#‘….do you want some tea (drugs)?’

[dragonciphering]

okay wtf is dan heng doing in the train during all this bullshit? star watching? playing bingo?playing sudoku? getting hyper focused on some research? drinking tea? sleeping? bcuz damn.

[asklesbianonceler]

I have not posted any of my analysis to reddit yet and I think I might just post it and ghost it. I've already spent too much time looking at other people's threads on there to feel any way good about interacting with folks.

I already went in an added the "I know you're going to bring this up let me save you the time" section which is exclusively touching on the frequent topics of:

"well what about the fingerprint nostrum and finger mimics? He is clearly just a crackpot"

And

"it's definitely some weird elaborate sacrifice to Metyr thing"

[dirt-str1der]

yk every time i see a post about somebody wishing bad things on another person i think ‘dirt-strider to kiryu’ you’ve broken me brain

You see a post thats like i want to stick him in time prison so that he gets so bored he starts breaking his own bones to get even a hint of stimulation and its tagged me at kiryu and you scroll down and its a post thats like i want to feed him chips from my cupped hands like a wild stallion and its also tagged me at kiryu also hiiiiiiiii

[dollgxtz]

Sleepy Crow

Word Count: 1.8k words

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, noncon, mentions of breeding, pet names such as kitten, sweetie, darling, reader is somewhat drugged but its her sleep meds!

AN: Hi all! This isn't my first time writing fanfics but I noticed a lack of Sylus fics with a darker undertone ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ". PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the tags and if this isn't something that interests you or is potentially triggering, please do not interact! I get this isn't everyone's cup of tea but this is a fic for people who like darker romance stuff!! Please enjoy, and I AM taking requests as I really want to get back into writing again. Do not hold back, this is a safe place! Ty!! <333

Sylus trudged through the pouring rain, his jacket soaked through and his hair matted against his forehead. The drops were heavy and unrelenting, pelting against the pavement and creating small rivers that flowed along the gutters. The barely lit streetlights of the N109 zone cast an eerie glow on the slick surfaces, reflecting off the wet asphalt like a distorted mirror.

As the man approached his mansion, he couldn't help but feel relieved. The warm glow of the lights shining through the windows beckoned him home. He fumbled with the keypad to the door, his fingers slightly numb from the cold, before finally hearing the click that beckoned his entrance.

The sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows followed him, a steady drumming that seemed to fill every corner of the place. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it up, feeling the weight of it pulling him down. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors, trying his hardest to be quiet. Mephisto was perched on his cage (not that he was ever really in it, it was more for decor) tilting his head when he saw Sylus brush past him but not making any sound himself.

He made his way to the bedroom chambers, deciding to make sure you were where you belonged. Peeking his head in the bedroom doorway, he saw your sleeping figure, chest rising ever so slightly with each breath. He smirked, closing the door behind him as he entered. He was happy you finally seemed to be getting some rest.

Your insomnia had been getting worse, and he'd been getting worried when he saw you were often messaging him at 4 am, sometimes as late as 8 am with no sleep. Of course he’d offer to have you over, to hold you and whisper sweet things in your ear until you succumbed to sleep, but he couldn’t always. Sometimes business was needed to be handled, and for those nights he had gotten you the best sleep medication that money could buy. You had been weary about taking them at first, but he had assured you that the side effects were basically none. He had made sure of it.

Sylus made his way to the bathroom, proceeding to rid himself of the damp clothes clinging to his skin. A quick shower and then he could finally curl up next to his little crow. Not that he would be sleeping yet, but it was nice to watch you dream. Sometimes you’d whine or make little noises, which he found absolutely adorable. He wondered what you dreamt about sometimes, but you had refused to answer much to his annoyance.

The hot water felt amazing after being gone practically all night. He washed all the blood and dirt from his skin, examining all of his various injuries. He had a run in with a few “pests” that he quickly exterminated, but they had managed to get a few nicks on him. He touched his arm where the biggest cut was, his Evol immediately snaking around it and healing it faster than he could blink. He did the same for the others, feeling brand new once more.

Some time passed before he finally turned the water off, dried himself, and slipped into a pair of boxers. He slowly made his way into the bedroom, hoping that he wasn't being too loud but you were out like a light. Sleeping like a rock.

Sylus slipped in bed next to you, sighing with pleasure as the soft mattress sunk beneath his weight. It felt heavenly. He turned to put his arm around you, trying to get as comfortable as possible so he could hold you. He softly kissed the corner of your ear, his head starting to swim with thoughts. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable enough to possibly fall asleep with you.

But he couldn't.

He had been laying in bed for thirty minutes just thinking. He thought about all the business arrangements he needed to finish. Tonight had been…messy. No doubt he had made some new enemies. How impatient he was getting about the new weaponry he had bought from Spain. They should be arriving soon, but it had been taking forever.

How he wanted to feel your tight cunt pulsing around his fingers.

Sylus stiffened, attempting to rid his head of these thoughts about you. His efforts were in vain though, as he was already rocking a semi hard on that was steadily growing into a full erection.

Obviously there was nothing he could do about it. You were sleeping after all. And not only that, it's not like he could wake you to do anything anyways. He hates quickies, they bored him. He likes to take his time. To take in your reactions, your faces, and your noises. Besides that, you were taking a pretty high dose of your sleeping meds and he kinda doubted he could wake you even if he really tried.

This thought stirred in his head for a bit.

Yeah...you wouldn't wake even if he tried. He sighed with a twinge of pleasure as he pressed his erection against the soft cotton of your underwear. The pressure felt immaculate, and if he hadn't been gone all night he probably could've finished just by pressing himself against you. You were the only girl ever that could make him finish that quickly.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. It had been a bit since he touched you like this.

You moved a bit in your sleep, letting out a small whine. He leaned over you to get a better look at your face. Still sleeping, mouth open slightly ajar. You were so fucking pretty when you slept.

“Such a sleepy kitten” he growled lowly, snaking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear. He didn’t know why, but the mere sight of your sleeping face was getting him worked up. You looked so docile, so vulnerable. He wanted you. Sylus began to tug them down slowly.

This was very wrong. He knew this and yet he couldn't stop. He kept going, making empty promises to himself that he would only take a peek. He just wanted to see you. All of you.

Sylus froze has he finally pulled your underwear down to your legs, practically breathless at the site of your cunt at his fingertips.

"Fuck..." he groaned, unable to stop himself from pressing a finger between your folds. He watched you carefully for any signs of discomfort or movement, but you were still fast asleep as he pushed his finger in. You were warm, inviting even. It's like your pussy was sucking his finger in, deeper and deeper. He slid a second finger in, picking up the pace. Soon enough, your cunt was slightly wet, spots of your slick forming on the backs of your legs near your pussy. Pulling out, he practically shivered with excitement.

Sylus was quick to put his fingers in his mouth, savoring every drop of you. You tasted so sweet to him, the best flavor he ever had the honor to try. He wanted nothing more than to dive head first into the source and lap it up. But his erection was so starting to bother him. It was rock hard, and throbbing ever so slightly, begging to be freed.

He had to have you. And he had to have you now.

He pulled his erection through the hole in his boxers, beginning to stroke himself with an intense grip. Groaning as quietly as he could, he stared at your wet and welcoming cunt. He swore it was just begging to be filled by every inch of his cock. Still wanting him, even when you were asleep.

"You’re so pretty sweetie" he whispered in your ear, closing his eyes as electrifying pulses of pleasure crashed through him. Sylus told himself he should stop now, but it was past that point. He knew himself better than that. His mind was already made up, no matter how much he was trying to talk himself out of it.

Turning you a bit more on your side, he readied the fat head of his tip to your entrance. You stirred once again, mumbling incoherent nothings before becoming silent again. Sylus chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the tip of your ear as he stroked himself a few more times.

As he sinks his tip into your tight entrance, his precum smears all over your hole. He shudders with intensity, trying his best to hold back a groan, worried that making too much noise next to your ear would wake you. He pushes further and further until he can't possibly sink himself into you anymore. You squirm, letting out another whine, this one a bit louder than the last.

"Im sorry kitten…" Sylus coos, laying his head behind yours as he fucks you with a slow, rhythmic pace. "Just need to cum in what’s mine. Be a good girl and stay asleep for me”.

He rests one of his hands on your hip, trying to keep from shaking you too much as he continually plunges himself inside you. You were warm, your gummy walls constantly tightening around him. He moans your name over and over like a prayer, feeling lost in your walls. The soft clap of his skin meeting your ass echoes a bit in the room.

"You're fucking made for me. Look at you sweetie, tightening around me, trying to squeeze me dry even when you're sleeping" he whispers, feeling himself getting closer and closer to bliss.

His thrusts became sloppy and he had to slow himself, trying to savor every moment he had inside of what essentially felt like heaven. He had been wanting to fill you for days. Images of his seed erupting onto the walls of your fertile pussy, eventually giving you a nice, round tummy that would grow his baby filled his head and he couldn't stop himself from finishing anymore.

As his hot ropes of sticky cum shoot against the walls of your womb, he accidently grips your hip a bit tighter than he meant to. You yelp, and he quickly rubbed his hand over the spot he'd hurt you, ensuring you remained asleep. He checks the spot and sees some slight bruising already starting to form and curses himself silently for losing control and hurting you. His Evol was quick to move over the injury where his hand lay, instantly restoring your skin back to a healed state. Sylus was amazed he could even do that. His Evol had only ever healed him. It wasn’t until you came along that it had ever revealed that kind of power and it didn’t work for anyone else either.

"Shh shh, its ok. Just be still, I'm almost done filling you up darling…”

Once his orgasmic high subsided, he took a moment to catch his breath before watching as his cum pooled out of you. He took his finger and scooped as much of it as he could gather before gently pushing it back within your folds. Feeling satisfied with his work, he pulled your panties up before finally pulling the cover back over you.

"There you go. Gotta keep my seed where it belongs so you can make us a baby. Right kitten?" he chuckled, finally feeling tired enough to cuddle you and fall asleep.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it. 

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat. 

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you. 

Whatever that meant. 

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas. 

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill. 

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh. 

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better. 

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself. 

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard? 

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms. 

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately. 

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear. 

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you. 

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire. 

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you. 

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug. 

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn��t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away. 

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea. 

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft. 

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier. 

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief. 

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential. 

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message. 

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?” 

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. 

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened. 

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

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[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You���ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

Next

Masterlist

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[I only have 30 pounds in my bank account] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader, but only Soap and Ghost in this chapter unless I extend this

chapter 2

You’re just trying to fulfill your dream, plus survive with the money you earn with your shop, but you start questioning if this is a good idea, maybe you should just listen to your friend and be a 9-5 worker, sitting in front of a laptop the whole day.

This isn’t a good location to open a tea shop, your little shop will rather become a place for dealing drugs or getting extorted in the first month. The area is fully ruled by the mafia, hence the cops couldn’t do anything here, but it makes the rent extremely low, which you’re able to afford with money you saved during school, and have a tiny shop that can barely squeeze in more than 8 people.

Looking at the scene playing in your shop for the fifth time this month, you stare at the people fighting and break the cup with dead eyes. You want to shout, to kick these guys' ass out of here or hit them with your broom, yet you glance at their muscles and the knives in their hand –  probably killing every day as work out, to your opposite one because you slump onto the bed once you close the shop and go upstairs, you choose to remain silent as the yelling only become louder.

Maybe you should find the mafia boss or some henchmen and give them half of your income to prevent the mayhem, but first, you don’t even know who actually rules this fucking place; second, you doubt they will have interest in your skimpy bank account. The only information you have is the mafia ruling here called ‘141’, since it’s an open secret to residents here.

“What are ye arseholes doin’?”

Fuck, here comes another one, or two as you spot the man with a balaclava behind the mohawk man who's speaking. They are tall, muscular and built like bricks. Grown like giraffes either, you complement when you need to crook your neck up to look at them stepping into your shop as if it's their backyard.

but the chaos halts immediately as you watch your ‘customers’ seem shocked with terror at the men.

You pretend you’re deaf and attempt to bury yourself in your counter. Please don’t kill me I didn’t hear a goddamn word and didn’t see you threatening them. You recite your defense as you scrub at the same tea cup till the distinct accent from the mohawk man catches you off guard that you almost drop it.

“I guess it’s already clean, lass.” A smirk appears on his face as he points at the cup.

“Wh– what do you want?” 

“Calm down, jus’ want te have some tea.”

“I only have 30 pounds in my bank account.”

“We’re just sayin’ we want tea.” The taller man speaks for the first time after coming in, and it startles you but forces your brain to function at the same time.

Ah, they aren’t here for money. You finally get what they’re talking about.

“Isn’t it supposed te be a tea shop here? One cup for him, and give me a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, of course. What kind of tea would you like, Sir?” You shift slightly to meet the other man’s eyes, and you want to shiver under his cold eyes.

“Just give him whatever you recommend.” 

They round over the glass scattering on the floor and take a seat closest to your counter after you nod at them.

While boiling the water, you sneak a glimpse at them, and the shape of guns covered by their clothes are unignorable as you scold yourself to stop looking at them, or the bigger guy might stab your eyes, but you still curse whole-heartedly in mind when the Scottish accent man meet your eyes with his azure ones and shines you a grin.

Should just quit staring, or you shouldn’t open this shop at all. Regretting your decisions as you turn back and focus back on making their drink, you’re able to recognize them staring at you from the periphery of your vision. Is it too late to kneel down and beg for your life right now?

You still perfectly make their orders and bring them the drinks, even though you’re sweating internally. At least don’t mess it up, and your confidence in your tea and coffee isn’t born from nothing, as you notice the man with the skull balaclava takes a sip first, then raises his eyebrow, added with a side glance at you.

“Haven’t seen him amazed by tea in years, it must be very good.” The mohawk man whistles as he sips at his coffee and gives an approving nod too.

“Thank you…” Your ego shouldn’t be boosted by mafias, but you still relax a bit knowing you didn't screwed up.

“When did ye open ‘is shop?” The man asks while the other continues drinking his tea, but seemingly taking in the conversation too.

“About two months ago."

"That’s why we didn't know about it before…” He taps at the table twice before shooting you another question “Got blokes like those in yer shop earlier often?”

Death sentence is served to your front, that’s what you think you hear. Is it better to say yes or no? Judging by the fact those people are their minions, you’re not sure if saying yes is indicating they haven’t controlled them appropriately.

“Tell us the truth” 

“Yeah, it’s the fifth time this month.” Swallowing, you confirm. Lies aren’t meaningful, and surely they’re able to pierce any veil with those scrutinizing stares and keen minds.

You watch them sharing a glance, and Soap takes out a pen along with a piece of paper, and starts scribbling on it.

“Here, call this number when you run in trouble, aye?" He shoves the paper into your grasp “I’m Soap, call him Ghost.”

"It’s a nice shop, we’ll come back soon.”

Your little shop drops into peace again as your customers leave, and you gaze at the generous tip lying on your counter, to the paper in your palm.

A number is written on it, with a big badge of ‘141’ beside it.

Oh shit, so your shop just became the most far-flung mafia’s property without you knowing.

[witchywithwhiskey]

to save me from tears

pairing: DARK!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you thought you were going on a weekend getaway to the cabin of the guy were seeing, but it turned out bucky barnes had no intention of ever letting you leave. now, one year later, it's the anniversary of an important milestone in your relationship, and he knows just how to celebrate the special occasion.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, non-con/rape, abduction, drugging, imprisonment/captivity, sexual exploitation of reader, forced camgirl work, live-streaming sex, smut, rough sex, painful sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, oral cockwarming with a dildo gag, squirting, sex toys, bondage/shibari, sadism/forced masochism, ass spanking, degradation, objectification, dacryphilia, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (doll, winter slut), mind break, reluctant stockholm syndrome, reader passes out during sex, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, if i missed something please let me know!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: here's my second entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: Has it been a year already? my last fic was so sweet that apparently i had to balance things out with the absolute darkest, filthiest fic i've ever written. i guess i was feeling some type of way, idk!! anyway, i hope y'all enjoy ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” played softly from a speaker in the corner, the chords lilting serenely through the cold basement, the choral harmonizing of the background singers becoming a soundtrack to the depravity you were forced to endure. 

It occurred to you that you might wonder how you’d ended up where you had, but you knew exactly how—you’d trusted the wrong man.

Bucky Barnes had been charming from the moment you met. The former army sergeant had wooed you with ice skating dates and trips to the book store, regaling you with stories from his childhood growing up in Brooklyn over cups of hot chocolate and herbal tea. 

He’d seemed perfectly normal, like the kind of man you’d want to settle down with, and you found yourself wanting to start a new life with him. It hadn’t been long, but you thought he was the one, and you began planning what that new life would look like in your own imagination.

Apparently Bucky had been determined to give you a new life as well, but he hadn’t given you a choice about what that life would look like. While you’d been picturing a cozy apartment in the city before buying a house and moving out to the suburbs, he’d been planning something much different.

It had all started that weekend in December, when Bucky had invited you for a weekend away at his cabin upstate. You’d been seeing him long enough that you trusted him, and you were excited, hopeful, even, that your relationship would deepen on the trip.

You were so happy about spending a whole weekend alone with Bucky that you didn’t think anything of the darkness in his voice when he’d warned you to never, under any circumstances, go into the basement of the cabin. 

Then, after a weekend filled with delicate kisses and gentle lovemaking, you’d been packing to return to the city when a soft cloth had covered your mouth and nose and you’d smelled something sweet. You hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the end of your old life, and you didn’t even have the time or the strength to fight.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d woken up in the cold basement that would become your only home in the months to come. A thick leather collar had been wrapped around your neck, connecting to a chain that was attached to the heavy wooden frame of the bed you lay on. To your horror, you’d realized you were clad in lingerie that wasn’t yours, some cheap set that still managed to fit you perfectly.  

Bucky had been waiting for you to notice him at the foot of the bed, standing next to a camera aimed directly at you. 

“Welcome to your new life, doll,” he’d said, a depraved smirk spreading across his handsome face—and expression you’d never seen before. “Time to earn your keep.” His blue eyes had been glittering with dark excitement as he’d clicked a button on the laptop linked to the camera and crawled onto the bed with you.

That had been the first moment you’d seen the real Bucky Barnes, and he’d spent every day since then showing you exactly how vile and perverted he truly was. He’d kept you in the basement of his cabin and forced you to fuck him on camera, using the money he made from it to buy you more cheap lingerie and all manner of toys to use on your body.

The sharp, cracking sound of a palm meeting soft flesh filled your ears, the subsequent stinging sensation reverberating from your ass through the rest of your body effectively dragging you back into the moment of your latest debasement. 

