn’t know—” you begin.

“that i liked you?” ethan asks as his hand slips under your shirt again, rubbing up your back. you shake your head, and he holds down a grin. “can i—” he cuts himself off, breathing hard. “can i kiss somewhere else?”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[toysrguts]

can i request sally face relationship headcanons maybe??

sally face fandom is sooo dead:(

sally face realtionship hc's!!!!

i dont write this kind of stuff usually but i actually had a lot of fun with this ^___^ i hope its everything u hoped for 🙏🙏

sal:

•his love language is quality time, he loves spending time with you even if youre just doing nothing together

•your presence is very comforting to him

•isnt physically affectionate unless he knows youre 100% okay with it

•once he gets comfortable around you he will not let go he loves cuddling

•your dates are more lowkey like playing video games or having movie nights

•writes little songs for you and plays them on his guitar

•the best listener, you can yap all day and you will have his full undivided attention

•you can feel the shift in his behavior when hes in public with you vs being alone with you. he can let his guard down when its just the 2 of you

•communicating is hard for him but he is very understanding

•has a lot of deep conversations with you

•at night especially is when he opens up most, and you find it really endearing

•he has insomnia so sometimes you stay up all night talking or doing other things

•he loves how good you are with gizmo, hes basically your child

•gets so flustered when you make eye contact with him so naturally because hes insecure and sensitive about his face

•your acceptance of him means a lot to him

•literally melts when you play with his hair or scratch his head

•has abandonment issues and often worries hes not doing enough but you do your best to reassure him

•he can also be really clingy but he knows when to give you your space

•gives you really meaningful obscure compliments constantly, he finds all your “imperfections” beautiful

larry:

•very loving but also likes to mess with you and is such a tease

•will randomly come up behind you and pick you up when you least expect it

•he loves playing with your hair, especially when youre in bed together he’ll run his fingers through it until you fall asleep

•takes you to all of his secret hangout spots around nockfell for smoke seshes and picnics

•although he can be intense sometimes, hes really gentle with you and knows how to calm you down when youre overwhelmed

•loves getting you little gifts when you least expect it

•he frequently invites you over for painting dates

•also treehouse dates!!!!

•falling asleep up there and getting to watch the sunrise together

•PLEASE steal his clothes he loves that shit

•especially when you give them back and they smell like you

•taking you to concerts and shows is like his favorite thing ever

•not afraid to show affection with you in public

•you're his and everyone needs to know

•when he gets comfortable you get to see a different side of him

•hes usually loud and silly and annoying but he has an emotional and vulnerable side that only you really get to see

•acts of service are his love language fs, he cooks and cleans for you all the time

•hes definitely the jealous type

•someone complimenting you is fine, but if he catches someone flirting with you hes throwing hands

•sharing music with you is his favorite past time

•picking up cd’s from the music store and blasting them on his stereo together

•or on public transport where each of you has an earbud in

•lisa LOVES you and is always so welcoming whenever you come to stay with larry

•makes special burned cd mixes for you and labels them with sharpie and doodles little things on them

ash:

•you are her entire world she cannot be away from you for more than 5 minutes

•thinks your eyes are really pretty and you catch her staring into them every so often

•makes really heartfelt handmade gifts for you (like one of her “little dudes”)

•tries to make you laugh when youre sad

•it works like 99% of the time

•takes you everywhere on her motorcycle

•“hop on loser, we’re going to mcdonald's”

•takes a lot of pictures of you together and hangs them up on her wall

•can always sense when something is wrong and always knows how to make you feel better

•writes you little love letters every so often so you never forget how she feels about you

•will beg and pleade to let her do your makeup

•its mostly just an excuse to get close to you and get to sit on your lap :3

•also loves styling you in different outfits even if you dont wear them out, youre like her own personal model

•has like 20 different nicknames for you

todd:

•he smells sooooo good

•like pine and cedar wood 🤤🤤🤤🤤

•and dont get me started on his hair

•its so fluffy and smells amazing he loves when you run your fingers through his curls

•loves taking you out and spoiling you because you deserve it

•so chill and easy to communicate with, your comfort and happiness is his number one priority

