#A Midsummer Tights Dream

[tallulah-caseys-misadventures]

A Zine made with the Electric Zine Maker! This has been in the works for... a while. May, actually, going by the timestamps on the folder. um. anyway. I'm also halfway through one themed on The Jones, so I'll also be posting that one here when it's finished. Might not be for a while though, I have a fic I want to finish writing first.

Printable version under the cut!

[lamarie-artsy]

Close-up of just the casual fit for my Tallulah Casey sideblog

Finally, my OG emo boy! I should have drawn him in a The Smiths t-shirt but NIN is sooo much easier. Yes I have drawn Alpheus in more or less this exact same outfit. Don't @ me, it's easy and I could not be bothered drawing a second pair of boots. Maybe both the Aronnax and Alpheus' squid sub just have floors designed for wetsuit boots, who knows! Also I didn't bother flipping his hair around like I did for Alpheus because at this point Cain does not care about how he looks. and I also just could not be bothered.

Cain: Yeah so I have a job now, but the bloke who arranged it for me warned me that my boss would absolutely feed me to the sharks if I did anything to her daughter Finn: lmao, what's your job anyway? Cain: I'm interning with Kaiko Nekton on the Aronnax Finn: [✓ seen]

Cain was the edgy bad-boy love interest in my favourite book series in high school, and much like with Tallulah, I have just been sticking him wherever he fits in everything else I've gotten into since then. I've even managed to fit the two of them in a HTTYD AU that I never got around to writing.

Anyway he's the other friend mentioned in Finn's bio, the one whose mother walked out on him. He's the youngest of three brothers, and about a year older than Finn. The two of them wavered between inseperable and estranged depending on how recently Finn had talked to his mother and therefore how jealous Cain was feeling about her continued if distant presence in the younger boy's life. Later, once Tallulah showed up and befriended Finn, Cain alternated between being jealous that she spent time with the younger boy and desperate for an in with her because he himself continually managed to offend her.

He eventually manages to win her over with Finn's help, as just a friend, but his ex takes offense to that and turns out to be a far better shot than her mother was when she was chasing after Cain. Finn had already made plans to leave Heckmondwhite at that point, but Tallulah gets pulled from school after being shot leaving Cain with no friends in town and only Finn messaging him. He is not doing so great emotionally at this point, and his father manages to get a friend (Tallulah's dad, who canonically is something of a naturalist and studies mollusks) to figure out a way to get him out of town. Cain does not realise his father's friend is Tallulah's dad because the man is built like comic book wolverine and Cain was picturing someone more along the lines of Loki.

Kaiko agrees to take on an intern because she could use some help keeping her workspace in order and doesn't want to force her kids to do it and end up making them hate the lab. Someone who signed up for it, however, is free game. She's not exactly happy that Liam told the kid about the assault charge, but she did kind of owe the man a favour after how often he covered for her in Uni.

[lovelyballetandmore]

Luciano Ghidoli | Finnish National Ballet | Photos by Roosa Oksaharju

[lilstarkeydream]

Hidden Flames- Chapter 3

Summary: Y/N, a Kook who prefers the company of her Pogue friends, falls for Rafe Cameron. Despite their growing feelings, they maintain a facade due to their conflicting social circles and personal insecurities. Y/N is best friends with Sarah, Rafe's sister, which fuels Rafe's hidden affection. He despises how Y/N hangs out with the Pogues, believing she has more potential, while Y/N can't stand Rafe's for fights and stuck up nature. After a dramatic confrontation, they confess their feelings but must keep their relationship secret, with only Sarah in the know.

Warnings: 18+ only! Fluff, Angst, Smut (p in v), Adult language,

Authors note: Hey guys! Ugh I'm so sorry I made this like crazy long again and that it has been SO long betwen chapters. I've already sort of started working on Chapter 4 so hopefully I'll have it done soon. Anyways enjoy and feel free to message me if you have any requests xoxo.

9k words

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The warm sand felt soft against your feet, the gentle waves lapping at the shore. The sun was settling, casting a golden glow over everything. You were laughing, you don’t know what from, but Rafe was beside you, smiling, his eyes filled with softness. Rafe's arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close as he spun you in slow circles, laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean. He pulled you closed, gently kissing your lips and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You were dressed in white, almost like ghosts in a beautiful, ethereal world.