The pain of Bucky spanking you with the full force of his strength only joined the other aches already living in your body—but you knew better than to complain or cry or whimper. You’d made that mistake early on, but Bucky had only seemed to soak in your pain like it fueled him. 

The first time he’d spanked you, you’d begged him to stop. Instead, though, he only hit you harder, grinning ear to ear while he’d told you that you had no idea what you were in for yet, fake pity dripping from his tone.

But in the present moment, your pain wasn’t only coming from Bucky’s palm. 

Your shoulders ached from the way your arms had been tied behind your back, your hands gripping your forearms and constrained by intricate knots of cords wrapped around your body. To further restrain you, your calves were tied to your thighs, leaving you bound and unable to move with your ass high in the air while your face was shoved into the bed.

In honor of the holiday season, Bucky had traded in the coarse rope he typically used for a long string of multicolored Christmas lights, one end plugged into the wall so your skin was washed in shades of blue, red, green and yellow. 

The string of lights was much more uncomfortable than the rope, even though that had burned. The wire holding the lights together was so thin, and the small bulbs dug painfully into your skin. If you didn’t know your discomfort was exactly what Bucky wanted, you might’ve let him see how unhappy you were with your current predicament.

Instead, you hid your face in the blankets of the bed, trying to focus on anything except Bucky’s big cock fucking into your cunt at a bruising pace. 

Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore him, his hard length plowing into your body. Not even the cheery lights wound around your body or the Christmas music playing out of the bluetooth speaker in the corner could distract you from the feel of his cock inside you.

Another jarring smack resounded in the cold basement a brief second before the sting of Bucky’s spank quaked through your body. The strike was hard enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to give him that, even if it would’ve been muffled by the blankets under your face.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, doll,” Bucky huffed, his voice patronizing and impatient, like he was talking to a misbehaving child. “Look at the camera when I’m fucking you.” He spanked you again, so hard you felt your entire body tremble under the weight of it, then he grabbed and groped your ass cruelly enough to leave marks. “Our audience wants to see your face—don’t ya, fellas?”

That last part was directed at the camera. You turned your head, tipping your face toward the lens just in time to catch the reflection of the rakish grin Bucky shot to whoever was watching. 

The chat box on the screen of the laptop set up just out of frame lit up, the audience for your daily stream with Bucky telling the both of you just how much they wanted to see your face while you were fucked by his fat cock. 

Your eyes caught a few of the filthy, degrading messages before looking away. You refused to believe the way your cunt clenched was in response to what you’d read. You absolutely were not getting turned on by the depraved life your captor forced you to live.

Bucky’s large body curled over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat and lifting your head from the bed so the camera could better see your face. The position shoved his cock even deeper into your cunt, ramming painfully against your cervix and, against your will, your face contorted at the twinge deep in your body.

The chat lit up, chimes dinging fast and furious as the messages came in, and Bucky reached for the laptop so he could read what your viewers had written. 

All the while, his hips kept grinding idly against your ass so his cock rubbed even harder into your cervix, making you let out a little whimper of anguish. His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, enough to cut off your ability to breathe, and your whimper turned into a desperate, scared little keen.

You felt Bucky grin against your cheek, and you could’ve kicked yourself for giving him exactly what he’d wanted—a reaction. But at least his grip loosened, though you knew it was only because he didn’t want you to pass out too soon.

“The chat says you look like such a pretty little toy when I fuck you all tied up like this, doll,” Bucky cooed in your ear, grinding harder into your cunt. 

You sunk your teeth deep into your lower lip as your whole body trembled under the assault of Bucky’s thick cock. Despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length, wetness frothing and gushing from your hole as he made a mockery of your protests. 

Before you’d met Bucky, you would’ve sworn you didn’t like pain. You’d have said you hated it, in fact. 

But after so many days and months of being speared open by his fat cock, all three of your holes ravaged by his hard, unrelenting manhood in his need to dominate you, to conquer your body in every way possible, you couldn’t help your pussy’s response to it.

You told yourself it was some kind of defense mechanism, that your body had begun to react to pain the same way it did pleasure. It was the only explanation you could bear to endure. Because if you admitted you’d begun to like the way Bucky fucked you and abused you…

“Ohhh, listen to this one,” Bucky crooned excitedly, drawing you out of your thoughts and giving you a distraction from the way he was working your body toward its undoing. “‘Happy anniversary to the Winter Soldier and his Winter Slut!’”

The names were, of course, fake ones that Bucky had chosen to give the audience of your streams something to call you both. His was based on his past as a sergent, combined with the season when he’d taken you captive, while yours showed his ownership over you.

You hated it. You didn’t want anyone thinking Bucky owned you. 

But Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the way you grimaced when he read the fake names aloud. He turned his eyes, filled with cheerful wickedness, toward the camera.

“Has it been a year already?”

The question was full of charm, and you could almost imagine it coming from the Bucky you’d originally met. The one who might’ve celebrated your one-year anniversary with a recreation of your first date, ending with a heartfelt proposal that the two of you move in together. 

Instead, the question hadn’t even been asked to you, but to the camera—to the audience of loyal, degenerate perverts who watched your streams. 

The quick, successive chimes from the laptop drew Bucky’s attention back to it, and he hummed in acknowledgement as he read through the messages. 

His fingers squeezed around your throat, making you choke harder for the camera, adding to the small sounds of anguish that were slipping from your lips while he kept up his merciless grinding, his cock bruising your cervix.

A new sound, one like a cash register, joined the dinging chimes of the chat message and your heart sank. 

That was the sound of people in the chat sending extra tips on top of the subscription fees they paid to get access to your streaming channel. It meant they were making requests for Bucky to do something new—and that never resulted in anything good for you.

Before you could glance at the laptop to try to get an idea of what was coming, Bucky sat back on his haunches, hauling you up with his hand around your throat. Between gravity and the change in position, it felt like Bucky’s cock pushed even deeper into your cunt, pressing against your cervix so hard it stole the breath from your lungs.

“It’s the one year anniversary of your very first stream, doll,” Bucky announced gleefully in your ear, using his free hand to slap at your tits. They were bound between two strings of the Christmas lights wrapped around your body, your soft tits highlighted by the shining, multicolored hues. “Do you have anything to say to our audience, my little Winter Slut?”

It was clear Bucky wanted you to thank them for their loyal viewership, but resentment held your tongue. Memories assaulted you of the very first stream you’d been forced to do.

Bucky had pinned you down on that very same bed, using nothing but his strong hands and large body to pin you to the mattress while he tore your cheap lingerie off your body. Then he’d ravaged you, slapping and groping your tits before biting them so hard you’d started crying. 

It had been the only foreplay he’d offered you before he’d shoved his cock deep in your cunt. He was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made Bucky laugh. He’d told you, mockingly, that there wasn’t anyone around to hear you scream—only the audience on the dark web where he was streaming your defilement for who knew how many people who were just as vile as Bucky.

Bucky’s fingers digging deep into the sides of your neck brought you back to the present moment, small gasps falling from your lips as he cut off your air again. Your pulse pounded in your head, but you still managed to notice that Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” had given way to another Christmas song, the festive music so at odds with the dread and fear pooling in your belly.

“I guess my Winter Slut is feeling ungrateful today, chat,” Bucky said on a laugh. 

His tone was mocking in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you refused to believe it might be anticipation. Your body quaked when his soft mouth brushed against your cheek, the gesture almost like a kiss as he turned his head so he could murmur in your ear.

“Our audience wants to see something special for our anniversary, doll,” he cooed. “They want to see me break you.” 

Unease and something else flooded your veins, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance as you struggled to make sense of the way your cunt had clenched around Bucky’s cock when he’d said he was going to break you. You pressed your mouth into a grim line, still determined not to show your reaction to Bucky or the camera, especially when you didn’t understand what was happening to you. 

In the year that you’d spent as Bucky’s personal cam star, you’d endured a lot—and if anyone had asked you, you’d have said you hadn’t enjoyed any of it. But over time, that had begun to change. You’d been fighting it, fighting your body’s responses to Bucky and every depraved thing he did to you. It was becoming so hard, and you were growing so tired of fighting, of pretending…

 “I have just the thing—but first, let’s fill this slut’s mouth,” Bucky was telling the camera, and you forced yourself to focus back on the moment to prepare yourself. 

Bucky shifted to the side, grabbing something from the basket of sex toys he kept next to the bed during streams. When you saw what he pulled out, you bit your lip against a helpless whimper.

He’d pulled out a penis gag, but it wasn’t just any normal penis gag—it was one he’d specially ordered for you. Instead of having a two or three inch dick attached to the strip of leather that would tie around your head, there was a full-sized dildo replica of Bucky’s cock. His big, thick cock.

You tried to keep your mouth closed when Bucky pressed the tip of the silicone cock to your lips, but he only tutted at you with a patronizing click of his tongue. Shifting his fingers from your throat to your cheeks, he dug them in until it hurt. Your jaw gave way.

“That’s a good little cock slut, open for your Winter Soldier,” he cooed patronizingly, shoving the fake dick into your mouth without preparation or remorse.

You gagged as the stiff dildo invaded your throat, tears beginning to flow from your eyes and spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your arms yanked against the Christmas lights holding you bound, but that only forced them to dig deeper into your skin, making your struggle hurt that much more.

While you were distracted by trying to adjust to the silicone cock shoved deep inside you, Bucky secured the leather strap around the back of your head, tying it into place and making it impossible for you to do anything but hold the dildo in your mouth and breathe through the way it bulged in your throat.

Then Bucky was dumping you unceremoniously on the mattress and pulling his cock from your cunt, leaving you to fall face first into the blankets while he hopped up off the bed. You were thankful you could muffle your whimper at the loss of him in the sheets, even as you knew that whatever he had planned would be so much worse than him just fucking you while tied up and gagged.

“I was going to save this one for Christmas,” he was saying from behind a privacy screen beside the bed. It was set up to make sure the camera would only show viewers what Bucky wanted them to see—which was you, and everything he did to you. “But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have your present early.”

When Bucky stepped back into view, your heart nearly stopped. 

A leather harness was strapped onto Bucky’s hips, a dildo attached so it hung below his cock. The contraption, which had clearly been specially ordered because you’d never seen anything like it, wasn’t what shocked you, though—it was the size of the dildo. 

The fake dick was easily twice the size of Bucky’s cock, bigger around and just as long. Staring at it with wide eyes, you genuinely didn’t think it would fit in any of your holes, no matter how roughly Bucky tried to stuff it in. But your cunt was between your thighs like it couldn’t wait for him to try.

Despite your dedication not to give Bucky or the audience any kind of reaction, you couldn’t help the, “No, no, no, no, no,” that came from your mouth. You couldn’t fathom the massive dildo fitting inside you, let alone you enjoying it, no matter how much your body warmed at the prospect of being fucked with it.

Your protests were muffled by the gag in your mouth, to the point that your words were indiscernible, but their meaning must’ve been understood because Bucky chuckled as he walked back to you.

“I know what you’re thinking, doll,” Bucky said conversationally while he climbed onto the bed and retook his place behind you. “There’s no way it’ll fit.” 

He grabbed the knotted string of Christmas lights where they crisscrossed between your shoulder blades, pulling your torso up off the bed so your face was level with the camera. You tried not to look at your reflection in the lens, your mouth split open around the dildo in your mouth and your eyes round as saucers, but it was hard not to stare at the look in your eye—the look of something like fear… or excitement.

“But that’s what’s so fun about it,” Bucky went on, dragging the hard length of the silicone dick through your dripping wet folds, coating the fake cock in the mess of wetness your body was leaking against your will. “It will fit—and it’s going to ruin your cunt.”

Once upon a time, you’d thought the same thing about Bucky’s cock. 

The first time you’d had sex with Bucky—before the cabin and the basement and the camera—you’d taken one look at his cock and whimpered in fear. But he’d been so gentle, promising you that he’d take it slow, that your pussy was made to fit his cock. 

He’d taken his time, kissing your lips and cheeks and all over your face while he worked his cock into your pussy, giving you another inch only when you’d adjusted to the last and relaxed in his arms. Slowly, and with what seemed like an endless amount of patience, he’d opened you up for him. 

That night, he’d made love to you in deep, toe-curling strokes that had wrecked you. He’d seemingly rearranged your body to be the perfect fit for his cock, and then he’d given you the best orgasm of your life.

No wonder you hadn’t stood a chance. 

More than a year later, the memory felt like a dream. It was so faded around the edges, aged by the months spent taking Bucky’s cock roughly, furiously, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while he streamed your debasement for the audience on the dark web.

“You’re going to be so loose that you won’t even feel my cock anymore, doll,” Bucky was saying as he dragged you back to the moment by thrusting his own hard length into your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. “You’ll have to beg me to fuck you with this massive dildo just to feel anything again.” He paused, chuckling to himself as he bent over you, pressing a kiss to your spine between your shoulder blades before murmuring darkly, “That’s your Christmas present this year.”

Then, without anymore preamble, Bucky sat up and pulled out. You didn’t even have time to beg or whine before he lined his cock and the dildo up at the entrances to your tight holes, then shoved both into you at the same time. Bucky buried himself inside you so deeply, so thoroughly, that it felt like he was pushing into the very core of your being, conquering your soul just as completely as he’d conquered your body.

The intrusion was so sudden, you never had a hope of preparing, and all you felt was the devastating sting of being stretched past your limit, the overwhelming ache of being stuffed full beyond what you thought your body could ever take. 

Pain eclipsed any semblance of pleasure you might’ve gotten from having both your holes stuffed full, and your eyes rolled back in your head, a piercing cry tearing from your throat. A white hot burn scorched through your body, and your mind went entirely blank, leaving nothing but depraved annihilation in its wake. 

“Oh fuck, fellas, she’s so fucking tight like this,” Bucky groaned, talking over your head into the camera. “I can feel the fake cock splitting her open—it’s making her ass so fucking tight.”

Humiliation and shame swept through your body at his words, turning the burn into something slightly more bearable, almost pleasurable. There was something about being ignored, being treated like nothing more than a fleshlight or a fuck doll while Bucky completely decimated your body that was so… 

You shook your head. No. You weren’t going to finish that thought.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long ‘m gonna last,” Bucky was grumbling, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your audience.

The words should’ve sounded like music to your ears. You should’ve been happy the torture was almost over. Instead, you felt a pang of disappointment deep in your heart. But you didn’t have time to unpack what that could mean because then Bucky started fucking you.

His hips pulled back until only the tip of his cock and the dildo were still in your ass and pussy, then he plowed forward, shunting his entire length and the fat, massive fake cock into your holes once again. The pain of being split open was already starting to fade, an all-consuming pleasure creeping into the edges of your awareness against your will.

On Bucky’s third thrust, you moaned. 

Your mind was hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was leaning more toward the latter, and with the cock gag in your mouth, you were helpless against the reactions Bucky was wringing from your body. The sound of pleasure slipped from your lips unbidden, and your face heated in shame, which only served to add more fuel to the fire burning through your body.

“Did ya hear that, chat?” Bucky crowed, slapping your ass painfully hard—hard enough that another muffled cry was wrenched from your mouth. “Our little Winter Slut is enjoying her Christmas present! She loves getting her cunt ruined, don’t ya, doll?”

He slammed deep into your body as he asked the question and you were powerless, incapable of doing anything but moaning obscenely for the camera, tears streaming down your cheeks and joining the spit that coated the lower half of your face. Long strings of drool and tears were hanging from your chin, dripping onto the bedsheets below.

Distantly, you heard the chimes from the chat log and the cash register sounds as messages and money poured in. They were coming so fast and so furious that you couldn’t even begin to fathom how much money you were making for Bucky while he broke you with his cocks.

Bucky must’ve heard the sounds too, because he doubled his efforts. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand still held you up off the bed by your Christmas light restraints. It meant that your face was framed perfectly in the camera frame.

It occurred to you that you should let your gaze drift off, let your mind retreat somewhere deep inside itself where you could hide from Bucky and what he was doing to your body. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the camera’s display panel.

There, you could see the scene Bucky had constructed—your body tied up in glittering, technicolor Christmas lights; your face covered in tears and drool, lips spread thin around the base of the cock gag; your throat bulging from the fake dick buried deep in your mouth; your tits bouncing between the strands of lights.

Behind you, with a look of deeply depraved joy on his face, was Bucky Barnes. 

He was naked save for the harness belted around his hips and the santa hat on his head. His big body was on display just as much as yours, his broad chest swathed in pale skin and chiseled muscles, his arms bulging as he held you up and spanked your ass. 

Bucky’s dark hair was falling into his handsome face, but the strands didn’t hide the merry grin on his lips or the way his blue eyes glittered with wicked delight as he stared down at the place where his cock and the massive dildo were brutally fucking your holes.

It was too much to watch your defilement. It was too depraved and too…hot.

God help you, but something must’ve finally broken inside you because it was so fucking hot to watch yourself be violated on camera while jaunty Christmas music played in the background and hundreds, if not thousands, of perverts watched Bucky have his way with you. 

Your pussy spasmed and clenched around the fake cock in your hole as you thought about those people watching you. It turned you on that the audience knew Bucky was fucking you against your will and not only were they doing nothing about it, they were taking their own pleasure from watching you be ravaged. Your cunt drooled even more.

Bucky Barnes had officially broken you. 

That was the only conclusion you could reach, because when you’d met him more than a year ago, you never would’ve imagined that your pussy would be creaming all over a fat, girthy dildo while Bucky fucked your ass and held you tied up with Christmas lights for anyone on the dark web to watch. 

But after a year of being fucked hard in every one of your holes, Bucky had finally broken you down until you’d joined him on his level. He’d torn away every ounce of shame, every bit of what had made you you, and remade you in the image of his perfect toy. You were a doll, his doll, just like he called you.

The realization filled you with a sense of peace you never would’ve expected, your body relaxing as your mind went blissfully blank. It was easier this way, you told yourself, as you breathed a sigh of relief. All that was left of you was Bucky Barnes’ perfect doll—his Winter Slut cam star.

Bucky must’ve felt or somehow sensed your submission because he groaned a filthy sound of pleasure and shoved his hips flush against your ass. He paused for a moment, his hand groping your ass possessively before pulling back and ramming home again, burying himself even deeper inside you, the massive dildo bullying your cervix as he pounded into you.

“That’s my girl, take your Winter Soldier’s cock like a good little fuck doll,” Bucky purred, his voice taking on a tenor of contentment you’d never heard before. It was like he was praising you for your submission, for finally giving yourself over to him, mind, body and soul. “You’re being such a perfect Winter Slut, taking me so good and crying so pretty for the camera.”

You preened under his praise, using what little strength remained in your body to shove your hips back onto Bucky’s cocks, fake and real alike, while you sucked enthusiastically on the fake dick in your mouth. Tears flowed harder from your eyes and you sobbed your pleasure, choked sounds of enjoyment falling from your lips.