•very protective over you but he tries not to be overbearing

•talks about you to literally everyone when youre not around

•remembers all the little details about you that you would expect him to forget

•the biggest nerd ever and loves yapping at things he likes, but he loves hearing you talk about your interests even more

•if you get obsessed with something like a video game or tv show he will not rest until you get him into it too

•if you crash at his place, expect breakfast in bed

•if youve had a bad day hes there to pamper you and give you everything you need

•“i got you this cuz it made me think of you” as he holds out a rock in his hand

•seems really serious and intimidating but youd be surprised

•hes such a dork when you get to know him

•drives you around literally everywhere, he loves traveling with you with the windows down and the radio blaring

[livingformintyoongi]

yoongi fucking his girlfriend raw for the first time and her telling him to cum inside because she wants his babies

First time

a/n: as the request did not have many specifications I went straight to the point, hope you don't mind 😣. warnings: Breeding kink, a little bit soft, in fact there are not many warnings, it is quite soft. wc: 1.1k taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @zent9 @superbbananananana

"Shit" you moaned, squirming on your sheets as you felt Yoongi's fingers touch the exact spot that made the knot in your belly get tighter and tighter, although, come to think of it, it could also be due to Yoongi's tongue teasing your clit.

"I haven't done this in a long time" he whispered, straightening up as he pulled his fingers from inside you and licked them. During all that time he didn't take his eyes off you and your body. "Do you think you're lubed up enough to get my cock in?".

"Yes" you sighed, resting a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm your heartbeat. It wasn't very helpful, but at least you tried. You turned your head toward your nightstand, reaching your shaking arm toward the drawer to pull out a condom. You frowned as you felt Yoongi's hand stop you quickly, "What's wrong?" you turned to look at him, returning your arm to its place.

"It's just..." he scratched the back of his neck, grimacing with his mouth. His cheeks were barely tinged with a pastel pink color you'd seen once or twice when he felt too embarrassed, "could we, you know, do it without a condom? Only if you want to" he hastened to clarify, avoiding looking you in the eye.

"It's okay" you cupped his cheeks, caressing them gently, "we've been together for years, and I doubt that with one time anything will happen" you smiled at him as reassuringly as you could, hoping you could convey that feeling to him.

"God, I love you so much," he settled between your legs, moving down until he was face to face with you, "I don't think you can imagine how much I do," he kissed your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses running all the way from where he started to your bra.

"Then show me how much you love me" you whispered in his ear, hugging his neck and pulling him even closer to you. You shivered slightly as you felt his breath collide against your chest.

"Oh believe me, I will" he laughed softly, gently pushing the tip of his cock inside you. You both moaned before the skin to skin contact. It was your first time doing this, and although it felt strange, it was a sensation you definitely wouldn't regret feeling. "How is it possible that after all these years you're still so tight?" he growled over your collarbones, leaving a mark right in the center.

"Don't ask, just enjoy it" You tried to laugh, but were quickly interrupted by a lunge from Yoongi.

If there was one thing that characterized Yoongi in sex, it was that he would never start soft and gentle. He liked to go straight to his climax point, feel as much as possible in the shortest time and repeat it over and over again until he was satisfied. That was your Yoongi.

"Feels good" he murmured against your skin, pounding your pussy hard. A shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he heard you moan loudly the moment the tip of his cock hit your G-spot. He loved how you reacted every time he found that sensitive spot.

"Fuck" you brought your hands to his hair, pulling on it to keep yourself grounded. You let your head fall back, giving Yoongi the opportunity to lick, bite and mark your neck as he pleased. 

Yoongi moaned as he felt your walls clench around him tightly, clinging to your hips as if his life depended on it. It would probably leave marks, but he didn't care right now, neither you nor him.

"I love the feel of you squeezing my cock," he said as he closed his eyes and concentrated on increasing the speed of your onslaught. His hand gently caressed the marks he had left on your neck, causing a soft sigh to escape your lips.

"More" you moaned, moving your hands down from his hair to his shoulders, burying your deep red nails into his skin. 