You could feel the most devastating orgasm of your life building in the core of your being, and you were eager to chase it, knowing it would rewrite the fundamental fabric of your self. 

“Fuck yeah, doll, be my perfect little cam star,” Bucky rumbled, slapping your ass in encouragement, the sting of pain swirling with the pleasure he was wringing from your body and adding to the burning bliss scorching through you. “Show the chat how good my Winter Slut can cry for their money—show them how much you love feeling me ruin your holes for Christmas.”

Bucky rutted into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the basement and almost drowning out the new Christmas song that had begun. It felt so good, so fucking good to be fucked and filled in every hole, that you were close—so close you could nearly taste it.

“Fucking take it, Winter Slut, take the only cock you’ll ever feel again,” Bucky growled, curling around your body and taking your throat in his hand. He squeezed tightly, grinding his cock and dildo into your body, so deep, you could feel them in your guts. “For the rest of your life, you’re gonna do nothing but take my cock and be my pretty little cam star—you’re all fucking mine.”

Something snapped inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating the massive fake cock in your cunt. Your squirt sprayed down to soak the sheets beneath you, and all you could do was revel in the pleasure flooding your body, every limb trembling with the force of it while you gasped and cried around Bucky’s hold on your throat.

When he realized what you’d done, Bucky whooped with triumph, crowing into the camera that he’d made you squirt, that you were his perfect little fuck doll cam star. But you were too consumed by your oncoming release, which was barreling toward you with the force of a freight train. 

Before it finally hit you, and you came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you passed out, Bucky wrapped himself more tightly around your body, his chest pressing into your back and his arms wrapping around your front. He choked you with one big hand while the other groped and played roughly with your tits.

To your surprise, he brushed a kiss to your cheek in a gesture that felt affectionate.

“You’re making me so fucking proud, doll,” he cooed in your ear, and you thought, for a moment, that he sounded just like the sweet Bucky Barnes you’d met all those months ago. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.” 

Just then, your release slammed into you and you screamed—and there wasn’t anyone around to hear you except Bucky and his camera. 

Overwhelming pleasure washed through you, darkness creeping into the edges of your consciousness as your body convulsed and you choked on the dildo in your throat while your other holes clenched around the cocks that had split you open beyond your limit.

The last thing you heard before the weight of your release dragged you under was the festive synth pop chords of another Christmas song, and Wham! singing, “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.” 

Somewhere inside you, you knew that everything was going to change once you woke up. Bucky had finally broken you, and you’d given him your ultimate submission. Nothing would be the same, but you found that that didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.

You belonged to Bucky Barnes and you’d finally accepted that as fact. He’d taken everything else, but you still had your heart left to give—and you were certain it wouldn’t be long before you gave him that too. Maybe, at least, it would save you from tears…

As you came so hard you passed out, you accepted that your thoughts, your pleasure, your mind, your body, your soul—your everything—belonged to Bucky Barnes. Then, everything went black.

december daze challenge masterlist

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part9

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning miscarriage, blood, mentioning drug and alcohol use, daddy issues

Selly's note: First of all I'm sorry. I wrote this while my heart was broken. I learned my ex left the country. He was the first person I loved. LIKE COME BACK???? We HAVE TO marry!!!!! Sorry for oversharing💗, and if there is a mistake. I didn't re-read this. Love y'all.💗💗

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Your hands trembled. Your whole body felt numb, yet the shaking tethered you to reality. There was a heavy weight on your chest, as though even breathing had become an uphill battle. A knot in your throat tightened with every passing second, making even the simple act of swallowing painful. You didn’t know what to do. The chaos of the moment was tearing your mind into pieces, your thoughts tangling into a knot so thick you couldn’t unravel it. 

You hadn’t done anything unusual. The day had started like any other. You made yourself some herbal tea, watched TV, read a book about baby development. You cleaned the house a little, then opened the packages that had arrived—items for your daughter’s room. 

Alone. 

Since the moment you arrived in this town, you’d always felt alone, but this was different. This was like falling into a deep, endless chasm, where there was nothing to grasp, no hand to reach for. You could feel your hands flailing in the void, desperately searching, yet finding nothing. 

The warm, sticky sensation spreading down your legs sent a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes flicked downward involuntarily, but you didn’t want to look. Yet it felt as if everything around you was betraying you, even the streetlamp outside, which cast its harsh glow on the spreading pool on the floor. You didn’t want to see it. You feared that seeing it would confirm your worst fears. Your eyes filled with tears, but you couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Would tears ease the crushing weight of this fear? You doubted it. 

You reached for your phone, but even your fingers trembled. Touching the screen, dialing a number, selecting a name—it all felt like an impossible task. The chaos in your mind blurred your thoughts. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds stretched into eternities, yet time pressed on, dragging you deeper into helplessness. 

You hadn’t wanted this. You had left the island just for this pregnancy, determined to build a life here. And now, was it all going to be taken from you? After all the effort to adjust, after everything? 

You glanced around. The silence of the room pressed down on you like a weight. It felt as if the entire world had pulled away, leaving you stranded. You knew there were people—so many people—but none of them were close, not really. Placing your hands on your belly, you clung to the small hope that the motion could somehow quiet the storm of fear inside you. But it didn’t work. 

The voices of fear echoed in your mind: What if I’m too late? What if it’s over? What if this loneliness never ends? Each scenario was scarier than the last. You closed your eyes, but even the darkness offered no solace. The images in your head only fanned the flames of your terror. 

When you finally held the phone in your hand, you knew you had to choose someone to call. Should it be your mom? Or your dad? Maybe… someone else? But what if they couldn’t come? That thought pushed you deeper into despair. It suddenly felt as if the entire world had turned its back on you, as if every person was out of reach. The weight of isolation was crushing. 

Your hands were cold and clammy. As your fingers hovered over the screen, trying to pick a name, you felt frozen. You couldn’t move them. It was as though your brain had redirected all its attention to the fluid trickling down your legs and the stabbing pain in your abdomen. Panic consumed you, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of what to do. 

A quiet voice in your mind whispered, Everything will be okay. But it was impossible to believe. That voice was so faint, so far away, drowned out by the louder, darker thoughts. Reality felt so distant that even hope seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. While your mind scrambled for answers, your body refused to move. 

You tightened your grip on your belly, as though holding on harder could anchor you to something, anything. Alone in that dark, silent room, you had never felt smaller. The outside world was shut off from you, leaving only your fears, your thoughts, and the suffocating weight of solitude. 

Since moving to this town, you’d thought a lot about loneliness. But now, you truly understood its meaning. Loneliness wasn’t just sitting in silence. It wasn’t merely being by yourself. Loneliness was not having anyone to reach when you needed them most. It was feeling as though your voice couldn’t reach anyone, as though you were invisible. 

The trembling didn’t stop. Your eyes darted around, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything was blurry—not because you couldn’t see, but because you couldn’t concentrate. Nothing made sense in that moment. 

You searched for a way out. But maybe the only thing you could do was wait. That thought terrified you even more. Waiting... it made you feel so helpless, so powerless. But what else could you do? 

Tears welled up again as you struggled to breathe. But each breath felt heavier, each inhale pulling the loneliness deeper into your chest. That loneliness, like a black hole, seemed ready to devour you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the pool of liquid spreading on the floor. You couldn’t face it. If you didn’t look, maybe it would stay a bad dream. Maybe this was just paranoia playing tricks on your mind. 

Even though you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your legs, you clung to the hope that you’d wake up. That you’d open your eyes in bed and thank God it was just a nightmare. 

You wanted to wake up. You didn’t want to believe this was real. Not after everything you had done to adjust to this new life. Not after leaving the island to start fresh. 

You had left everything behind. Everyone. 

For a life with your baby. 

You had wanted this baby. Even with your initial doubts, you had wanted it. And for what? To have it taken from you? 

Your eyes shut tight as your hand clenched the phone and your other hand pressed harder against your belly. You wished the pain would stop, that the ache—so reminiscent of a menstrual cramp—would just go away. 

Only days ago, you’d noticed your belly start to show, a tiny swell that made you smile. You had cradled it with your hands, talked to it, even though you didn’t care if it could hear. You wanted it to know you were there. Just a few days ago, you’d been excited about buying clothes for it. 

For this? 

For it to be taken away? 

When you finally opened your eyes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. You wanted to block it out. You wanted the sensation in your legs to disappear. For a moment, you convinced yourself it was all in your head. But the warm trickle that followed was a harsh slap of reality. 

Your trembling eyes drifted downward. The sight of the blood pooled on the floor knocked the breath out of you. Your heart skipped, as if an elephant had perched on your chest. Your legs gave way. Falling to the floor hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest. 

You had never seen them. They’d only been with you for five months, but the thought of that bond breaking—of losing them—felt like your heart was being ripped out. 

When you love something so deeply, does it always have to be taken away? Is that just the way life works? Had everything led to this moment? 

Had you fought with your family, with Rafe, for this? Had you left your entire life behind, moved to this town, just to lose your baby? 

Even your family had started to share your joy. They were thrilled for you, as ecstatic as you were. And now, for what? For this? 

Were you supposed to mourn?

To learn a lesson, did you really have to fall this hard? You hated it. You didn’t want to learn any more lessons. Not if they hurt this much. If growth meant falling like this, you were ready to stay exactly the same—stagnant, unchanging, and safe. 

The moment you felt a fragment of clarity, just enough to push panic aside, you called 911. You couldn’t afford to lose more time. It felt like your mind had snapped back into place, even if only temporarily. 

But you had no idea what you were saying. Your words felt foreign, disjointed, even as you tried to describe what was happening. They assured you they’d come to your home. They told you not to hang up.

Then you realized—you needed to call your family. You needed them with you. Right now, you just wanted to be back in Outer Banks, in your own house, surrounded by the people who had always been there for you. 

If you were there, you wouldn’t feel this crushing loneliness. They would be by your side. 

You didn’t even know how many times you tried. Your fingers repeatedly dialed your mom’s number, then your dad’s, over and over again. Each time, you were met with the same recorded message: unreachable. 

Still, you kept calling, clinging to that faint hope that someone, anyone, would answer. But each attempt ended the same way, the monotone voice echoing the same result. 

And then, without thinking, your fingers moved on their own. They dialed his number. In that moment, you didn’t care about shame or pride. All that mattered was that you needed help. You needed Rafe. Even if the chance was slim, even if it was just a sliver of hope, you needed him to answer. 

As the phone rang, your heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Each ring amplified the fragile hope blooming inside you. Your lips moved as if uttering a prayer: “Please pick up.” You needed someone—anyone—to be there, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Tears streamed down your face as the call rang on, unanswered.

He wouldn’t ignore you, you told yourself. He wouldn’t turn you away. He’d come. You knew he would. He had to. You prayed he wasn’t still angry, that he didn’t hate you for not terminating the pregnancy. 

When the call ended without an answer, you didn’t stop. Your trembling hands hit redial without hesitation. Shame and pride were irrelevant now. You needed him. If he wouldn’t come, you needed him to reach your family. You were utterly alone otherwise. 

Alone. The word echoed like a hollow drumbeat in your chest. 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The racing of your heart, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, even your tears—all stilled in the suffocating silence of your own helplessness. But you didn’t give up. You called again. And again. Your trembling fingers barely functioned, struggling to tap the screen. But you kept trying.

Fuck pride. You needed help. You needed someone by your side, someone to hold you, someone to tell you it wasn’t the end. Your lips quivered as you let out a stifled sob. “Please…” When the call went to voicemail yet again, your shoulders shook with the weight of another unanswered prayer. 

Wasn’t this his baby too? Didn’t it matter to him? You hadn’t made this baby alone. Surely he would care. You didn’t need him to grieve with you. You just needed him here. And he would come. Rafe was a lot of things, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t leave you stranded. 

Not you. 

You had to believe that. You clung to that hope like a lifeline, begging for it to still be true. 

Another sob tore through you, reverberating through the empty room. This time, it came from somewhere so deep inside that it left your chest heavy, crushed under the weight of despair. You prayed he’d answer.

You weren’t strong enough to endure this. 

You didn’t want to do this alone. You fought to steady your trembling lips, desperate to string together the words you’d need to say if he picked up—when he picked up. But once again, the line went dead.

This time, it felt like a door slamming in your face. But it wasn’t just rejection—it was the crumbling of a trust you hadn’t even realized you still held onto. Deep down, you had truly believed he would answer. That he’d help you. That he wouldn’t leave you to face this on your own. 

As the silence deepened, your hands fell to the cold floor, sticky with blood. You didn’t even care. You felt like everything you wanted, everything you’d dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers. Did you not deserve happiness? Had you done something so wrong to deserve this? 

You wanted to scream. To set the house on fire, to rip apart the tiny baby clothes you’d just bought. 

You nearly buried your face in your hands, but the sight of blood on your fingers stopped you. Frantically, you wiped them on your nightgown, trying to erase it. You wanted it gone—needed it gone. You wanted to forget everything that had happened today. 

The phone was still in your hand, your fingers gripping it like it held a flicker of hope. Rafe hadn’t answered. Your family hadn’t answered. Their silence only pushed you deeper into yourself. Your tears began to dry, replaced by a hollow ache gnawing at your insides. 

After your final attempt, you let the screen go dark. The reflection of your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the blackened screen, ghostly and unfamiliar. Your lips still trembled with silent cries, your voice barely audible even to yourself. 

Then, the phone buzzed. The unexpected vibration made you flinch. The screen lit up, and your heart stuttered before racing into overdrive. A message. 

When you saw the name, a fraction of the emptiness lifted. JJ. His name sat there like it belonged, as if the chaos hadn’t touched it. You opened the message, holding your breath. 

How’s it going with your new street animal buddies? Found yourself a soulmate yet?

It was stupid. Ridiculous. But somehow, in all its absurdity, that sarcastic tone cracked something open inside you. A tiny window of light broke through the storm. 

And yet, the relief was fleeting. Looking at the message, then back at the blood pooling on the floor, your emotions surged in a tangle of anger, helplessness, and unrelenting fear. 

You needed him. Right now. Without thinking, your trembling fingers scrolled back to his name.

The name on the screen made your eyes well up. JJ. So ordinary, so simple. Yet, at that moment, it felt like your only tether to life. He’d come. He would, wouldn’t he? 

With trembling hands, you pressed the call button. As you held the phone to your ear, the silence was broken only by the erratic pounding of your heart. Each ring sent a jolt of panic through you—what if he didn’t answer? “Please…” you whispered, barely audible. “Please pick up…”

It felt like you were losing your mind. Was this real? Had he really sent that message? 

“Hey, Princess. I noticed we’ve upped the calls lately. Can’t manage without me, huh—”

The distant sound of sirens reached your ears, and your lips quivered. Even JJ’s voice, with its usual cocky tone, felt like an anchor. Just hearing him talk, hearing that familiar teasing edge—it was everything. It made you feel as if you’d already done all you could. 

“I need you here.” 

The words came out shakily, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. One hand rested in your lap, the other gripping the phone, both stained with blood. 

To be honest, you were terrified. Not just about what might happen but about losing the baby. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice had lost its playful tone, replaced with a sharp seriousness. He was waiting for an answer, but you felt too drained, too scared, to put your fears into words. Saying the possibility of a miscarriage out loud felt impossible. 

How did he always know? How could he tell when you needed him the most? Was he like this with everyone, or just you? 

When he said your name, you tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken and shallow. The sirens were getting closer. “I’m bleeding.” The weight of the words nearly crushed you as they left your lips, leaving you lightheaded—not from pain, but from the sheer gravity of it. 

You were so used to him being there. The idea of him leaving, of him not being there, was unbearable. “I called everyone, but—”

“I’m on the way. Did you call 911? Listen, I’ll be there, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll get there as fast as I can. You’ll be fine. You’re going to be fine. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay? I need you to say something.” His words were quick, determined, unwavering. 

You nodded instinctively, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Even if this was your fate, you didn’t want to accept it. 

“I’m scared.” A sob escaped your lips as the sirens grew louder. They were on your street. 

“I’m coming. Everything’s going to be okay.”

—

Last night was ordinary. A night that fell short of expectations—not that Rafe knew what he was expecting anymore. He had become a ghost of himself, far from anything resembling pride. 

Had he ever been proud of himself, really? 

He couldn’t focus on the future or the present; he was stuck in the past. 

His eyes had searched for you everywhere. There wasn’t a corner of the Outer Banks he hadn’t roamed. The beach, parties, the country club—he’d scoured them all, just to catch a glimpse of you. 

He even shopped at the grocery store near your house, the one far from his own. Almost every day, he’d find himself there, grabbing a drink, some crackers, whatever he could justify, just to linger for a chance to see you. 

He missed your presence. Your scent. 

He missed the moments in bed with you—not the sex, but the times he held you in his arms, kissed you, and just existed in your warmth. He missed looking into your eyes, the overwhelming urge to tell you he loved you. 

But Rafe was a coward. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, not even himself. And you? You already knew. You didn’t need to hear it from anyone. 

He hadn’t told his father. He hadn’t told anyone—Topper, Kelce, Sarah, even Wheezie. Not that anyone else could really understand. 

You were the only one who truly knew him. And he’d lost you. Because he was a coward. 

He missed the sound of your voice. If he could go back, he’d want you to talk more in those old videos. He’d spend hours talking to you if he had the chance again. 

He couldn’t adjust to your absence. 

When he threw himself into alcohol, he didn’t think much about it. When had he ever truly sat down and thought anything through? All he knew was how to make impulsive decisions that wrecked his life. 

He couldn’t stand Topper and Kelce’s phases of chasing random girls, calling them over, laughing at nothing. Rafe’s mind, body, and soul belonged to you. He couldn’t bring himself to touch or even look at anyone else. 

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to sleep, the only image in his head was your face. 

He hadn’t touched another woman. Not that he tried. He knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be you. 

There was a time when he thrived on quick, meaningless flings. He hated attachments—blamed it on his childhood. He figured it was because he didn’t know what it meant to make love. He never let emotions into it. But with you, it was different. 

It was intoxicating—better than anything drugs had ever made him feel. It was addictive. 

He loved whispering “I love you” while he was with you. It made him feel like less of the mess he knew he was. But even then, he hadn’t said it enough—like the idiot he was. 

You had been gone from his life for almost four months, and the void was unbearable. Not even when he’d tried to quit drugs had he craved their presence the way he craved yours. 

It was like he was a teenager nursing his first heartbreak. And yet, somehow, this was the mildest punishment he thought he deserved for his cowardice. 

He’d worked so hard to get Ward’s approval, to finally be seen by his father. Ward was noticing him now, for the first time. He could see Rafe’s potential, and Rafe knew it. For once, it wasn’t Sarah he was looking at—it was him. 

For the first time, Ward saw Rafe accomplishing something for Cameron Development. For the first time, Rafe gave his father the impression that he was capable of more. After years of begging for attention, Rafe was finally getting it. 

But it had cost him you. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his father’s approval. He couldn’t face that rejection again. Ward had finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and Rafe didn’t want to feel that hand pulled away. 

He hadn’t wanted to lose you, either. That was never part of the plan. It just… happened. Too fast. And he’d been too scared. 

Scared of seeing that disappointment in his father’s eyes again. 

Everyone around him noticed his spiraling depression, even Topper and Kelce. Though he never opened up to them, they could tell something was wrong. If they noticed, then everyone else must’ve, too. Not that Rafe cared. Nobody dared bring it up to him anyway. 

Under Topper and Kelce’s relentless pressure, he found himself at a party. Not to have fun. Not to let loose. But to see you. He spent the night searching for you, glancing around like you might walk in at any second. 

He looked for your old friends, the ones he’d seen you with before. He hoped you’d be there, even though he knew it was unlikely. You were pregnant. You probably wouldn’t come. But the possibility, however slim, was enough to drag him there. 

That same possibility kept him shopping near your place, day after day. 

For the chance of you. 

The more he didn’t see you, the more he drank, as if alcohol could drown out the ache. Nothing could fill the emptiness you left behind, but he still clung to his glass, hoping—maybe if he drank enough, he’d hallucinate you. 

He didn’t know how much he drank. It didn’t even feel like a party. Topper and Kelce flirted and joked with girls, but Rafe didn’t bother looking their way. He just drank and searched. 

You were the one who used to go to parties with him. You were his girl. And Rafe? He was yours. It wasn’t an open relationship; he wouldn’t have shared you with anyone. 

You used to pull him onto the dance floor. He’d groan and complain at first, but you always got your way. And once he gave in, he didn’t hate it. Not when he was touching you. He loved every moment he could hold you. 

Even now, he could hear your voice in his head, persuading him to dance. Him pretending to resist. You insisting, until he finally caved. What an idiot he’d been. He should’ve just said yes every time. Done anything you asked. 

His regrets were endless. His self-loathing, boundless. For being such a coward. For being a failure, yet again. 

You had believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. Your faith in him had given him the courage to ask his father for opportunities, small as they were. And with you, he’d felt like he’d succeeded, just a little. 

Now he hated himself for choosing his father’s approval over you—and the baby. 

The thought of you moving on, raising a child without him, was unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with your swollen belly, or playing with your child—his child. And the thought of not being there... 

He hated himself for fearing his father more than losing you. For crawling for scraps of his father’s affection like some pathetic creature. 

Which he was. 

And now, for the rest of his life, he would hate this moment—and himself—for choosing so poorly. 

Rafe thought he’d made it home thanks to Topper and Kelce. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the front door and collapsing into Wheezie’s arms. The idea that the tiny girl could hold him up was almost laughable. Somehow, he’d managed to make it to his room.

Wheezie had laid him down on his bed before leaving. You’d have to be an idiot not to notice something was wrong. She knew her brother too well. She hadn’t seen him this quiet, this withdrawn, in a long time.

You were always there with him.

When you were around, Wheezie could hear your laughter coming from Rafe’s room. Even when Rafe was being his usual insufferable self, you made him bearable. She never thought he had that side to him. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure it existed until you came along.

When Rafe opened his eyes the next morning, a sharp, pounding headache greeted him like a cruel companion. The remnants of last night’s party echoed in his skull. Sitting up in bed, hungover and disoriented, fragments of the night before started to drift back into focus—crowds, noise, laughter. The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him square in the face, intensifying the pain. All he wanted was to throw up and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

He didn’t remember much, just that he went to the party and drank like it was his last night on Earth. Alcohol had been a more reliable friend than Topper or Kelce that night.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he tried to shake off the fog. The smell—his own and the room’s—was rancid, like a stale cocktail of sweat and regret.

He kicked off the covers, intending to get up, when his eyes landed on a single pill and a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Without thinking, he swallowed the pill and drained the glass.

Stumbling to the window, he threw it open, letting fresh air seep in. He took a quick shower, practically praying for relief from the headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two. The cold water shocked his system, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl into a dark room and hide there for a week.

Out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his neck and caught a glimpse of his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face bore the fatigue of a man who hadn’t truly rested in years. The weight pressing down on him wasn’t just from the alcohol; it was everything else. Everything he’d tried to suppress. “You really are a master at screwing things up,” he muttered bitterly at himself.

His gaze drifted around the room—clothes tossed haphazardly on the bed, an empty bottle lying on the floor, a lighter on the nightstand. Even the carpet under his feet made his skin crawl. He needed to pull himself together, maybe eat something, grab a coffee. But first, his phone.

It sat there on the edge of the table, an unspoken threat. Reaching for it, a wave of unease washed over him. He didn’t know who he’d talked to, what he’d said, or worse, what he’d texted. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Notifications flooded in—group chats, Instagram likes—and then, there they were. Three missed calls.

From you.

His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, the timestamp mocking him. Midnight. One after the other. His thumb hovered over the call log, uncertainty gripping him. Why had you called? 

And why at midnight?

It couldn’t be. Not you. Not after everything. You never made the first move, especially not in the middle of the night. 

For a moment, he considered calling you back. His thumb ghosted over your name. Should he? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if it led to the same arguments—about the baby, about why you didn’t want to stay, about why he let you go? He could still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between you, haunting him like a shadow.

He dropped the phone back onto the table, running his hands through his hair. Deep down, he knew these questions were rhetorical. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you—or the life you might’ve had together.

Rising from the bed, he moved to his closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he debated whether to call. The courage he’d relied on last night felt a thousand miles away.

Just then, the phone buzzed. Another notification. His heart skipped. Was it you? No. Someone else. But the fleeting hope that it might’ve been you twisted something inside him.

Setting the phone down again, he took a deep breath. *Calm down,* he told himself. But calming down was impossible. The unease coiled tighter, mixing guilt and longing into a cocktail of misery.

Without thinking too much, he hit your name and let the call go through. The ringing filled the room, amplifying his heartbeat. What if you were asleep? What if he woke you? He hated the idea of disturbing you.

The line clicked off before you answered. His worry deepened. What if something had happened to you? His fingers hovered, then dialed again, this time with more urgency.

The second call rang longer. Each tone ratcheted up his anxiety. And then, finally, the line connected. 

“Hey,” Your voice was quiet, cautious.

For a moment, Rafe’s words stuck in his throat. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had stolen his voice. Finally, he managed, “Hey… uh, you called me?”

It sounded weak, tentative. But hearing your voice, even like this, sent a pang straight through him. He missed you more than he could put into words.

A pause. The silence stretched, making him wonder if you were about to hang up. Then you answered, “I was drunk.”

The words hit him like a slap. Drunk? That was it? Just a drunk dial? The thought made his stomach twist. Was it really that meaningless?

“Are you okay?” he asked, this time more firmly, though it took everything not to press harder.

“I’m fine.” But your tone was too quick, too dismissive. He knew you better than that. He could always tell when you were lying. But he didn’t push. Maybe he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Alright,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to keep you on the line, to hear more, to find some excuse to hold onto this moment.

“Okay,” you said, your voice faltering briefly before you caught yourself. “I have to go.”

And just like that, the call ended. The short beep that followed felt like a final blow, sealing the unbearable silence around him.

Rafe stared at the phone. Drunk. The word echoed in his head. It collided with another thought, one that sent a chill through him. Did she…?

Had you gone through with it? The decision he’d pushed you toward but never truly wanted? He’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do, but now the thought made his chest tighten unbearably.

He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel—relief, regret, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: he hadn’t stopped loving you. And that realization hit him harder than anything else.

He glanced at the phone one last time. Your name was still there on the screen, a painful reminder of everything he’d lost. 

He thought about texting you but stopped. No words felt right. Maybe silence was all he deserved. After all, what was left to say when you’d already walked away for good?

[juniperdugong]

Their favorite place to kiss you

Scoups Your hands. More specifically your knuckles whenever he remembers he's holding your hand in his. Placing a peck upon each knuckle while trying to catch your eyes, this always ends with an actual kiss though. Or in the car, I always imagine that he's holding your hand while driving stick shift, intertwined at all times unless you want him to make a scene about you not loving him. At every stoplight, he's pressing his lips against the back of your hand like it's an instinct. Ugh, he would drive me crazy.

Jeonghan He's a classic type of man opting for a quick smooch to your cheek in haste and then looking away like nothing happened. Ever the trickster even in love. Whenever you catch him in the act though he's a giggling mess. You might not notice it but he seems particularly fond of acts of affection when you're smiling. What can he say? When you smile so brightly and your cheeks puff out it's like a drug to him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Joshua Your nose. Another one who tries to catch you off guard but unlike Jeonghan he always fails because he's trying to catch your nose rather than any other part of you. The slight scrunch gets him weak in the knees from cuteness so of course it's his favorite. It's also partially because of how you look as he does this, your eyes crossing as he's coming towards you. "You look dumb but in a cute way", he tries to explain not understanding how you can't see what he sees.

Jun He's a tad awkward in his tastes I imagine, so I feel like the outer corner of your eye is his cup of tea. He doesn't really have an explanation himself but maybe it's because everytime he kisses you there you immediately focus your attention on him. Whether that's in confusion or shock he doesn't care as long as you're looking at him. I feel like he's a firm believer that the eyes are the windows to the soul so being able to hold your gaze is like looking at heaven, that is to say, he thinks you are heaven.

Hoshi This dude is pretty straightforward with affection so your lips are always gonna do it for him. He's always looking for a moment to trap you in a kiss no matter the situation. You could be talking about the most important thing in the world and this man is looking for an opening before bombarding you with his lips and then nonchalantly going back into the conversation. He doesn't see any issue with it, in fact, he thinks it's the most proper way to show you his love.

Wonwoo Forehead all day! He doesn't show affection all that often but when he does it's discreetly and quickly leaving chaste kisses on your forehead before bed, when you're focusing on work, or pretty much whenever you aren't paying attention. You learn after a bit that acknowledging his affection makes him more shy about it so you've gotten in the habit of giving little to no reaction. (The hardest thing in the world because he's the cutest tbh)

Woozi He's going for the corner of your lips. He isn't forward enough to give you a full kiss all the time nor does he really feel the need for that most of the time. He isn't one to show affection much either but it doesn't mean he shies away from it, it's just not something he thinks about doing often since he knows that you know that he loves you completely and fully. It may seem half-hearted to some but to him, a kiss on the corner of your lips means "I'm here and I love you".

Minghao Hao prefers hugs to kisses in my opinion. But when he does kiss you it is often on your shoulders. Whenever he's got you entangled in his arms he's leaving tender kisses along your shoulders, TRUST. In line and he's back hugging you? Kisses. A hug once he's gotten back from tour? Kisses. Cuddled up in bed and completely tangled in each other? Kisses. It's the only place he's willing to leave multiple kisses without feeling like it's too much PDA.

DK This man. I don't know how to tell you this. Literally everywhere and anywhere. As long as it's you he's willing to kiss even the soles of your feet (not in a weird way he swears). I could go on and on about the way he would kiss your eyelids, your stomach, the inside of your wrist, all in the name of loving you completely and wholly with his entire being. Not afraid of affection in the slightest, he's always clinging to you. Swears up and down that with every kiss he falls more in love.

Mingyu Tippy top of your head. Listen listen listen...as much as I would love to subvert expectations with Mingyu I simply cannot imagine a more perfect scene than this man kissing your head. He does it without even realizing honestly. Feels the most natural to leave a gentle kiss there. Why can I so clearly imagine him sniffing your hair too? Not in a weird way but in the way that people like to smell babies' heads...okay maybe that's weird BUT it's very endearing coming from him. He just likes your scent so much. (Also, if you're short enough, he'll probably rest his head on top of yours)

Seungkwan Dudes a romantic and he's going for the jawline. It catches you off guard and it's sensual enough to mean something but not sensual enough to mean something if you know what I'm saying. He doesn't shy away from affection either so I feel like he's happy kissing you wherever but along your jawline always seems to get a small reaction out of you so it's his favorite for that reason. The blush that warms your cheeks warms his heart.

Vernon Your lap/ thighs. I was originally gonna put this down for Jeonghan since he's a napper but I feel like when Vernon gets comfortable with you he's the type to lay in your lap often. He doesn't even think about the kiss as anything other than innocent and loving. You're just right there and he feels an urge to kiss you so he does. Plus, when he does this you often pat or stroke his hair as recognition and he completely melts into your touch.

Dino He's a back hugger and for that reason, I think he would fall into the habit of leaving kisses on the back of your neck. I wouldn't say it's his favorite since this dude is head over heels for your lips as well but it's where he's leaving the most kisses for sure. Holding you by the waist and swaying you gently side to side, head laying on one of your shoulders, he leaves feathery kisses that you almost can't feel if it weren't for the fact that he smiles and chuckles as he does so.

NOT PROOFREAD

{If you're interested in being on the Taglist for my Seventeen works please let me know!! And my requests are open!}

{A/N: I'm going crazy I think. I don't know where this came from. It's 2am as I finish writing this and reading it over once. My eyes are red and all I can think about is these boys. I've been writing and thinking of prompts like an insane person. Ngl though I feel like all of them are good kissers.}

[callieisto]

☆ Kinktober Day 4: Aphrodisiac! ☆

(fem!reader)

Sam hated witches.

They were nearly impossible to deal with, mischievous, and most of the time, they had no real idea what they were getting themselves into. But the ones that did know were the ones Sam hated the most. Because they did stuff like this.

This older grandma-type had seen you and Sam when you came to interview her about some teenagers disappearing, and then claiming they spent three weeks in the woods as actual animals- squirrels and deer and rabbits. Due to what they claimed was a witch, and what the police claimed to be hallucinogenic mushrooms (or something.)

She decided you needed a little push in the right direction, and had drugged the two of you with an aphrodisiac in the tea she offered. Too bad the kids had managed to describe her only a few hours later. Dean had shot her in the head before she could really tell them what it did beyond the whole 'making you really horny' thing. The spell, drug, whatever it was, had taken its sweet time kicking in. He thought it would be okay. All three of you did.

A town over, after the burning and the burying and the ruining of spell ingredients, it had hit him in the car- and you moments later. He managed to tell Dean to pull into a motel and splurge for three rooms- because no way was he going to share with his brother, and no way was he going to share with you.

You were just- Well, you were... you were something to him, something sweet and perfect and entirely untouchable. Besides, even seeing you right now might cause his heart to burst, because you raise his resting heart rate by like twenty BPM just by existing around him, and he can already feel his heart thundering against his ribs. He's sweatier than he's ever been in his life, naked on the edge of his bed in the motel room with a hand around his dick.

He's trying to jerk off to this terrible cable porn, but he keeps imagining you between his legs, your eyes fluttering so pretty as you lick up the underside of his dick, over that vein at the tip that makes him shudder, and-

He cums with a little strangled gasp and a whimper, not expecting his release to creep up on him like that. He pants, eyeing the spot where the cum soaks into the rug. He thinks 'god, finally', because maybe that would make everything better.

But he's still hard as a rock. And his head is still foggy. And if he's hearing things right, there's a timid little knocking sound at his door, but that might also be a hallucination due to his brain leaking out of his ears. He's so hot. He feels like he's melting.

The knock comes again, louder this time. Sam clears his head enough to tug on his boxers as he stumbles towards the door, still a little shaky from his orgasm. He looks through the peephole, and...

Shit.

It's you.

He opens the door slightly. He just stares at you- you're wrapped in a bathrobe, you're squirming under his gaze, you're sweaty and you look weaker than he's ever seen you. You're so perfect. So beautiful.

"Hey," He croaks out, voice hoarse. "How are you holding up?"

He's never wanted to kiss you more in his entire life.

Instead, he opens the door all the way and ushers you inside. The idea of anyone else seeing you looking like this makes him feel an emotion he doesn't quite want to deal with, and the door closes and locks behind you. He offers you a weak little smile.

"It's, um, it's worse than I thought it would be." You manage, shrugging as you sit down on the edge of his bed. He winces internally when you cast your eyes towards the cum staining the carpet. You don't say anything.

"Yeah, it's... not great." He manages, running a hand through his hair. "I tried to do some research on it when we got here, but, uh..."

"You got too horny to think?" You offered, laughing weakly. Sam nodded with a breathless chuckle.

"Yeah, um- sorry about the porn. On the tv." He said awkwardly, moving to turn it off. "I thought it would help, but it really didn't."

"It's okay." You whispered, smiling as he turned to you. "I don't think there's really anything that could help."

"I can think of something." Sam says with a laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah?" And you tilt your head and flutter your eyelashes. His mind goes blank, just a little. He swallows dryly.

"... Yeah."

Sam swears he has no idea what happened. It's like everything blurred together, and suddenly he was on top of you, kissing the air straight out of your lungs. And his body stopped hurting. And the fog cleared a little bit.

"Fuck," He rumbles against your lips. "Fuck, you taste so good."

You moan all sweet into his mouth and he gets dizzy, if he wasn't already hard, he would've been, because you're just so soft and so fucking wet-

He's rutting his cock against your pussy, and fumbling with the tie of your bathrobe. It falls away, and something cracks in his head because his tip catches at your entrance and the moan he lets out is guttural. He feels wild, he feels hungry, and he wants to fill you up with cum until it leaks out around him.

"Shh, shh," He hushes breathlessly, because you're mewling and it's so cute he might die. "Shh, I've got you, d-doesn't it feel better? You want me to make you feel better?"

You nod, lightly knocking your forehead against his, and he laughs softly. "Sam," you whine, and your hands come up to curl around the base of his neck. "Need you, please..."

"I'm here," He coos, sweet and soft. "I'm here, angel, I've got you." He pushes in, slowly, kissing all over your face as he does. Once he's settled, he takes a moment to pull back and drink you in. You're so pretty, so impossibly pretty, and softer than any girl he's ever been with before.

He thrusts, just a little, shallowly, and the noise you make is almost enough to have him cumming right then and there. He breathes out weakly, thumb sliding through your folds to find your clit. He fumbles, a little- sue him for being nervous- but finds it eventually, rubbing it slowly as he bottoms out in you over and over again.

You're whining, squirming, and- holy shit- you've cum already, just so sweet and sensitive for him, tensing and crying out and he has half a mind to thank the witch profusely because he never would've dared to touch you if this hadn't happened.

"You're so pretty." He breathes, and his voice breaks when he thrusts back in. He's trying so hard not to cum right then and there. "God, oh god, I want to fill you up so bad. Wanna see you dripping with it, oh god."