"More?" he teased back, taking one of your legs and pulling it up his shoulder. You moaned loudly as you felt his cock go even deeper than it was before. "Shit, Y/N, you're so sensitive" he laughed, moving his hand down to your womanhood to take your clit between his fingers and play with it as he pleased.

You hunched your back to him, closing your eyes tightly. The knot in your stomach was becoming more and more unbearable and you weren't sure how much longer you could continue. "Yoonie" you whimpered between moans, looking up at him with misty eyes and dilated pupils.

"It's okay, it's okay, I've got you" he bent down a little, just enough to kiss your cheek, "do it as soon as you're ready."

You nodded awkwardly, starting to move your hips against his so you could get your long desired release. The moment you came your whole body trembled from the spasms, and you almost melted as you felt Yoongi embrace you as carefully as possible with the intention of regulating your body's movement. 

"That's it, fuck, you're squeezing me so good" Yoongi closed his eyes, concentrating on how good your tight, wet pussy felt. He was so immersed in the sensation that he almost forgot he wasn't wearing a condom. "Shit" he whispered, trying to get out of your pussy as quickly as possible. He moaned in surprise as he felt you imprison his hips with your legs. You still looked a little tired from your recent orgasm, but apparently you were determined not to let it out. "Honey, I'm going to come soon, I need-".

"Cum inside" you whispered, moving your hips against his, "I want you to come inside, I want to have your baby."

And that broke Yoongi for a few seconds. Only for a few seconds, because almost instantly he reacted and brought his mouth to yours in search of a desperate kiss. You gasped as you felt Yoongi's thrusts get deeper and stronger, and only moments later, you felt his cum spill inside you as you swallowed your boyfriend's moans with the kiss.

You both fell silent after finishing. You kept your eyes closed and your hand in his hair, he, for his part, had his head resting on your chest, caressing your waist with his fingertips. "Y/N?"

"Yes?" you whispered, giving a yawn. Fucking Yoongi always wore you out, even though he was the one doing most of it.

"We're going to need a lot more cum if you want a baby, you know that?" he chuckled above your ear, moving his hand down to your center, caressing your sensitive area.

You whimpered as you felt his intentions bump against your inner thigh, "We just finished."

"The night is still long" he nodded, kissing you passionately as he straightened back up on top of you.

He definitely wasn't going to let you sleep tonight.

Materlist.

[not-neverland06]

How About A Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII

Series Masterlist

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I see a lot of comments talking about how you guys wished they would just communicate. They are communicating its just that neither of them know what they want. Summary: All you want is to just be clean. He offers to show you a nice little spot where you can finally scrape the grime off of you. What could go wrong?

“So,” you shifted your bag further up your arm. You were favoring the left today on account of the giant gap he had left in your right bicep. You were still pretty pissed off about that. “Do you ever, you know, bathe?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, he seemed caught off guard by the question. “Bathe?” He repeated, face raised in surprise.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah, bathe. I’ve been out here over a week. I’ve got about twenty layers of blood and sand stuck in every crevice.” Your skin crawled thinking about the different types of bodily fluid you’d been sprayed with since coming out of the cryo pod. 

There was a lot of blood, of course, but Hollywood doesn’t show everything that gets excreted in death. You were itching for a good shower. You know that’s out of the question, but there’s got to be something. 

He laughed and ripped off a piece of jerky. He offered you some, grinning when you shook your head. “Buckle up, sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening. You can always use the water, but that’s a waste of Radaway if you ask me.” You should have known. It’s not like anyone you’d encountered seemed particularly gung ho about personal hygiene, but you had hoped there would be something. 

You reached down, digging your nails into your arm and scratching off flakes of blood and who knows what else. You shouldn’t have bothered, though, it only made the rest of you feel a hundred times worse. You looked crazy, scratching at yourself like a dog but you couldn’t help it. 

“Alright, damn, I’ll give you some of my Radaway, you look half rabid.”

You stopped with your scratching and stared at him in shock. “You’ll give me some of your Radaway?”

He rolled his eyes, stopping only when he noticed you’d quit walking. “Is that not what I said?”

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “You’re not exactly known for your generosity. What’s the catch?”

He frowned and clutched at his chest like you’d actually done damage, “Now, that hurts darling. I’m just trying to help you out.” He turned around, walking to the right now, further towards greenery and away from the desert. “Plus, it’ll get rid of that fucking smell.”

You kept your mouth shut but he was one to talk. He hadn’t exactly tasted wonderful when he’d kissed you. Nor did he smell amazing. Still, he had made your heart race and it wasn’t from pure terror for once. Though, any positive feelings he’d caused within you had been negated the second he dropped you to the dirt like a used up toy. 

You knew better than to try and bring it up to him, but it had stung. Attacked that vulnerable part of you that made you want to put up walls so high even the sun couldn’t get through. 

With no other choice you sped up and caught up to him. Your hip was still bothering you, but it wasn’t dragging behind you as much as it was a few days ago. The only thing really bugging you now was your throbbing arm. He’d assured you that it couldn’t rot, he’d dealt with that, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch. 

“Through here is a lake you can use.” He pointed towards the area where the trees started to thin out. 

You looked at him skeptically, “You’re really letting me do this?”

He scoffed and glared at you, “The fuck did I tell you?” You don’t know if he’s talking about his new rule to stop questioning him or about giving you the Radaway, but you keep your mouth shut anyway. He hasn’t been as much of a dick today and you’d rather keep it that way. 

“Here,” he motions through the trees and you stumble into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s been submerged in water, you can spot some old apartment buildings peeking up through the top. 

Briefly, you wonder if you’ve ever passed your old home and just never realized it. You dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes, not willing to let your mind linger on thoughts like that today. 

You slowly make your way to the water, still not entirely trusting of his intentions. He’s made it clear he’s keeping you around for the long haul, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped tormenting you. “You’re really gonna let me use your Radaway?” You call over your shoulder. 

He sighs and leans against the trunk of a tree. “Get your ass in the water, I won’t wait around all day. 

You’re not dumb enough to fully submerge yourself in radiated water. You just rip a piece of your shirt off and dunk it into the startlingly blue lake. You use it to scrub yourself down, rubbing your arms until they’re raw and feel clean enough. 

You shuffle closer to the water, trying to bend over enough to scrub your face a bit. But when you gaze down into the water you find something gazing back up at you. You scream, scrambling back just as that thing leaps out of the water and towards you. 

Something pink and wet slams into your chest and knocks the air out of your lungs. You grope blindly in the mud for your gun as it opens its mouth. Horror and disgust fill you when you see what’s in its mouth, human fingers dangle like disgusting uvulas. It darts forward, jaw posed to clamp around your whole face. 

A loud bang echoes through the lake. The thing goes flying back and causes ripples to drift across the surface of the water. You clutch your chest, trying to get your breath back and scoot closer to get a better look at whatever attacked you. It’s the size of your torso and looks startling like some deformed axolotl. He’s left a large bullet hole in the middle of it’s head deformed head.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, shakily getting to your feet and groaning when you realize whatever you’d manage to clean off had been replaced by a thick layer of mud. 

You turn around, hoping for some sort of explanation from him, but he’s just bent over laughing, gun still smoking. You grab your bag out of the muck with a huff and glare at him. “Really?”

He straightens up, still grinning and shakes his head. “You should have seen your face, you were petrified.”

”Well, I’m glad someone enjoyed that.” You glare down at the corpse, eyes wide with horror, “It’s got fucking fingers in it’s throat. Human fingers!” He saunters over to you, entirely too pleased with himself. He grabs his inhaler out of his bag and loads it with Radaway. He tosses it over to you and you catch it with your good arm. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” You press down and take in a deep breath, ignoring how bitter the juice tastes. 

“Never trust anything, rule number one of the Wastelands darling. Can’t even trust the water.” There was a loud roar off towards the middle of the lake and he nodded his head back towards the tree line. “Come on, that one was just a baby Gulper. Momma’s gonna be by soon and I can’t imagine she’ll be real happy.” He walks off without you and you’re stuck staring at the dead mutant. 