"Pleasepleaseplease," you beg. "Please, Sammy, want it, need it-" And with that, Sam's mind fucking shatters. He registers that he cums again, register that you cum again, and he's still fucking hungry, wants to stay like this forever.

He keeps going, working both of you through another orgasm, whimpering breathless little moans of your name, babbling about how good you feel, his head dropping into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he whines like a dog.

The rest of the night is a blur. At some point, he thinks the aphrodisiac wears off, but his memory blots out a little ways before that. Waking up in the morning, he's still in bed, and you're tucked into his chest. His head is spinning. He sits up, and you mumble sleepily, and his heart clenches in his chest.

"Good morning." He whispers, kissing over your face. When he gets a little giggly smile from you, he smiles back.

And then he pulls out. A little flood of cum follows.

And Sam has officially been ruined, because he's going to have to ask Dean for Plan B and he's never going to live it down- but also, he's had you, he's never going to let you go, because you're just so perfect.

He'd endure a lifetime of teasing for you.

☆ taglist!

@adhd-introvert

[dollfaceksj]

the pink pill | jjk version (m) — “3 days”

➥ banner by: @jkndigo.

➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.

➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ porn without plot ⋆ best friends

➥ CATEGORY: one-shot [part of the pink pill series]

➥ WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up!!!!), extremely horny!reader, missionary, cocky!jungkook, doggy style, cum-shot, creampie, crying, overstimulation, kissing, reader asks her bff jk for a favor, they’ve never had sex before(w each other), kissing w tongue, annoying friends, reader is dared into taking the pill, fingerfucking, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, slight choking, bit of spanking, praise, slight guilt for fucking best friend, jungkook’s stamina (deffo inspired by seven), minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 9.1k

a/n: aaaand the first addition to tpp series is out 🥴 this was originally going to be a short drabble for jk but i liked the concept so much that i decided to make it a one-shot + write one for every single member. so see this as my first thought for the fic (not boring imo but the most basic one? if that makes sense) anyways, hope u enjoy!

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

“What even is that?” you ask your friend, Lee, as you reach for the pink package that she just nonchalantly tossed onto your coffee table. You’re seated on your couch as you wrap your fingers around the piece of pink carton, uncrossing your legs once you have it in your hands.

Your eyes scan the white letters around the pink cartoon cat but you still can’t make much sense of it.

“I saw someone tweet about it. Essentially, it’s like viagra for vaginas,” Lee tells you as she leans back into the couch, a cold can of coke in her hand.

You can’t help but snort in mockery as you throw it back onto the table in front of you and say, “There’s no way in hell you actually believe that thing works.”

Your other friend, Yoona, walks out of your kitchen with another can of soda in her hand. She glances at the small pink package on the table as she plops down on your couch next to you, an amused grin on her lips.

Lee shrugs her shoulders as she zaps through the comedy movies catalogue on Netflix with your remote, her eyes absentmindedly shifting to the packaged pill. “I’m not sure. It was like 10 bucks on Amazon.” Her gaze lingers on the pill, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling in your chest at the fact that your friend is dumb enough to get scammed like this. “10 bucks? They just sold you some cinnamon powder in a capsule and called it a day,” you laugh, returning your attention to the TV as you throw your feet up onto the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you take it?” Lee challenges you, pushing the pill in the pink package toward you with her foot.

Your eyes shift toward the pill. “You want me to take that pill right now?” Your eyebrow cocks up and you stare at it for a moment as if it were poison before turning your attention to her. It could very well be poison, actually.

A smirk stretches onto Yoona’s lips as she seemingly enjoys the thought of Lee challenging the most stubborn person on planet Earth. Yoona leans forwards after sipping her coke, parting her lips to say, “Yeah, since you don’t think that it works, right?”

You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, hoping to appear unbothered. You raise your own drink to your lips and glance at your friends over the rim of your can. “I really don’t,” you say before you take a sip of your iced tea. “But Jungkook is coming over later.”

An evil look twinkles in Yoona’s eyes as your words reach her ears. “Ah, so you do think there’s a chance it works.” She’s proud of her little gotcha-moment but you make sure it’s short-lived.

She watches as you swallow too quickly, a low burp escaping your lips as you scramble to defend yourself.

“No, I literally don’t.” Why would you? Viagra is insanely expensive, to think it’s counterpart is available on Amazon for 10 bucks is insane.

“Then take it,” Lee tilts her head to the side, a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Besides… you keep saying there’s nothing going on between you and Jungkook. Why mention he’s coming over if you’re not fucking him and if you don’t think the pill works?” she adds, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as if she’s got you.

You place your can of iced tea back down on the table with a thud. “I’m not fucking Jungkook, you weirdo,” you grumble as you defiantly reach for the pill.

You and Jungkook have been best friends for years, they know that! They know how both you and Jungkook physically cringe and wince whenever someone mistakes the two of you for a couple. Now, they put the image of having sex with him in your brain and it’s weird.

(Read: Well, lately, it has been crossing your mind but it quickly gets ignored.)

You’re not dumb, you know Jungkook’s been popular for being attractive since forever but he was never really your type.

Keyword: was.

It’s not your fault, though! Jungkook has been growing out his hair and has been working out, his arm is covered in tattoos and he seems to be making good money as a freelance video editor.

“Well, if you’re not fucking him, can I? I don’t know what’s in the air but he’s been changing a lot lately. Like his beauty looks like it doesn’t even belong on Earth.” Yoona takes the final sip of her old drink after she says that, crumpling it up and slamming it down onto the table with an obnoxious exhale.

You can tell she’s saying it to get a rise out of you but you quite literally don’t care. Why would you care about who the hell your friend is fucking?

“Fuck him if you want, I literally don’t care,” you say quietly as you gather the empty cans onto the tray you brought them in. You actually can’t bring yourself to care about Jungkook’s sex life, in all honesty.

“See, you’re jealous! I bet you’re fucking.” Lee’s teaseful words and Yoona’s obnoxious giggles are starting to irritate you. Can’t they just accept the fact you’re not fucking your best friend just because he has a penis?

You glare at the both of them with a twitch in your brows, your nostrils flared and your fingers tingling with the urge to throw the empty cans of soda at them.

You make up your mind and say, “Alright, to prove to you that this stupid pink pill doesn’t fucking work and nothing is going on between Jungkook and I…” You pop the pill out of its pocket and place it on your tongue, swiftly swallowing it down with the rest of your iced tea. “Two birds, one stone.”

The room fills with obnoxious laughter and giggles as they watch you, shaking their head at your obstinance. “You’re so stubborn and so petty,” Yoona adds before taking a sip of her new coke after cracking it open.

“You really think the pussy equivalent of viagra would cost 10 bucks? Be serious,” you grumble in annoyance, throwing your feet up onto the table again and slouch further into your couch as you try to pay attention to whatever is playing on the TV.

They share a mischievous look but you can’t bring yourself to comment on it. “Okay, if you say so.” Lee brings her shoulders up in a shrug and drops the topic for now.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

About 45 minutes later as Yoona and Lee get ready to leave, Yoona nudges you with her foot. “Do you feel anything?”

“No. I don’t. I’m telling you, it’s not real,” you tell them in all honesty. You really don’t feel any different. You don’t show your relief, though.

“Bummer. I really wanted you to learn a lesson,” Lee laughs and blows you a kiss when you put up your middle finger.

You say goodbye as they walk out and you just return your attention to your TV, watching the sappy drama that Lee and Yoona are obsessed with for some reason.

After a few moments, your phone buzzes.

[7:02PM]

Jungkook

Lays or Pringles?

[7:03PM]

You

pringlessssss

[7:03PM]

Jungkook

Bet. Be there in about an hour

[7:04PM]

You

okiii

You mindlessly throw your phone somewhere on the couch beside you and rise to your feet to clean up the mess Lee and Yoona left behind.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Well, fuck.

About another 40 minutes later, you’re starting to actually regret taking that damn pill.

You can’t fucking believe this. Your nipples have been erect for 20 minutes and you’re sure you’re in need of a change of underwear.

What the hell is in that pill?

You walk into the bathroom to examine your appearance in the mirror. The air knocks out of your lungs at the sight in front of you.

Your pupils are dilated, your cheeks and nose are piping hot. Your lips are swollen and a thin layer of sweat is draped over your forehead.

Your heart has also been beating quicker than usual.

You want to hump everything in your sight. Is this what it’s like for an animal in heat? Fucking hell. You’ve never been this aroused.

Your hand slowly travels down your stomach and under the hem of your sweats. Reaching into your underwear, your fingertips are met with a disgusting amount of pure sticky substance.

If you weren’t wearing your sweatpants so low on your hips, you definitely would have soaked through the thick material of your sweats, that’s how fucking drenched you are.

What should you do? Take a quick shower? It’d be useless to shower now since the effects can last for days. You’d just continue to produce your body’s natural lubrication and you don’t have the time to be showering every hour.

Clean up and change your underwear? That sounds like it’d make the most sense but you’d go through a lot of panties in a couple days too. Maybe you should literally just wear a tampon?

Fucking hell. You should’ve never taken that fucking pill. Damn those fucking friends of yours.

Like a gag in a sitcom, just as you reach for your underwear drawer, your front door swinging open rips through your eardrums. Regret immediately seeps into your stomach for giving Jungkook your spare residence key.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jungkook jokes and the sound of him kicking off his shoes as he closes the door rings in your ears like a blaring alarm.

You want to drop onto your knees and scream until you pass the fuck out. Your eyes flicker between the drawer and your bedroom door. What should you do?

He doesn’t give you much of an option when you hear him searching for you. “Y/N? Where are you?” Jungkook’s voice rings even louder in your ears this time and you can hear him approaching your room. You internally cry out and quickly head towards your bedroom door.

You walk into the hall and watch as he stops in his tracks. He’s wearing a black beanie, grey sweatpants and a grey sweater with a plastic bag in his tattooed hand which you assume are the snacks he picked up on his way here.

Grey fucking sweats.

Jungkook has always been handsome but for fuck’s sake. Your core literally pulsates at the sight of him right now.

“Hey,” you breathe out and walk up to him, brushing past him and into the living room in a straight line.

“Hey… You okay?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and quickly pinch into a frown as he follows you into the living room.

You quickly nod your head, hand on your head as you try to collect your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?” you say, trying to appear casual as you head into the kitchen to grab a can of his favorite beer.

The sound of the plastic bag full of snacks hitting your coffee table and his body plopping onto your couch doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “I’m great, work was chill.”

You place your hands on your kitchen counter and lean forwards, taking a moment to catch your breath but your breath is not steadying at all.

Your feet carry you to the living room and you carefully place the cans onto the coffee table, trying your best not to look at him in those damn sweatpants.

Jungkook has ditched the beanie and his long black locks are sprawled on the backrest of the couch as he has comfortably sunk into your sofa, hair messy and screaming to be tugged on. You have to fight every bone in your body to not climb onto his lap right now and grind into him.

Have some fucking decorum, he’s your friend. Not an object.

Your chest deflates as you softly exhale. Make your way to the couch as you carefully sit down. Hope to the Lord that you don’t soak through your clothes. You’d usually sit next to him but today you think it’d be best to sit at the other end of the couch.

He aims his frown at you but you pretend not to notice. He doesn’t comment on it, though. You crack your new can of iced tea open because there’s no way you’re putting alcohol in your system with this amount of arousal pooling inside of you.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks after a moment of silence in hopes of deterring the awkwardness as he turns his head to the TV, his thumb pressing one of the arrows on your remote, going through the catalogue of available movies.

“Uh… I don’t know. You can choose,” you mumble as you take a few more gulps to distract yourself.

He frowns at your words but keeps his eyes glued to the TV. “I chose last time. It’s your turn to choose.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just–” you start, which makes him look at you, “just put that one on.” You wave your hand toward the TV and he turns his head to look at the one he’s landed on before you return your attention to chugging your iced tea.

“We watched that one 3 weeks ago.” He sits up this time. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to keel over,” he says, quietly. He sounds concerned and you sound fucking stupid.

You shake your head as the sparkling beverage burns your throat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” you mumble under your breath.

“Are you trying to convince me or you?” he asks, “And why are you sitting so far away?” he whines as he scoots closer to you, his hand reaching out to grab your waist but you shoot up out of the couch and onto your feet, avoiding his touch by a hair.

The moment he touches you, you’re going to pounce on him. No doubt in your mind.

“No, don’t,” you squeal, taking a step away from the sofa.

Now Jungkook is really fucking confused.

He quickly stands up as well, a concerned yet confused frown on his face. He probably thinks he did something wrong which makes your chest tighten with guilt. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re about to have a fucking stroke?”

You breathe loudly as you pace around the living room with your hands on your head and say, “I might.”

Jungkook’s breath abruptly hitches in his throat as your concerning words ring in his ears. “Wh– Huh? What? Should I call an ambulance?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not like that,” you mumble before you finally turn to him, dropping your hands from your head and letting your fingers pick at the loose flesh around your nails.

His eyes drop down to your anxious fidgeting before traveling back up to stare at you. “Then, what is it? You’re scaring the shit out of me right now, Y/N.”

He actually does look terrified right now, staring at you with wide eyes as his teeth absentmindedly play with his lip piercings.

You loudly exhale in exasperation and rub your forehead as you consider just telling him. “I fucked up, Jungkook, and I’m panicking,” you say, rubbing your eyes until there’s colored spots in your vision. “I never should’ve taken that fucking pill.”

You watch as his face becomes that of a cartoon character, eyes wide, brows raised to the stars, mouth twitching. “What? Pill? What pill? Are you high?”

You roll your eyes and grunt in annoyance with yourself for phrasing it like that. “No, I–” you groan loudly before cutting yourself off and heading into the kitchen. You wince as you shove your hand into the trash can, taking the ripped pink piece of carton out of the garbage. You stare at it for a while but already find yourself heading back into the living room before you overthink it and change your mind.

Jungkook is still standing in front of the couch, his big brown eyes still wide with concern and his bottom lip reddened from how much he’s been chewing on it.

You walk up to him and with a flick of your wrist, you toss it onto the table in front of him. He glances at the pink package before glancing back up at you but you’re already looking away with your arms crossed.

He slowly sinks back down and takes the ripped package into his hands to examine it. He reads the words for a few seconds but he still seems confused. “Female sexual enhancement and libido boosting? What the fuck is this?”

You groan as you drop to your knees on the floor across from him, in front of the coffee table.

“It’s like viagra for people with pussies and it’s supposed to make you horny as fuck. My friends dared me to take it because I told them it wasn’t real.”

He looks up at you through his brows, a mix of surprise and confusion still on his face. “Do you think it’s laced with something dangerous?”

“No, nothing like that but whatever the fuck they put in it is working. It’s fucking working,” you whine as you place your elbows on the coffee table in front of you with a loud thud, burying your face in your palms.

There’s a moment of silence between you two.

“So like…” he begins, trying to stifle a laugh, “you’re really horny? Right now?”

“Jungkook,” you groan, eyes shamefully looking up at him and you’re just in time to watch him clutch his arms around his stomach as he just obnoxiously laughs in your face. “Stop laughing!”

He chuckles for a little while longer before calming down. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard of this before. How are you feeling?” He places it back onto the table and returns the eye contact, still an annoying grin on his soft lips.

“Like I could fuck the fridge if it had a dick.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing maniacally, throwing himself back onto the couch as he exaggeratedly gasps for air.

“Jungkook! I’m panicking, stop laughing!” you whine, standing back up on your feet as heat rushes to your face, a lump of embarrassment forming in your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles as he wipes a tear at the corner of his eye. “You’re just so fucking stupid.”

You huff in response and glare down at him, his eyes slowly trailing up your body to meet yours and the single act of his black eyes drinking you in makes a curtain of lava drape over your already burning body.

You tap your foot against the floor impatiently. “What should I do?” You chew on your lip as you ask him the impossible question.

He simply shrugs his shoulders and leans back into the couch, hands on his upper thighs right below his hips. He’s not making this any fucking easier. “Masturbate. Or go get fucked.”

You wince, a thousand volts of electricity travelling up your vertebrae at his words. “Tonight’s our movie night, though.”

“Babe, you’re clearly not in the right headspace to be watching a movie with me.”

You internally scream at the pet name he sometimes uses when the both of you are alone. It never makes you feel anything in particular but right now, your stomach clenches at the pet name and you’re painfully reminded that it didn’t help your sticky underwear situation at all.

“Still, I don’t want to ditch you. That’s not cool,” you mutter as you take a seat on the couch, cringing as your panties stick to your core and your slick is undoubtedly smeared all over your sex and inner thighs. No matter how nonchalant he is about the situation, you’re too embarrassed to excuse yourself now to go change your damn underwear.

“So what? You’re just gonna sit next to me and squirm all evening?” he asks you, a genuine look of confusion on his face.

“Mhm.” You shrug your shoulders in hopes of appearing nonchalant and unbothered as you reach for the remote.

But you’re extremely bothered. Hot and fucking bothered.

“You can go masturbate, you know. I’m not going to act weird about it,” he tells you with a carefree air around him as he tears a bag of chips open.

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and you have to actively remind yourself to cross your arms to hide your erect nipples, despite the fact he has probably already noticed.

“I doubt masturbating will do the trick. Besides, it says the effects can last up to 72 hours. I’m not going to masturbate for 3 days.”

He breaks into a fit of giggles again, making you roll your eyes as you swing one of your legs over the other. It appears casual but really, you’re just looking for some friction.

“You’re so dumb for taking that pill.” He reminds you, as if you don’t already know that. He glances at you when a childish huff pushes past your lips.

Neither of you say anything else but the moment of silence is disturbed by the scrunching of the bag of chips in Jungkook’s hands.

You take a moment as you consider what you really want to ask him. Should you just say fuck it and ask him to fuck the shit out of you?

The idea quickly gets obliterated by your rational self and you finally choose a movie to play.

Throughout the movie, you notice Jungkook’s eyes on you every now and then. The constant crossing of your legs and arms doesn’t go unnoticed by him but he never comments on it.

You’re doing great until a sex scene starts playing on the screen. You suck in a breath as you watch intently, your fingers twitching in your lap.

The actress on the screen is crying out in – over the top – pleasure as the man pounds into her, the headboard of the bed banging against the wall exaggeratedly makes the frames that are hung up on the wall crash to the ground with a loud clatter. You know it’s all fake but that doesn’t stop the gushing in your panties.

“Y/N,” Jungkook chuckles as he motions for you to skip the scene but you don’t react to him.

You stare blankly ahead of you at the TV, sitting in silence. You can see Jungkook shaking his head at your stubbornness in the corner of your eye as he stretches his arm over your lap, reaching for the remote that’s next to your thigh. His arm is hovered over your lap, face almost pressed into your chest and his cologne is the final drop that has your head spinning.