“That was a fucking baby?” He laughs at you again and when you catch up with him, you can't help but laugh a little yourself. You probably looked ridiculous, wrestling in the mud with what, apparently, was only an infant. 

He grins at you, “You got a lot to learn.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, I know.”

He’s kneeled down beside you, fingers prodding at the reddened area around your wound. It feels a bit better now, more like touching a fresh bruise rather than raw nerves. He poured some water from his canteen over the area and retied the bandage. He stood up and moved away from you while you dug around in your bag for another ration bar. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You’ve got the bar positioned between your knees, and you’re trying, hopelessly, to open it up with one hand. Your fingers, now dusted with dried mud, slip uselessly against the packaging. 

He looks up at you and lets out a loud sigh. “Give it here.”

”I’ve got it-”

“Give. It. Here.” You huff but toss the bar over to him. He rips it open in one smooth move and throws it back to you. You catch it with your good hand and take a large chunk out of it. It feels like rubber and tastes oddly like dried out meatloaf. You’re not exactly sure what flavor it’s supposed to be replicating, but you figure it’s so old it doesn’t really matter as long as it fills you up. 

He pours some water from his canteen onto a ripped piece of cloth and tosses it at you. You’re unprepared, bar in hand and midchew, it slaps against your face and you scowl under the fabric. “Really?” You mutter, mouth half full. You yank it off your face and give him a questioning look. 

“Just clean yourself up.” 

You drag it across your face and arms, trying to get off as much residual mud as you can. Your clothes are a stained, lost cause, but this will do for now. Not like you’re going to get much better without going up against some mutant monster. 

“You’re being nice today?” It comes out like a question more than anything. Probably because you’re having trouble trusting him, especially after the Gulper incident. You wished you could say you can’t believe he would do something like that, but you’re pretty sure he’d been hoping the mom would get you, not the baby. 

He shrugged and leaned back against a fallen log. “Feelin’ chivalrous.”

You hummed but didn’t push. You forced down another lump of your ration and reached for your water. “Where are we heading anyway? Been walking for a long time but we haven’t seem to have gotten anywhere.”

“There’s a compound I took a bounty for. We’re on our way to deliver it.”

You tilted your head as far back as you could, tongue out and hoping to catch the remaining drops of your water. “Shit,” you tossed the canteen back in your bag, already knowing it was hopeless. 

“Ah, hell,” you glanced up and saw Cooper rifling through his supply box. 

“How are you on Radaway?”

He sighed and chucked the box back into his bag. “Got two vials left.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, a pensive expression on his face. 

You sighed and rubbed idly at some mud left on your fingers. “You’re gonna need more soon.”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh. “Faster than soon, this is the diluted shit.” He rubbed at his chest and you wondered if he was already starting to feel the effects of being so low on the medicine. You can’t believe he gave you a vial of his own with so few left. 

Bastard must’ve really wanted to see you get jumped by a gulper. Your face twisted up in distaste and any twinge of sympathy you’d felt for him dissapeared. You wished he would cough so hard he’d choke on his tongue, at least then you wouldn’t have to listen to his bullshit anymore. 

He looked over at you and then your bag. “Got any of that purified water left?” You shook your head, crumpling the wrapper of your bar up and tossing it somewhere behind you, 

“Just ran out, not sure where I’m gonna find more.”

He chuckled and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I do,” you stood up and grabbed your own bag, following behind him. 

Loud laughter and rowdy conversation drifts into the night air. You sit perched behind a large boulder, staring into the building across from you. It’s an old supermarket, refurbished to fit the Wastelanders' needs. “They’ll have what we need?”

He doesn’t look at you, his sight is dead set on the men milling about in front of you. They’re clearly guards, switching positions every couple of minutes and loaded to the teeth with weapons. Cooper silently tracks them, eyes darting between them as they switch positions yet again. 

“Yep,” he lifts up into a squat and watches as one of the men turns his back to lace up his boot. “Now!” He grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you along as he weaves between the guards. He throws you in front of him, practically tossing you inside the store. 

You hold back your gasp of shock and duck behind a waist-high shelf. There are only seven or eight men walking around inside. They’ve got a fire burning in the middle of the store, the empty shelves pushed back against the walls. Behind them is about the largest pile of supplies you’ve seen since being up here. They could give Ma June a run for her money. 

You peek your head over the shelf and try to get a look at just how many weapons they have. You hear the familiar sound of spurs walking behind you and twist immediately to see Cooper walking calmly towards the group with his hands raised in surrender. He catches your eye and winks before he fully addresses them. 

“Gentlemen!” You sigh and sink back against the shelf, an irritated look on your face. The shelf screeched forward slightly and you scrambled off it, you caught Cooper twitch a little in irritation but he didn’t say anything. He’s been fully noticed at this point, the others all glaring at him with their guns raised. 

He had a full view of all eight men from his perspective. What he couldn’t see, which you could, was a ninth man sneaking up behind him with a knife. He had it poised, aiming to strike right through the back of Cooper’s neck. 

Without thinking too much on it, you leapt out of your hiding spot and used your good arm to point your gun in the man’s face. He came to a stop almost cartoonishly, eyes wide and the knife in his hands trembling when you popped out. 

Cooper barely gave you a glance out of the side of his eye and you figured he knew all about the ninth man. He must have been testing you, see if you really had his back. “Hey!”

“Who the fuck is she!”

“What are you doing here?”

You ignored the sounds of their voices, you kept the gun trained on the boy and motioned him towards the left of the room. He followed, letting you guide him backwards until he was scrambling to hide behind his friends. It’s then that you finally got a good look at just how many guns were trained on you. 

One of them pumped their shotgun and you pulled back the hammer of your gun. Cooper’s guns were still tucked away in their holster, it was just you and however much firepower they could cram between ten pairs of hands. 

“Now, I suggest that you gentlemen put those guns down or my friend here is gonna get a little too friendly with her trigger.”

One of them scoffed, gesturing with the barrel of their pistol towards your right arm hanging limply by your side. “She got a bad arm and a shaking hand.”

“Maybe,” you call out, “but I got a working finger. I only need one of ‘em to kill you.”

Before he can respond there’s another one stepping forward. “She can get real friendly with me.” He’s got a lecherous grin on his face and a look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. You sigh, sick of the men up here being so predictable, and turn your gun on him. His eyes widen, like he hadn’t seen you pointing it at his friends, and you pull the trigger. 

Your aim is a little off and the recoil is harder to handle with only one hand available to you, but you’ve got a sawed off shotgun in your hand, don’t have to have a great aim to kill a man with that. His twitching body has barely hit the ground before you’re diving to the right and ducking behind a shelving unit. 

Cooper goes to the left, eyes wide in the same astonishment as those men. Bullets started flying the second their friend was on the ground. They were shouting all sorts of insults and threats at you but it was hard to make out over all the shooting.

“You shot him!” Cooper shouted over the hail fire of bullets.

You rolled your eyes and did your best to reload the gun with your wobbly hand. “He pissed me off,” you shouted back at him. You leveled the gun over the top of the shelves and fired blindly. There was a loud yelp and then another Bitch shouted at you, so you must have hit something. 

“You know, I was trying to handle this civilly,” Cooper jumped to his knees and turned around quickly. He fired off a quick succession of shots, four bodies dropped as he did. The rate of gunfire slowed a bit as more men fell. He ducked down and ran across the room, throwing himself down next to you. He tossed his guns at you and tugged yours out of your hand. “Reload me,” you nodded and tugged some bullets out of his bandolier while he used your gun to shoot at them. 

“I’m sure you handling it civilly would have ended the exact same fucking way.”

He grinned and sat back next to you, “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe. Maybe not, doesn’t matter now.” You handed him his reloaded guns and he dropped yours in your lap. “Only a few left, use the shelves as cover and circle around behind ‘em.” He didn’t stay to make sure you understood his plan, he immediately set off, drawing the fire away from you and making a run for it. 