The silence that falls around the two of you as you impulsively wrap your hand around his wrist – that’s reaching for the remote – is suffocating.

He instantly freezes, eyes glued to the remote that he had just wrapped his fingers around. He’s in an awkward position, lying on his hip and his arm stretched out over your thighs with his face mere inches away from your breasts.

You finally decide to speak up.

“Will you do me a favor?” you quietly ask him after those few moments of silence as you let go of his wrist, your eyes nervously glued to your fingers as you fidget with the laces of your sweatpants.

This time, Jungkook is quiet.

Jungkook is never quiet.

The tension is palpable and it makes you want to jump off your balcony right now. His silence is already starting to make you regret asking him.

He slowly moves back to his seat but you can’t see much else as you refuse to look away from your lap.

He finally speaks up and you’re conflicted on whether you’re relieved that he does or not. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking of me?” His voice is lower than usual. It sends a quick shiver down your spine and awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You don’t even look at him and in response, you just stay quiet, your silence confirming his speculation.

You two sit in unbearable silence for what seems like a damn eternity, the obnoxious moaning coming from the TV is not making this any easier. Jungkook seems to be in deep thought before you see him rise to his feet in your peripheral vision. You swallow thickly as he starts heading towards the entrance hall.

Shit. He’s leaving.

You don’t blame him, though. Who the fuck asks this of their best friend?

You shut your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you patiently wait for the sound of the door clicking close to hit your ears.

But it never comes.

“Are you coming or not?”

His words shoot into your eardrums like a thousand needles and it makes your heart violently jerk against your ribcage.

You crack your eyes open to see him standing in the doorway of the hall, back turned to you but his head turned over his shoulder as he stares you down with an unreadable expression clouding his face. A frown climbs its way onto your brows as you slowly get up. Your feet take you to him on their own, body magnetizing towards him as your stomach bursts with excitement and your veins are set aflame with desire.

You shyly follow him into your bedroom as if you’re the one visiting his home. “Are you sure?” you quietly ask him as you enter your bedroom after him, closing the door with a soft thud.

He slowly turns to you, head cocked to the side as his black gaze drapes over your body and makes you feel incredibly small. “You’re my friend in need of some help. Why would I not be sure?” His face is a bit expressionless and his voice sounds different than what you’re used to.

Your brows pinch together at his disregardance. “Jungkook, this isn’t a usual request. I’m not asking you to drop me off at home after work or to delete an ugly picture of me you posted on your instagram. I’m–”

“You’re asking me to fuck you. I don’t see why it has to mean anything more than what it is. Sex isn’t that big of a deal, Y/N.”

You idly blink at him, listening to his blunt words as he casually tells you he’s down to fuck you. All those years of the two of you swearing you had never crossed any lines, how you don’t see each other that way, how you’re like family and this is what it’s come to?

The doubt glimmering in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him, evident by the crossing of his arms over his chest and the cocking of his head to the side. “Are you sure?” he asks you this time, his voice soft and his tone neutral.

You stare at him for a couple seconds but you’ve made up your mind.

You start walking past him, heading for your bed. You tuck your fingers under the hem of your sweats and wiggle them off your hips as you turn around to face him again, stepping out of the sweats pooling at your ankles. You take a seat on the edge of your bed and kick your sweats away, all whilst looking up at him through your pretty lashes.

You notice that his own breath is getting heavier. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he watches you slowly lean back on your hands, bending your legs at the knees and propping your feet up onto the edge of the mattress as you spread your thighs wide apart, allowing him to witness your extreme arousal firsthand.

Jungkook’s eyes drop down to what’s between your legs, the massive wet patch of slick on your panties and your inner thighs lathered in your stickiness make his eyebrows twitch.

“Is that pill giving you a major confidence boost too?” he mumbles as he walks up to you, referring to how you’re usually on the shy and modest side. He tugs his sweatshirt off and throws it somewhere on your floor.

“I don’t give a fuck about what it’s given me, I need you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before. Right now,” you say with a hiss to your tone as you ditch your t-shirt, leaving you in your sheer tank top and no bra.

Your erect nipples haven’t gone unnoticed by him and your words make him grunt in response. You watch as he starts palming himself through his sweatpants, body now towering over you as he stares down at you.

You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before, when he’s working out or playing some random sport with his friends that you agreed to cheer him on for from the sidelines. Even when he stays over or you stay over at his. So, his physique shouldn’t be surprising to you and it isn’t, but the sight of his bare torso right now drives you up the fucking wall.

He reaches for the hem of your panties, making you close your thighs as he yanks them down your legs. The massive string of slick still connected to your underwear makes him swear loudly, your panties aggressively tossed to the floor by him.

“I can’t believe how wet it’s made you,” he grunts as he places his hands on your knees and gently spreads your thighs again, eyes glued to your sticky pussy. “I’m pretty confident I’ve satisfied all the people I’ve had sex with but I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re fucking dripping.”

And you are. You can hear the splatter of a droplet hitting your floor and the embarrassment drives you absolutely insane.

You notice his hand tightening around his boner. “Fuck, I want to taste.”

You can tell he wants to touch, lick, taste you but you’ve already made it clear that you need him to fuck you right this instant.

“Jungkook, I’ll literally die if you don’t fuck me right now.” You lean back onto your elbows, eyes still staring up at him as he slowly starts tugging his sweatpants down his legs. Soon he ditches the Calvin Klein boxers too, allowing his erection to spring free.

Your eyes drop down to the dick in his hand, hard as a rock as he spits in his hand and strokes himself whilst eyeing you. His dick is red at the tip but darkens at the shaft, it’s not massive but it’s not small either. It’s just the right size. The sight alone could have you squirting hands-free.

You need to be sedated.

“I don’t have any protection on me,” he begins, “Are you–”

You cut him off. “I’m clean. Are you?”

You know Jungkook is incredibly responsible when it comes to his sex life but you still make it a thing to ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. Upper teeth sunken into his bottom lip. Strokes his own dick.

“Good, ‘cause I need to feel everything,” you grunt as you reach for your clit. You drag your fingers up your wet slit and pull your fingers away from your pussy to show him the thick string of your slick that stays connected from your pussy to your fingers. The string doesn’t break even though you’ve stretched it out a few inches.

It’s your way of telling him you don’t need any prep because you are disgustingly drenched.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He takes a few moments to collect himself before he positions himself at your sex. He rubs the head of his dick up and down your slit, gathering your slick onto his tip with a hiss escaping his mouth. “Birth control?”

Your legs violently jerk at the sensation of the head of his dick rubbing up and down your slit. You could cum right now. “Yeah.” Your reply leaves your lips in a pornographic moan and you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it.

He positions his dick at your hole with one hand whilst the other supports your leg by the back of your knee. “Ready?”

“For fuck’s sake, just put it in already. I feel like I’ll come undone any second,” you whimper, your chest rising and falling dramatically as you pant.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, looking up into your eyes for the first time since you showed him your wet pussy. He slowly starts pushing into you, his eyes watching your face as your mouth falls open and your eyebrows scrunch together at the intrusion.

A whiny groan leaves his throat as your walls wrap around him. “Holy shit. You’re so fucking tight. So fucking wet,” he mumbles more to himself as he starts pushing further in, the sweet moans spilling from your lips raising goosebumps on his arms as you clench around him, threatening to milk him of everything he’s worth.

He leans forward and hovers over you, wedging himself in between your legs as he keeps pushing into you. His hands are flat against the mattress on each side of your waist, the back of your knees bent at his forearms, around his elbows. You’re spread so wide that the sound of your soaking pussy is, at times, louder than the slapping of his skin against yours.

You cry out at the pleasure, it’s like your sensitivity has been cranked up to a hundred. Your senses are sent into overdrive, the tiniest friction has your head spinning because nothing compares to how you’re feeling right now.

You open your eyes to the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, Jungkook on top of you with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes closed. He’s gorgeous.

Tears prick in your eyes at the pleasure, the head of his dick rubbing against your walls so good has you seeing stars. You can feel every single ridge, vein, nook and cranny of his dick as he fucks into you. Your walls tighten around him so well, your slick already making a sticky mess against his sex and your bum.

As if he sensed you looking at him, his eyes crack open and stare down at yours. His gaze drops down to your lips and before you know it, he has his lips pressed to yours. You’re surprised at first but your lips quickly work back, a moan escaping your throat which allows him to lick into your mouth.

After several minutes of making out and fucking, Jungkook pulls back to catch his breath. “Sorry about that but you feel– you feel so fucking good,” he grunts as he leans back again, turning you onto your side and lifting your leg as he continues to fuck into you.

You yelp at the switch of position, your fingers tightly wrapping around the sheets under your waist, watching as your leg slightly jerks against his chest but he restrains your thigh as he holds onto it tightly.

The familiar clench in your stomach takes you by surprise. Already?

“I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m gonna–” You have never orgasmed this fast and definitely not from solely penetration before but this pill is working wonders.

Jungkook nods his head in understanding as he kisses your calf that’s up on his shoulder. “Cum on my dick, babe,” he says with a moan before he tilts his head back in bliss.

Fuck him for using that pet name.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, my God. I’m gonna…” you cry out as your orgasm drops onto you like a pile of fucking bricks, a million volts of electricity frying your brains and making your heart beat a thousand miles a minute.

You’re grateful that Jungkook keeps fucking you because your orgasm has never lasted this long before. Your legs are shaking, your hands are bunching up the sheets around you and your throat burns from the cries you’ve let out.

The continuous clenching of your pussy during your orgasm has pushed Jungkook to the edge as well, his brows furrowed in concentration.

His own orgasm approaches him as his thrusts get a little rougher, your breasts bouncing from the momentum of his hips slamming into yours.

Not long after you, he pulls out in one swift motion. It seems like he pulled out right on time because ropes of his warm cum instantly land all over your sex and stomach the moment he pulls out.

He reaches for his dick and pumps himself to milk himself of every drop, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself cum all over his best friend.

His hand comes to a halt and he collapses on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

After a few moments of silence and no movement other than the heavy breathing, you say, “Jungkook…”

He pauses for a moment and then says, “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be ready for round two in a bit.” His voice is quiet and muffled from being buried in the crook of your neck.

“Round two?” you ask him, a scrunch on your brows as you frown at the ceiling.

He slowly lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, you don’t wanna go for round two?” he asks, his voice is neutral as if he’s asking you about the weather. Doesn’t he realize he just fucked you? He’s talking to you with the sweetest look in his eyes as if he didn’t just give you most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

“Well… Yeah. But I don’t expect you to,” you quietly say, blinking up at him with doe eyes.

“Nonsense,” he grumbles as he finally pushes himself off of you, his softening dick retreating from you. He glances down at your chest and looks back up at you. “Can I take this off?” he asks, gently tugging at your tank top.

Without another word, you reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head. He quietly apologizes as he takes it from you and uses it to wipe your body clean before tossing it aside. He knows you’re too fucked out to scold him for it.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately drop down to your breasts, his big brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. His hands reach up but freeze right above your breasts, eyes glancing up to read your expression and see if it’s okay to touch them.

Your eyes flicker with desperation. “Please,” you breathe out, encouraging him to go ahead.

He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks at his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your erect nipple. “Wow,” he whispers, closing in on your other breast with his mouth as he gently licks and sucks on your nipple.

Your moans sound pathetic, hips involuntarily thrusting up into his. It makes him chuckle like the cocky asshole that he is, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to push your hips down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this horny,” he states as he rolls off of you and props himself up next to you, leaning on his elbow to support his own weight.

His hand slowly trails from your breast down to your stomach and you’re already spreading your thighs further apart for him which makes him chuckle again. The tips of his middle and ring finger find your clit, the direct contact to the most sensitive area in your body sends a shiver down your legs.

Small circles are being rubbed onto your clit by his soft fingers and after a few moments, his eyes shift down to his fingers as he pulls them away from your pussy. “Look,” he says in a deep exhale.

You glance down at his hand like he’s asking you to. He’s showing you the string of slick that’s connected to his fingers and if you weren’t high off arousal right now, you’d be extremely embarrassed at how wet you are.

His fingers dive back in, sliding in between your folds and massaging all around before he plunges his fingers into you. This makes you thrust your hips straight up into his hand, a pornographic moan spilling from your lips.

“You’re so needy,” he chuckles, pushing you down as he starts furiously fucking his fingers into you, curling them repeatedly to assault your g-spot.

You yelp at the torture on your sweet spot. “Shut the fuck up,” you grunt, your reaction to his teaseful words makes him chuckle.

He presses his soft lips into the side of your neck as he continues his abuse on your pussy, not commenting on the way your legs jolt and jerk with every curl of his fingers but forcefully restraining you from writhing with his own body.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna–”

“Already?” he teases you, twisting his body so half of it is now hovering over you. You turn to look at him as you sob, the squishing sounds your pussy makes are loud enough to finally embarrass you. His face is hovering right over yours as his hands slam into your sex. Your hands reach up to the back of his head, pulling him down to press your lips into his so you can avoid his piercing gaze.

He wastes no time kissing you back, his hand picking up its insanity-inducing pace. White spots cover your eyelids as a strange sensation washes over you. It’s not an orgasm, you don’t recall ever feeling this before. You cry into his mouth and it takes you a second to realize you’re squirting all over your bed.

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook grunts into your mouth, the pace of his hand never faltering as it continues to slam into your sex. Tears stream down your face as your second orgasm quickly approaches you right after your squirt session, your legs continuously jerking and squirming under him.

“Jungkook–!” you sob as your hips involuntarily recoil against the mattress, your orgasm finally hitting you directly after your squirt session. Your hips running away from Jungkook’s hand doesn’t mean anything to him. He just keeps fucking his fingers into you. Lips still pressed to yours as he swallows your pleading cries.

He hums against your mouth, lips wrapping around your tongue as he gently sucks on it. You aggressively squirm under him, your hands weakly pressed up against his shoulders and chest in an attempt to push him off. He finally gets the memo and retreats his fingers.

He can’t help himself as he pulls away from your lips, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, humming in delight at the taste of his best friend.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and sits up, looking down at the mess you created. “Damn. I didn’t know you could do all that,” he mumbles before running his hand back up your disgustingly wet slit, holding you down with his other hand to keep you from squirming.

You can’t even answer, you’re completely fucked out under him, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re not giving up on me, are you?” he quips, using his sticky hand to pump his growing erection.

Your eyes drop down to his hand, swallowing hard as you eye his dick. “Get on all fours, come on,” he says as he slaps your thigh, getting on his knees on your mattress in front of you.

“Give me a second, you freak,” you mumble as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts but it doesn’t do much.

You finally turn over and lazily get onto your hands and knees, arms shaking and you try your best to ignore your slick trickling down the back of your thighs.

His hand comes down to knead your asscheek, a low grunt leaving his throat. “If there’s one thing I’ve fantasized about when it comes to you, it’s your ass,” he mutters under his breath, both his hands now kneading the soft skin of your bum.

“You’ve fantasized about me?” you ask him, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him.

His eyes glance into yours before they return to your perky ass in front of him, one hand stopping the kneading of your cheek to pump his dick and position it at your sex.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t,” he starts, “but it was only a handful of times and it was way back when we first met, no worries,” he adds, rubbing the tip of his dick up your slit. “I take our friendship seriously.”

It knocks a moan out of you and your arms already give out, your face colliding with the mattress under you. How seriously did you both take this friendship if you’re rubbing your genitals together right now?

“Have you fantasized about me?” he quietly asks you, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he continues to rub his tip up and down your wetness.

You sniff, silently thinking about your answer for a moment before sighing and saying, “Maybe once a year.”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips at your response and he shakes his head. He doesn’t reply and instead pushes into you, groaning at the stretch again. “I literally just fucked you, how are you still so–” he groans loudly as he bottoms out. He throws his head back as he starts fucking into you but quickly tilts it back down to watch the skin of your asscheeks recoil against his hips.

Your pathetic wimpers make him reach around your hip, gently rubbing your clit as he starts thrusting into you. You cry out at the overstimulation, stretching your arm out behind you to push into his lower stomach in an attempt to push him off but there’s absolutely no strength behind the push because you don’t want him to stop.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he grunts, fingers continuing to rub circles on your overstimulated clit and he pays absolutely no mind to your hand pressing into his lower abdomen. “Tell me how I’m making you feel.”

With another sob into your pillow, you shake your head at his request. He can’t possibly expect you to form a coherent sentence, right?

That’s until you feel a sharp sting spread through your asscheek, your ass recoiling from the spanking he just gave you. You gasp and lazily turn your face to look over your shoulder at him as you shout, “Jeon Jungkook!”

He leans over, his chest pressed into your back and his lips pressed against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispers as he pushes you forward, watching you fall flat onto your stomach, face pressed into the pillows. You’re now fully lying face down on the mattress.

Just as you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has entered you again. The fact that you’re lying face down with your legs together makes him curse as he struggles to enter you all the way but he does, the feeling of being wrapped all around him has you seeing stars.

He places his hands on each side of your elbows as you prop yourself up on them, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear and his chest pressed into your back as he starts thrusting into you again.

“Jungkook,” you moan as you turn your face slightly, eyes staring up at him. His face is so close to yours, eyes glued to the mattress underneath you.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

Fuck. Why would he call you that?

Your mouth is agape and your eyebrows are furrowed as Jungkook keeps fucking into you from behind, his eyes finally shifting to yours. His proximity and intense eyes make you finally comply as you say, “It– It feels so fucking good.”

His black eyes penetrate yours and you can’t tear your eyes away from his. “You look so fucking pretty like this, Y/N, holy shit. I just wanna–” he grunts as he cuts himself off, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he keeps fucking into your tightness.

“You just wanna what?” you say, a soft whimper following your words as you encourage him to finish his sentence.

“Destroy you.”

A cry spills from your lips the moment he says that, the pace in which he’s thrusting picks up and it’s getting rougher with each passing second. At this point you’re almost getting hatefucked and you can’t help but love every second of it.

“I hope that’s a promise,” you manage to reply.

“Oh yeah?” His hand wraps around your throat from the back, making you lift your head up, the back of your head colliding with his shoulder. Your temple is pressed against his jaw as he gently squeezes your throat.

The sinful sounds such as his skin slapping against yours, the squelshing of your wet pussy and the moans spilling from your lips are the only things you can hear and want to hear at this moment.

Jungkook’s lips and nose graze the shell of your ear, quiet moans leaving his mouth and you can only describe it as liquid gold being ladled into your ear by angels.