“Shit,” you hissed, struggling to your feet and following his instructions. With only a few of them left it should have been quick work to get rid of the last few stragglers, but the guards from outside had heard the scuffle and were rushing in. Cooper shot most of them but one got close enough to snatch his gun from his hands and throw it to the floor. 

Cooper struggled against the man, his towering form easily overpowering Cooper. Though, your friend didn’t seem particularly worried, if anything it looked like he was letting the man live to draw out the fight, like he was enjoying it. 

You were going to just leave him to it when you saw the same bastard from before with the knife sneaking up behind him again. You rush forward, scooping up Cooper’s gun as you go and shove the man backwards. 

He grunts at the impact but he refused to be deterred. He charges at you, eyes red with rage and blackened mouth frothing like a rabid dog. You try and keep your guard up but you’ve got a gimp leg and a useless arm, it’s not a fight you’re going to win. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and yanks you into him. You grunt, breathing out slowly as you feel his knife slide into your gut. You glance down at the rusted blade and shove your gun under his chin. His eyes widen when you draw the hammer back but you don’t flinch when you pull the trigger, not even when chunks of skull and hair start raining down on you. 

Cooper must have finally noticed the tussle happening behind him because he draws his second gun out from under his coat and ends his little fight with the last of them. You must be in shock, you still haven’t fully experienced the pain that you should. 

There’s a knife sunk past the handle slammed into your gut, you should be feeling something shouldn’t you? You’re sure it’s the adrenaline still pumping through you. Your body is warm from how fast your blood is pumping, your ears ringing from all the gunshots and head spinning from the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the wound. 

“Hey,” you turn around to face him and his eyes widen ever so slightly. You lose your footing and he darts forward, quick arms grab you and draw you into his chest. You clutch onto the sleeve of his jacket, letting all of your weight rest on him while you try and get your panicked breathing under control. 

You’ve had worse injuries than this. As hard as it is to believe, in your time up here, you’ve survived a lot worse than some measly stab wound. 

So why does this feel so fucking bad?

“Oh,” you moan in pain, nearly doubling over. A feeling like a million exposed nerves being set on fire stops you from falling to the floor, instead you push off Cooper and struggle to your feet. 

“Alright, come on,” he grabs your arm again and you have the ridiculous urge to just shove him off you. Your head is swimming,  you feel like you could float away. You look down at the knife again and finally realize just how large it is. One of those hunting ones that was about the width of your hand curled into a fist. 

Well, fuck.

“Hey,” he snaps when you stumble away from him again. “Sit your stubborn ass down, you need help.” He yanks on the straps of your shirt, holding you up and dragging you to a chair, you don’t have much choice as he forces you to sit. Though, the motion causes a wave of excruciating pain to flare through you. 

He kneels in front of you and rips your shirt open, you’re in too much pain to complain about it right now. He hums low in the back of his throat as he takes in the wound. With no warning whatsoever he grabs the knife by the handle and yanks it out like he’s ripping off a fucking bandaid. 

You nearly scream, lurching forward and shoving him away from you. The sudden shock of pain has left you half blind and panting like an animal. “What the fuck was that?” You force out through gritted teeth. He plants a hand on your shoulder and presses you firmly against the back of the chair. 

“Need to get you a Stimpak.” He takes your hand in his and presses it against the wound. Where blood was once oozing, it’s now gushing. You hadn’t realized just how much keeping the knife in had kept the blood at bay. With how rapidly it’s leaving you now you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid that you might not be able to make it back from the edge with just a Stimpak. You can already feel your fingers going cold, pretty soon you won’t be able to flex them and then you’d lose feeling in your arms too. 

“Hey,” he uses the grip he has on your hand to press down on the wound. You groan but he keeps the pressure steady. His eyes bore into your dazed ones, some odd expression in them. “You don’t get to give up. Keep pressure on this, understand me?” Your head flops forward in a lazy nod. 

He could have been gone for a minute or an hour, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Your head is foggy, coherent thoughts replaced by loopy ones. You’re struggling to remember where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing. 