“Fuck, come ride me.” He doesn’t even wait for a response as he slides right out of you, lets go of your throat and drops his body next to yours before rolling onto his back. His strong arms reach for you and yank you up by your arm and waist, pulling you toward him.

A surprised yelp leaves you as you’re forced to climb onto him, every single time your clit grazes his skin has you biting back a pathetic sob. You guide his dick toward your sex and without hesitation, you sink right down onto his sex.

He grunts at the way you tightly wrap around him, hands reaching for your hips. You start bouncing on him, thighs and ass slapping into his hips which makes him moan your name softly.

You throw your head back in pure bliss and place your hands on his thighs, allowing yourself to lean back on them and support your weight as you fuck yourself on his dick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles as he watches your every movement, eyes scanning the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your breasts bounce, the way your stomach jiggles, the way pretty moans continuously fall from your lips.

He brings his fingers to your sex and rubs that pattern that you like directly onto your clit. He watches as your body starts jerking and your legs start trembling with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna–”

He cuts you off. “I know, pretty. Cum all over me,” he says as he continues to stimulate your already overstimulated clit.

You want to keep riding, you really, really want to but you can’t. Your body collapses right on top of his torso, breathless and a mess. He jumps right into action as he holds onto your forearms and pins them into your lower back, holding you tightly against his chest as he thrusts up into you.

Your face is buried in the pillow right next to his head, your cries probably deafening him as he fucks you toward your 3rd orgasm of the hour. Your body is moving like jelly at this point and you can’t contain your sobs as your body continues to tremble like a leaf in the wind.

Your 3rd orgasm hits you like a fucking train and you can’t even move, you keep crying in Jungkook’s hold as he mercilessly pounds his hips up into you.

Fireworks explode on the back of your eyelids, electricity fries your brain into a pile of mush and your body is set alight, all your nerve endings bursting with magma.

When you’ve ridden out your orgasm, a surprised whimper rips through your throat when you’re suddenly flipped, thrown onto your back against your mattress and your legs pushed back towards your torso.

He climbs onto you and slides right back in, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he harshly fucks into you, his hands placed against the mattress right next to your ribs on each side of your body.

You weakly crack your eyes open to glance up at him, your gaze shifting all over his face. The layer of sweat covering his forehead and nose, his bottom lip trapped in between his bunny teeth, his eyes staring deep into your fucking soul.

“Where… Where do you want me to cum?” he breathily asks, his hips aggressively recoiling against yours as his own orgasm approaches him rapidly.

“Fill me up until you pass out, Jungkook.” Your voice is hoarse at this point, cracking at the end of your sentence. He knows it’s nothing more than a figure of speech but it’s got his hips stuttering for a moment.

“Fuck, you’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he’s finally releasing his load, shooting ropes of his cum straight into his best friend.

“Fuck,” he curses continuously as his thrusts get inconsistent. His head drops onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he moans softly with each sloppy thrust, the disgusting squelching of his cum being fucked into you rings louder than any alarm. After his climax has washed away, he finally collapses on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck.

You stay like that, staring up at the ceiling as tears roll down the sides of your face from the pleasure, overstimulation and sensitivity still pulsating in your veins.

After a few more moments, Jungkook quietly rolls off of you and tries to catch his breath.

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands and exhale deeply before whispering his name.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to you, humming softly in response.

“Thank you,” is all you can say.

He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbows as he glances at you. “Don’t thank me just yet. You said it can last up to 3 days, right?”

Your brows pinch together and your stomach bursts into flames. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m not done with you yet.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

— enjoyed it? you can always show your appreciation by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

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[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day four: Somnophilia!

cw: somnophilia, mentions of drugs and being drugged, being recorded, noncon, pervert loser boyfriend Simon, mentions of rape, mentions of killing, breast play, 'good girl' use, fingering, oral sex, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of oral sex on male, mentions of creampie

You’d said no, and that was somewhat fair. He understood your reasonings- they made sense to him. What if someone went snooping through his things and found the photos? Watching their Lieutenant fuck his girlfriend stupid and images of her body- her wet mouth slobbering all over his fat cock. And what if some enemy came and tracked you down because of them, finding out about his secret lover and using you as leverage. Hurting you, threatening to kill you- raping you? He understood your worries, he didn’t want that happening either.

But did them reasonings stop him? No- of course it didn’t. You just didn’t understand the rage and desperation he was going through- days, weeks: fucking months, without the security of being deep in your tight little pussy. His rough hands cupping nothing but the air as he imagines you with him on his bunk. Tits dangling like diamantés on a chandelier, mesmerising him and wanting him to dive in. Suck, bite- fuck why weren’t you with him? And why the hell did you say no to him taking photos? He loved you, he really really did but he couldn’t thrive out there without something.

So he’d slip a little something into your tea, placing some biscuits on a plate beside the cup to not make it obvious. Your shifts at work sounded hard from the drama you’d gossiped to him, it drove him mad let alone you so he’d gotten into the habit of making you a cuppa before you got home. Walking in and sitting right down before taking a sip, flavour hitting your mouth and relaxing your body simultaneously- or so you thought it was flavour.

His hands would trace your body from behind, rubbing and massaging you slowly to calm you down; not missing your moan and whine as he continued, pressing your body up and into his palms. His jeans were already growing tighter at your noises, his face leant down to inhale the scent of your hair and perfume with a slight aroma of sweat but it only aroused him more. Such a good girl working hard, you deserved more than your shitty little underpaid job. You deserved the world.

His hands slowed their movements and before you could reach for a biscuit you were out cold. The drug overtaking and controlling your body as Simon carefully scooped you into his arms. Carrying you to the bedroom, placing you down on the bed and undressing you fast and hungry.

He was a perverted fucker, taking out his camera and snapping as many photos as he could- face painted with lust, unloyalty and shame. Squeezing your tits in his hand, videoing how your skin paled as he pulled his hand away, close ups of your pussy, your ass, your knocked out face because for some reason everything about you being unconscious was fucking hot. You couldn’t hold back and shy away, he had the access to every part of you and it was addictive. He felt high.

His finger would dive into the crack of your cunt, careful not to finger you so deep because he couldn’t have you feeling like you’d been tampered with- you’d suspect he’d done something to you for sure. He unbuckled his jeans, not being able to take to resist undressing himself, letting his length spring into the air and tap against your body. Your gorgeous skin glistening with wet drips of his precum.

He’d even video himself talking, all the things he’d do to you now that you were in front of him. How delicious you taste as he spun the camera around, filming himself sucking on the finger he’d been tracing your pussy with. It was loser behaviour- it was pathetic- he was acting like someone he would usually mock in a cringey porn video.

His cheeks were red and he knew he would feel embarrassed watching it back, skipping to your part, your body, and continuing tugging on his dick, but right now he didn’t care: he couldn’t care the pleasure he was gaining from this was sickening.

He kneeled down at the edge of the bed, knees hitting the cold floor as he shakily filmed his face devouring your pussy. The small open crack of his eyes giving away how bad his eyes were rolling back. His muffled moans and groans of satisfaction being captured and echoed around the room, he wanted your passed-out body on his dick, taking all of him as he guides you slowly like a toy. Up down, up down, before he fills your inside.

He’d take photos of your clit, his thumb tracing it in circles, wishing you were awake so he could hear your adorable whimpers and watch your legs twitch as jolt on the bed. You were usually so sensitive to his fingers, his good little girl that wouldn’t be able to contain herself from wriggling away from his touch, begging him to stop teasing you.

However you never won- he’d laugh but never stop, Simon always got his way.

He’d slip the camera back into his pocket after all his fun, bringing the bed covers up and over your shoulders as he flicked through the tv in front of your bed. Skipping past all the halloween horror movies and trying to find a relaxing quiet show to play for when you woke up. To distract you from the dizziness.

When you wake up he’d just tell you that you fell asleep in his arms, so tired and worn out from work you just nodded off, so soft and innocent he couldn't wake and tuck you in bed instead.

You’d never have to know about his secret little stash of photos, and now he finally had something to use and make himself cum to when he misses you. It wasn’t the nicest thing he’d done, he was kind of disturbed with his own actions but desperate times call for desperate measures.

[lucysarah-c]

Criminal Record

A young cadet from the survey corps began dating one of the higher-ups. What others did in their personal lives was none of Levi’s business, but in the comfort of your shared room, as each of you focused on your respective piles of paperwork, the brand new hot topic of the regiment felt like fair game.

“Did you hear that John and Grace are dating? I heard it from Erwin this morning,” you broke the silence, attempting to start a conversation with your long-time boyfriend.

“How could I not? Everybody is talking about that shit,” he replied, not even looking up from the opposite side of the desk, as he filled out forms.

“I think they look cute together, but I hope they can handle the attention during meals,” you said, taking a sip of your hot tea and leaning back in your chair.

“She's too young for him, just a damn brat,” your grumpy boyfriend replied, leaving you torn between laughter and concern.

You continued sipping your tea, reclining in your chair with your eyes fixed on your boyfriend's raven head as he wrote. A mischievous smile crept onto your face.

“Levi.”

“What?”

“Levi~”

“What do you want?” This time, he raised his bullet-gray eyes from his work to see why you were being so annoying. “What’s so damn funny for you to have that stupid smile on your face? Go back to work; we're not even halfway through.”

“I was younger than her when we first slept together.”

Your words filled the room like a sermon about sins.

You were having the time of your life, while your boyfriend… well, he seemed to be having a mental breakdown.

Later, the next day.

“Erwin, do you think Grace is too young for John?” You asked him directly, already sensing Levi's discomfort.

“Huh? Well, she is young for him. But who am I to tell them who they should spend their time with? Even if I think it’s a little inappropriate,” Erwin replied, continuing to read one of the many reports he had.

It was just another morning for the six of you (Mike, Erwin, Hange, Moblit, Levi, and you), making sure all the assignments were in check.

You could hardly contain your laughter at his response.

“Did you know that I was younger than her when Levi and I started dating?” You omitted the sexual reference for the sake of your embarrassed boyfriend.

Hange spat out some of her tea and burst into laughter, while Mike simply chuckled.

Levi, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands.

“Oh really? What do you have to say in your defense, Levi?” Erwin was, of course, poking the bear, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his blue eyes from the paper to look at his friend.

“Oh my god! You even said the other day that she was too young!” Hange said, almost screaming between laughs. They were probably going to tease him about this for a while.

“Shut up, four eyes,” he replied before, probably, considering his next reply. “In my defense?” He echoed, confirming Erwin’s question. “In my damn defense, I used to kill people for money and be involved in drug deals as a thug in the underground. Sleeping with someone underage is the least of my sins; just add it to my long list of criminal records.”

This was my first one-shot ever. It's such a shame that somehow Tumblr erased some of my old posts out of nowhere, and I couldn't find it. It holds a special place in my heart because of that. But, well, I decided to rewrite it and post it again because I really want to keep it in my masterlist. Here is the link to part 2, but be careful, it was written a WHILE ago. Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @@feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @@kikarouflames Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[coffee-and-tea-time]

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Out of the menu, still the choice ๋࣭ ⭑

Yandere! Shopkeeper x Willing! Reader

We finally got a winner! *Clap clap* if you want context, you can go here but it's not that necessary we think - the twins

This mf was really more hard to write that I expected but nevertheless we tried to match the energy of the seller pickers so at least it was really fun ngl - Coffee

It took us both a while to draft what we wanted to write for him since he's not a very expressive character and we wanted to try a more subtle approach. If you have any ideas or suggestions for any of them, let us know!! -Tea

Count word: 3.1k (new longest post for now)

Tw: yandere behavior, kind of flirty reader, stalking, kidnaping?, written in you/yours, overall soft yandere, gaslighting, drugging (this really still counts as soft yandere??? believe me, yes), light paranoia, clueless reader

Your eyes scan the papers in your hand, your mind still focused rather on the man that handed you them, sitting right across from him, more specifically, the comment he just murmured. None of the people he mentioned called your attention as much as himself did, perhaps he was more that he presented himself as? He seemed to know much more about you than he’s supposed to, so, was he a yandere as well? And if so, Why miss the chance to tease a potential yandere? 

"Huh, so you think I should go out more often?"

"Well, I'm just concerned about your vitamin D intake, that's all. You need more sun Dear, for the sake of your health"

He smugly smirks at you like he's saying obvious facts that you should already know about yourself… though his smirk falters, his lips pressing into a tight line as he rethinks his words, though it was too late to retract them, it was your time to shine.

"Oh? Then why not help me with that yourself? You seem to keep a good track of my time outside for some reason, care to explain yourself, Honey?"

You steal his previous smirk, it now decorating your lips, curving them upwards smugly as he seems to sink into himself, his pen flipping between his fingers as a nervous fidget, scanning your expression, seemingly trying to understand what you were attempting to do with these witty remarks.

“Dear, allow me to remind you, you came all the way here to have an obsessive partner after you walk out this door, I'm sure anyone in the list will love to fulfill the job, sadly, I'm not one of them, I'm deeply sorry if my previous comments left any space for this misunderstanding"

He seems to lifts up a wall between you and him with his formality as if attempting to keep things formal and cordial though his eyes tell a different story, his eyes, akin to a snake’s narrow slightly, scanning your features as if daring you to continue this charade; a sweet chill runs down your spine, which only widens your smile further.

"Ow, come on, there's no need to lie so blatantly to my face, you know exactly why I'm here, and for that I can also tell exactly what is happening here”

He huffs, his fingers running through his black hair, messing up his slick back hairstyle into something much more fitting to match with his semi-formal attire.

"As I just said, I'm not a yandere, let's stop this little game, Dear, I’m not sure how you arrived at this conclusion, little detective…"

Those gray eyes glare at you without even missing a beat, narrowing further to make a subtle warning: quit fooling around. Do you care? No, honestly, him staring down at you only serves to fuel your burning curiosity about the man.

"Fine then, at least answer me this, how did you know i don't go out much?"

The man scoffs as if the answer was as obvious as looking in a mirror.

"Come on now, you are chronically online, I just made a lucky guess"

… Gotcha

"My screen time is something even weirder for you to know for certain though, don't you think?"

A silence ensues, tension and realization thick in the air as his posture changes completely, from relaxed and smug to tense and anxious, he leans forward, eyes avoiding you suddenly, like he wasn't piercing you with his stare just a few seconds ago.

You let your question linger, knowing you won, knowing he had no way to protest your question seamlessly 

"... don't tell management"

It was now your turn to sigh. Perhaps he was being truthful and this was just a big misunderstanding. Maybe his “background check” on you wasn't something he was supposed to do ethically speaking, but something he felt compelled to do. Then again, they did have this incident with a fool attempting to illegitimately make a yandere harem. Perhaps it was time to let this go, you tried at least, but being overly pushy could get you kicked out and leaving empty handed wasn't something you were willing to do after finally finding the courage to enter the shop.

 "Well, I don't know, I choose Oliver"

You said, the smirk in your lips faltering into a soft defeated smile, shrugging as you chose someone at random, pointing blindly at the papers.

"He's already purchased" 

He counters your response abruptly, his tone still formal yet with an air of defensiveness. You wondered, if he was already purchased, then why show it to you at all?

"Damn, okay, then Lio…"

You quickly point again at a random profile, barely even reading the name then scanning his expression, his head shaking even before you managed to pronounce the name fully.

"Sorry"

He responded with a shrug, his shoulders relaxing as if the tension he felt before was gone.

You smile at him once again, well, thankfully you weren't just flirting with the wrong target.

"You’re doing this on purpose"

You announce, amused by the realization, a smile widening in your lips as one seems to simultaneously tug at the corners of his, a mischievous grin adorning his sly stare, those eyes bearing into yours like a wicked fox.

"You choose me, be loyal to your own decisions… though, really, don't tell management. I do maintain I'm not some sort of obsessed maniac, Dear"

That's the most suspicious thing a person can say in a yandere shop but you take it.

"I care next to nothing about management… so, it's a date?".

(...)

You leave the store, hands empty, but not really. You walk with an extra cheer in your step, you managed to get yourself a date with the seller of the damn shop, not one of the many names in those papers, but the shopkeeper, talk about a plot twist. 

And so you make your way back home, waiting for the time to arrive, the time in which you'd meet up with the man outside of work in a sweet little restaurant down the same street where the shop is located. As you get yourself ready, checking your outfit, double checking…triple checking, your mind drifts to your conversation with the seller and the way everything he said seemed to avoid each and every one of your questions skillfully. You managed to get his number with the excuse of arranging the meeting time and place, yet… that was all, you didn't even get his name, did you?. 

You are brought back to reality with the buzzing of your phone, a notification from an unknown number… though it was the sellers, how did he get your number? Sure, he gave you his, but he shouldn't have a way to contact you yet, that information wasn't even in the paperwork either since you never filled any forms out, you didn't purchase any of the yanderes. 

» “Hey, it's the shopkeeper”

You raised a brow at your screen, watching as the little dots bobbed up and down, indicating he was still typing another message

» “just checking if you're still up for this date you so boldly proposed. My shift is over” 

His texts are a little dry, yet you can feel the awkwardness from them already, he wasn't fooling anybody, he was nervous as hell. 

You quickly type up a response, resuming your teasing over text like you never left the shop and so you text back and forth until the time arrives and you leave your home, walking down the street to the restaurant he sent you the location to. Once you got there, amusement tugged your lips up into a smile. This man, acting so unapproachable, so closed off, was eagerly waiting outside the restaurant with that classic “I'm just looking at my phone” stance, but damn he looked good. 

He wasn't wearing that semi-formal suit from before, but rather a tight black shirt, jeans and a jacket. His hair was down and you had to admit, it looked way better that way. You check the time on your phone, you arrive just in time, you look relieved but can’t help but wonder how the seller managed to close up shop, go back home, change and arrive before you when his last text was just a few minutes ago telling you his shift was over.

“aw, you arrived early to meet me? It’s so cute how eager you are for someone who didn't even tell me his name”

You meet his gaze as you approach him with a playful demeanor, his smile still decorating his face as always.

He huffs, glancing up from his phone, his eyes crinkling in a mischievous grin. He pockets his phone and adjusts his jacket, leaning a little closer as he speaks

“Oh, Dear, you got it all wrong, i just got here, but, i must say…waiting would have been worth it, you look stunning” 

He said with a soft chuckle and you nudged his shoulder in response to his compliment, though as you nudge him you feel how cold his jacket is, of course he didn't wait for you

“Right, anyways, you know, it's only fair that I get your name. I know you so desperately want to seem all mysterious and shit, but i need to know who I'm flirting with”

You tease bluntly with a chuckle, he tenses up a little, looking away for a second, trying to disguise his blush by rolling his eyes at you.

“I suppose you could call me Jade…”

“Well, jade, pleasure to meet you”

You said trying to imitate his tone of voice as he guides the way inside the restaurant.

“Since I answered your question, it's only fair you answer mine, don't you agree?"

His gaze seems like he's taking notes of your every expression as he gently pulls a chair for you to sit on before he sits across from you.

"Are we doing a little bit of banter here? Huh, that's quite the contrary of what you been doing all day, but please, go on, I'm thrilled to know what you wish to know of me"

His eyes move to the menu, although you can say his entire focus was still on you… because of the fact he can't possibly read the menu when it's upside down.

"So, if I may ask… why did you choose to flirt with me when you came to the shop to get yourself a yandere?"

"Why not? You could say I went there to find someone that catches my eye, and jokes on you, my eyes were set on you the moment you opened that door to guide me into the store"

You restrain yourself not to giggle like a fool when the top of his ears turns red while he's attempting to keep his perpetually smiling facade, oblivious to his own reaction to your words.

"Then, do yo-"

His words quickly die on his throat as a waiter gets to your table, you didn't have the time to catch the small twitch of his eyebrows that lasted a second.

"Good evening, I will be your server for the night, what can I get started for you two?"

As you two order normally, you can't help but feel a sense of discomfort as the waiter always speaks focusing his eyes on you, but Jade doesn't seem to react so you dismissed it, you're only feeling weird because of the awkwardness of being on a first date, although you can't help but sigh faintly with relief after the server walks away.

"Well… anyways, since I replied to one of your questions, guess it's my turn!"

You said smiling, trying to brush off the weird feeling you just had, focusing on your task in hand: the date.

“so, why don’t you tell me a little about your hobbies?”

You gaze at him while his head tilts slightly, as if doubting if to reply or just dodge the question like the past ones.

“Well, they differ depending on the time, I’m the type of person that get a new one every once in a while but one that has stuck since high school is embroidery”

Honestly, you can picture it, he does seem like the type of person who enjoys calm classy hobbies, old lady hobbies if you will. The image is sort of endearing. 

"Since high school? Wow, what was your first piece?"

You feel relieved that he seems more open to conversation now that you both are formally on this date. Sadly for you and lucky for him, you focused so much on listening to his answers that you didn't catch the small blush dusting his cheeks.

"...It was a skull, edgy, I know. I really like how it turned out back then though”

“A skull? Very edgy indeed, why-”

Your question was left hanging in the air as an arm interfered with your vision of Jade, the waiter placing your plates on the table with a polite smile. The interjection was a little awkward, but there's not much you can do about it, the waiter is just doing his job.

Though as you lower your voice to a stop, interrupted by the waiter, you see the slight hint of annoyance in Jade’s face flick for a second just to disappear like it never happened, it makes you wonder if that was a hint of jealousy? It probably wasn't… your yandere rotten brain must be seeing things, right?

As you two indulge in conversation, enjoying your little date, you almost lose track of time. It feels like in the blink of an eye, the date was already at its final point, the only thing that popped your bubble was his phone ringing.

"...sorry, it's my boss, allow me to step out real quick, it won't take long I'm sure"

You nod to him before he makes his way to the restroom to pick up the call. Honestly you feel kind of sad that the dinner was reaching its end but well, you can't be that clingy on the first date.

As you ponder between when and where the perfect second date will be or if it's best to wait for him to ask for another, the waiter interrupts your thoughts, placing a glass of what looks like raspberry juice on the table.

"Excuse me sir, I didn't order this"

The waiter gives you a puzzled expression as if it were a competition who is more confused by the situation but is quick to giggle as if it was an inside joke of his before reassuring you.

"Oh, don't worry, it's already been paid”

You didn't have time to ask further questions when the busy server was already on another table that needed him, well, it looks tasty anyways, why reject something when it's free?

You honestly feel like luck is on your side today; you got the confidence to try and flirt with Jade and successfully get yourself a really good date! And you also get a free drink as a way to celebrate your little achievement, so you take a big gulp. 

Huh? Weird, you know the taste of raspberry by heart, why does it taste more bitter? Ugh, the fruit is probably not that fresh , even the consistency feels a little thicker too. Well, raspberry juice is supposed to be like that, perhaps you got too used to store bought and got yourself confused.

"Well, is not like a restaurant would sell 'expired juice' as their main drink, surely I'm just overthinking it" 

You reason with yourself in a whisper as you set the drink aside, ugh, maybe you drank too big of a sip, you start to feel like you got brain freeze or something.

(…)

“Dear, are you feeling well? Do you need to go to the restroom?”

The sound of his relaxed voice quickly fills your ears, your mind feels hazy but you nevertheless try focusing on him as he sits back down to the table, catching his expression changing from the usual laid back grin to a worried frown. You didn't even notice when he came back from his work call, not until he was right in front of you, it's like time passed while your brain was stopped, something wasn't good…

"Did something happen? Do you need a pain-killer? Did the food upset your stomach?"

The rapid fire questions overfill your already overwhelmed mind as his hands hold your shoulders before he places his forehead against yours to check your temperature and although you tried, your currently unstable self only managed to hardly mumble some words.

"I… don't know, I just drank that"

You focus your gaze on the glass of juice and he follows your gaze with a frown as if his laid back mask is cracked.

"the color is slightly off and ice is only floating up to the middle of the glass…"

Was there really something wrong with your drink? What was in there? How bad is it? What's going to happen to you? Was it the waiter? Was there someone in the restaurant you didn't see? Why is this happening today?

"Dear, focus on me, okay? Don't worry, you're fine, just dizzy, I will make sure you are okay, alright? Take a deep breath for me darling" 

Through your dizziness you watch as he moves skillfully and quickly, paying the bill as fast as he could to take you out of there, his arms tightly wrapped around you to steady your wobbly stance, guiding you out of the busy restaurant. It's almost as if you were drunk, which didn't make sense, you felt yourself slipping further out of your senses, sounds muffled and your vision blurry, your legs and hands feeling tingly with each step you took with his assistance. 

"Jade, I-"

"Don't worry Dear, I will take care of you, just trust me, alright?"

You can help but feel grateful that even in this awful situation, you managed to have someone so gentle and caring with you, but before you can try to babble a thank you, you feel your mind shut off like an old tv… don't worry, you are being taken care of, Dear.

He just wants to look after you, it would be so creepy if he left you unconscious at your place since he's not supposed to know your address yet, so, guess the only choice is him letting you crash at his apartment, it's fine, you will find yourself at home there, it's really cozy! 

. . .

Wait, did you really believe him? That's kind of hilarious, try guessing again.

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest and divider by Tea ⚘

[dark-frosted-heart]

He Doesn’t Know That I Turned into an Animal Bonus Story

This is the bonus story involving everyone. It's utterly ridiculous

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. None of my translations are proofread until a day after posting

Victor: This is an emergencyyyy!! Come to the dining hall at once!!

When I woke up this morning and started getting ready, I heard Victor’s voice echoing through the castle.

Kate: What’s the matter Victor?! Did you make Jude mad and end up in debt?! Or did Liam and Alfons play a prank……huh?

What I saw when I came down to the dining hall made me gasp.

Beside Victor were 8 animals.

(4 cats, 3 dogs…And a fox?)

Kate: Victor, where did you find them? I think taking care of all of them will be pretty hard…

Victor: I didn’t find them from anywhere! Everyone in Crown’s become an animal!

Kate: ……Excuse me?

Victor: Last night after you went back to your room, we were all drinking when… Roger and Alfons started arguing over the most trivial things.

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: *sigh* …We’re not getting anywhere like this. Let’s settle this.

Alfons: I see, with drinks? It’s just what I was hoping for.

In the beginning, it was only Roger and Alfons competing, then gradually, the others joined in…

Roger: Hm? There’s no more drinks? I guess I’ll go get more.

Alfons: Oh, what’s this? Are you running away?

Roger: Why would I run when I’m winning? Or do you want me to run?

Liam: Okay, how about you two calm down? I’ll go fetch some instead!

Roger: Thanks Liam. Can you fetch the green bottle in my room?

Liam: Gotcha~

~~ Flashback end ~~

Victor: …After that, everyone except me drank the special alcohol Liam brought back.

Kate: You didn’t drink?

Victor: I had some work left so I couldn’t. So I just had a spot of tea when I joined them.

Kate: So you’re saying that…everyone became an animal because of the alcohol they drank?

Victor: Yes. The special alcohol Liam brought was…here it is!

Victor picked up an empty bottle from the dining table.

It was green like Roger had said, but there was a small label on it.

Kate: “Animalization. Caution: Do not drink” …Is what it says.

Victor: So it wasn’t alcohol that Liam brought, but one of Roger’s experiments!

Kate: No way…!

Victor: The bottle’s the same color as the one Roger asked Liam to get. Since Liam was drunk, he mixed them up.

—At that moment, one of the cats went to hide under the table.

(Was that Liam just now? It looked like he was hiding, but…)

(I don’t think he actually mixed them up. Rather, did he do it on purpose to satisfy his curiosity…?)

Victor: The rest of us didn’t check the label either… They all went to sleep thinking we drank alcohol instead of a drug. I gave them blankets and left. And then when I came down to the dining hall this morning… There they were, looking so cute sleeping under the blankets!

(Well bringing in all these animals would be too much for a prank…)

(So everyone really did become an animal…?)

Kate: If the drug’s one of Roger’s experiments, then there might be some clues in the infirmary.

Victor: You’re right. I’ll go look. In the meantime, can you look after everyone? I really wish I could, but…

Victor took a step closer to the animals…and they scattered like little spiders.

Victor: …Animals have always avoided me. They’re scared of me for some reason. So…I’m entrusting their safety to you. Can you do that for me?

Kate: Got it! I’ll take care of them!

Victor: Thanks, Kate…I’m really glad you’re here.

After Victor left the dining hall, I rolled up my sleeves and pumped myself up.

(Alright…First of all, I need to know who’s who. That’ll make taking care of them easier!)

While thinking up of a plan, I crouched in front of the most obvious one.

Kate: You’re Harrison, right?

Harrison (fox): ……Hm?

Kate: No, there’s no point in making that “who knows” kind of face. If you say “fox”, then it has to be Harrison!

Harrison (fox): …

For some reason, Harrison the fox looked sad.

(Normally Harrison’s lying while looking all aloof, but…)

(...He can’t do that when he’s like this. I’ll need to get him back to normal quickly)

(Next is…)

Kate: Hey, you can’t smoke as a dog!

A white dog with black spots held a cigarette with his front paw and deftly tried to light it.

I rushed over, snatched the cigarette away, and hid it in my pocket.

Kate: With those colors and the cigarette…You’re probably Jude, right? Alright, I’m pocketing them.

Jude (dog): Grrr…

Kate: Um…you sound intimidating, but you look really cute right now.

As a human, Jude would always talk down to me, but he can’t do that the way he is now.

Even while growling at me, he had a dog’s cuteness…I wanted to pet his head.

Kate: There, there…

Jude: WOOF!

Kate: …Woah!

When I tried to pet him, Jude almost bit me.

(Even as a dog, Jude’s still Jude, ruthless as ever…)

Kate: O-okay. I won’t touch you…don’t smoke and just sit tight, okay? I’m sure Victor will find a way to get you all back to normal…

Jude (dog): …

Jude sniffed in displeasure and turned his attention to the clock on the wall.

Kate: “Hurry up” huh? Understood.

(Now then…The only one who’d be near Jude is Ellis, but I don’t see him)

Kate: It really hurt my feelings when Jude almost bit me… If only an animal would let me pet him right now. It’d heal my broken heart and make me really happy!

Jude (dog): …

Jude understood what I was trying to do and looked at me as if he wanted to say something.

(He’s thinking I’m using him…but right now, I can’t even be bothered!)

Kate: Aahhhh! I want to pet someone!

I didn’t know if Ellis would fall for it, but I had to give it a try.

—In that moment.

Kate: Eek!

All of a sudden a black cat jumped into my arms.

Kate: Are you perhaps Ellis…?

Ellis (cat): Meow.

The cat that looked like Ellis replied while rubbing his forehead against my hand.

It’s like he was telling me to pet him.

Kate: Hehe, thank you.

I gratefully petted Ellis’ small head and neck. The way he purred was so cute.

Ellis (cat): …Meow, meow?

(Ah…I think I understood what you just said)

Kate: Did you ask if I’m happy right now? Yes…I’m feeling a little happier!

(Next…)

I looked under the table and spoke to the cat hiding under it.

Kate: You tried to hide from Victor and me while we were talking, so…Are you Liam?

Liam (cat): Meow!

Kate: I need to know…Did you mix up the alcohol and drug on purpose?

Liam (cat): Meow, meow?

As expected from Liam. Even as a cat, he knows how to present himself and meows in a cute and charming way.

He was so cute that I wanted to smoosh his face with mine, but…his eyes were looking from side to side.

Kate: So you did do it on purpose…When you all turn back to human, make sure everyone gives you a scolding, okay?

Liam (cat): Meow…

(Everyone’s going to be mad at Liam while he looks down dejectedly, but…I’m sure everyone will forgive him in the end)

(Because Liam’s someone you just can’t hate)

Kate: In the meantime, please sit tight until everyone’s back to normal.

Liam (cat): Meow…

Kate: Can you keep an eye on Liam, Harrison?

Harrison (fox): Hm…

Though Harrison looked dissatisfied, he stuck by Liam’s side.

(I guess I can rest easy on that. The rest…huh?)

Looking around the dining hall, I noticed that some of the animals were missing.

(Roger, Elbert, Alfons, William…no, those four are missing!)

(Right, they just happened to be in the dining hall…there’s no way everyone in Crown would stay put!)

(I wonder where they went…)

Victor: Kate!

Kate: Victor! Did you find anything?

Victor: Yes. I know how to turn everyone back to normal. By the way, why are you here?

Kate: To tell you the truth, four people…er, animals, have gone missing from the dining hall…

Victor: Haha, my beloved cursed boys are free to be animals, aren’t they?

Kate: It’s really annoying…

Victor: Alright, let’s look for them together.

Kate: Okay!

(I’m glad that Victor’s still human)

(I think it would’ve been really hard to do this by myself…)

We checked the foyer first to rule out the possibility that they left the castle.

Victor: A nearby maid informed me that she didn’t see any dogs or cats walk out the front door.

Kate: That’s a relief! That means they’re definitely still in the castle.

Victor: Right. …By the way, what’s going on over there?

Following Victor’s gaze, I saw some mades gathered in a corner of the foyer.

Kate: That’s suspicious…Let’s ask.

When we approached the maids, we saw them surrounding a dog.

Kate: Ah, that dog…!

Victor: Yes…there’s no doubt about it. It’s Elbert!

He had silky golden fur and distressed eyes.

Even as a dog, Lord Elbert was beautiful. Adding on the charm of a dog, no one could leave him alone.

The maids were all captivated by his charms and handled him like something delicate.

(For now, I’m glad you’re safe…)

Victor immediately used sign language to explain the situation to the maids and succeeded in retrieving Lord Elbert.

Elbert (dog): Awoo…?

(Oooo, so cute…! I’d do anything for you!)

Bringing Lord Elbert along, we decided to search the halls next.

Kate: Wha-what is this…?!

The moment I turned the corner, I was shocked by a devastating scene in the hallway.

There were several cats lying around.

Kate: What in the world…are they okay?!

I rushed over and crouched down beside the cats to check on them.

(Huh? It doesn’t look like they’re hurt.)

(Writhing around in pleasure…Is this)

Victor: Mlem…There’s no doubt about it! It’s catnip!

Kate: Catnip’s…the herb that intoxicates cats, right?

Victor: Yes. It looks like someone gave the cats catnip and threw a drug party.

Kate: That’s…

Victor: No doubt we’re thinking about the same person. Let’s hurry!

We followed the trail of catnip-drunk cats to Alfons’ room.

Kate: Alfons! Please stop spreading catnip around!

When I burst into the room, the cat lying on the bed got up and looked at me languidly.

Victor: You’ve been enjoying your time as a cat, haven’t you Alfons?

Alfons (cat): Meow-ha!

Alfons laughed loudly like he did as a human and let himself get caught.

Alfons (cat): Now that just leaves Roger and William.

Kate: Where would those two be…We’ve searched everywhere we could think of.

Victor: Maybe they’re constantly moving about, or we’re always just missing each other. But I believe finding Roger’s easier than you think.

Kate: Huh?

Victor: Watch.

Victor smiled proudly and cupped his hands around his mouth.

Victor: Ah?! There’s a high-quality beer here from Her Majesty the Queen herself?! I can drink it without anyone noticing. What should I do?

(No matter how much Roger likes alcohol, there’s no way he’d fall for something so obvious…)

Just as I was thinking that, I heard light steps running toward us.

Roger (dog): Arf!

A dog with light brown fur appeared, wagging his large tail.

(...I can’t believe he fell for it)

Roger’s once again proved his hardcore love for alcohol.

After catching the three, we had them wait in the dining hall…William was the only one left.

Victor: To think that he’d be the last one for us to find…That’s William for you!

Kate: You’re right. I wonder where he went…

Victor: Hmm, shall I prepare some strawberries?

Kate: I don’t think that trick will work as well as it did with Roger…but it might be worth a try.

At that moment, a beautiful tune came into the hallway.

Kate: Victor, that’s the sound of a piano…!

Victor: Yes!

We nodded at each other and ran to the great hall.

Kate: William! Did you become human again— —Nevermind?

There was a “cat” on the piano deftly playing Minute Waltz with his front and back paws.

Kate: But it sounded a lot like William’s piano playing…

Victor: …You’re right. He’s the only one that can produce such a sound.

And then Victor and I listened to the cat play.

The final note melted into the air…We applauded the wonderful performance.

Kate: Are you…William?

William (cat): Meow.

William gracefully got off the piano and walked over to us.

Kate: …Even as animals, all of Crown’s kept their “identity” didn’t they?

Victor: You can’t hide your personality even if you want to!

--

Victor: Now that everyone’s back, I have an announcement…dalalalalala dan! According to Roger’s research, the only way to turn back is with a kiss!

Kate: K-kiss…? That kind of solution only exists in fairy tales…

Victor chuckled at my confusion and gently touched my lips with a finger.

Victor: We’re cursed here so there’s nothing strange about it.

Kate: That’s true…

Victor: Well now! It’s not something difficult, so let’s do it quickly.

(I wouldn’t be able to kiss them if they were human, but…)

(...I can probably do it with everyone as animals)

I looked at each Crown member that became an animal and prepared myself.

Kate: Got it. I— 

Victor: Now everyone, line up! I’ll give all of you a kiss with love!

Kate: Huh.

What happened after with Victor was amazing.

No animal was spared as he caught each and every one that tried to run away, and passionately kissed them…

They then all turned back into humans without an issue.

…For everyone’s sake, I’ll leave out some of the details.