Just as your hand slips from the wound, he comes back. He grabs your hand and places it back, holding it there with his own. You appreciate the way he warms your fingers back up, but the rest of you is freezing too. Maybe he’d share his jacket. 

The thought of him sharing anything makes you laugh and he gives you a frustrated look. “Don’t go losing it on me. Not yet at least.”

You lean forward, face nearly pressed against his and grin. “You know, I haven’t heard a thank you yet.”

He scoffed, opening the Stimpak with one hand and preparing the injector. “Yeah, for what?”

“Saving your life, dick.”

You’re caught off guard when he slams the needle into your stomach, your lips part with a silent gasp and you wince at the cool rush of medicine. He grins at you, “Well, thank you for being the only dumbass to get herself stabbed in a gun fight.”

The medicine works fast, you learned that from when he’d shot you. You can already start to feel the pulse of blood slowing and your head clearing up slightly. “Asshole,” you hiss, leaning away from him. But his eyes stay trained on you, on both of your blood covered hands and where they still rest, linked together, on your stomach. 

You find yourself taking advantage of his distraction to really look at him. It bothers you, how after everything, his eyes are still so pretty. It’s the first thing that drew your attention when you were younger. Those eyes of his had you swooning from the first time you saw him on the big screen. 

He catches you but you can’t find it in yourself to care. There’s something odd in the air, a lingering tension from the kiss you’d never discussed. From the silent partnership you’d never voiced. You’d nearly gotten yourself killed for him tonight, the thought finally seemed to be dawning on him. 

His eyes drop to your lips and he leans in. He doesn’t get very far, lips just barely brushing yours before you’re jerking back in surprise. You’re bleeding out in his hands and he kisses you? Your hand is up and cracking across his cheek before you can think about it. 

His head whips to the side with a satisfying crack. He lets out a breathy chuckle, using his free hand to soothe the area you’d hit. He stretches the tension out of his jaw and shakes his head before he looks at you again. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed you. You definitely shouldn’t be further entertaining his ideas that he holds any sort of possession for you, but you’d just realized what that look in his eyes had been earlier. He had been worried about you. 

Cooper has always been the one who protected you. Not the other way around. And as twisted as he’d become, it still relatively remained the same dynamic today. You’d caught him off guard earlier, putting yourself in danger like that for him. And he had been worried about you. 

You grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him forward before he can decide what to do with the fact that you slapped him. Your lips meet again and he hovers over you on your chair. The hand on your stomach pushes harder against you, deepening the pressure and making you groan into his mouth. 

He doesn’t waste time, deepening the kiss and letting his other bloodied hand drift into your hair. His fingers curl around the strands and he yanks your neck back, manipulating you how he wants and bending you to his desires. You melt into it, into the complete control you allow him to momentarily wield over you. 

You let your mind go blank and just focus on him. You can pretend, for now, that you’re in his old house. You’re coming back after a date at one of those fancy restaurants that he hates, but he takes you there anyway so you can have an excuse to dress up. 

He’ll whisper I love you and drag you to the couch. You’ll start there, his kisses traveling lower until he’s dragging you back to his bedroom. You’ll feel valued, cherished, loved. Cooper will take care of you. 

He parts slowly from you, still keeping a firm grip on your hair. It takes a moment for your eyes to flutter open again. You’re sure you look like a mess, staring up at him with glossy eyes and swollen lips, completely drenched in your own blood. 

“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” Your eyes widen and he lets you go. He shoves back from you and paces towards his bag. Any warmth in his eyes, any care, was gone. 

You want to say something to drag him back but the moment has passed. It’s not like he was wrong, you were pretending he was someone completely different to make yourself feel better. 

But you couldn’t make yourself feel guilty when you remembered half the reason you needed the comfort was because of who he was now. He comes back with a needle and thread. He lets the needle hover over the men’s fire for a moment before he approaches you with it. “Stimpak will only do so much, need to sew you up.”

You nodded and looked away as he knelt down and pressed the needle into your skin. You barely felt it,  could barely pay attention to him when your thoughts were on what it was like before. What he was like before. Sometimes it makes you sick to your stomach to look at him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.