Rafe leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, “I want you forever Y/N. Even when I’m gone I’ll still be with you.”

Before you could respond, a loud powerful jarring sound shattered the peaceful scene. The scene faded away and turned black and you groaned and opened your eyes. You padded your bed around you searching for your phone trying to turn off your god-awful 7:30 am alarm. Early mornings are going to be the death of me, you thought.

You instinctively pulled your cover back over your head, dreading the day ahead. Dress shopping for midsummer’s… perfect. With only a week and a half to go, you already dreaded the thought of the superficial conversations that were bound to happen.

You try to hold onto the sweet memories of your dream but it is suddenly ruined when your mom yells down the hall.

“Y/N time to get up! We are already behind schedule, we are leaving in an hour for the boutique” 

You groaned, slamming your face into the pillow and then pulling yourself up to start preparing for the day. You can already imagine your mom with her cup of coffee in her hand criticizing every dress you pull off the rack. Your parents were very particular when it came to a lot of things but the main thing was presentation; they hated it when you dressed in “pogue” attire. Hence why dress shopping is so important to your mom, it validates to her that there is still hope for you. You rolled your eyes at the thought of her voice in your head but smiled, knowing it was easier to just go along with her sometimes.

-

The boutique was glowing with varying colors, patterns, and dress types; it was overwhelming. From rack to rack, your mother picked out various dresses and styles for you, ushering you to the changing room to try on every single one. 

You spent what felt like hours trying on dresses, in and out of the changing rooms, accumulating a small pile of maybes. Finally, as you were about to call it a day, your mom came over with a navy satin, backless dress with a bow detail. 

“Now I'm not a fan of the backless back but I do think the bow in the back ties it all together,” she said as you slipped it on. But when you turned to the mirror, the fit was perfect. It was the one. Scenarios played in your head on how Rafe would react seeing you in this dress, so tight fitting and revealing, you know it would make him ogle. 

“I agree Mom, this has to be it,”  you said smiling running your hands down the dress.

Your mom was about to respond when you felt goosebumps begin to rise on the back of your neck like someone was watching you.

You quickly glanced around in the mirror at the surrounding store as your eyes locked with Chris’s.

Oh god, you got to be kidding me, you thought. Out of all places, this is where you see him? He must be with his mom and sister or something. 

A twinge of nostalgia immediately began to coarse through you. You quickly looked away, pretending not to notice him, but of course, he noticed you—and began walking over, giving you his typical polite smile.

“Oh my gosh is that Christopher Phillips?!” Your mom whipped around, beaming with recognition. She practically jogged over to greet him, her eyes lighting up with that motherly approval. She quickly pulled him into a hug. “Christopher! How are you? Look at you, still as handsome as always!” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your mom failed to acknowledge boundaries sometimes. 

“Hello Mrs. Chastain, it is great to see you, you look fantastic!” he said as he pulled away, quickly glancing over at you as well.

“Oh please Christopher, call me Linda. You're still such a charmer. Anyway, Y/N is just trying on some dresses for Midsummer but I’ll let you old love birds catch up, I’ll just be right over there” She pointed to a random corner, and knowing her we would still be eye-shot. As I’ve said before… she is a huge fan of Chris.

As she eagerly waltzed away, Chris visibly got a bit nervous shoving his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat.

“Hey Y/N, uh, I wasn’t expecting to run into you, you look great,” he said gesturing to your dress, his voice carrying a hint of the awkwardness that hung over you guys even after the breakup.

“Yeah, Chris, good to see you too,” you said, keeping a neutral smile. The idea of catching up as old friends was tempting, but you could tell by his eyes that lingering feelings were still there, and you didn’t want to stir them up.

“So, are you going to Midsummer?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, I am. You?”

“Same,” he replied, nodding with a tight smile.

Silence settled between you. You were about to excuse yourself when he cleared his throat. “Are you… seeing anyone new?” he asked, his voice a bit too casual.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you forced a neutral expression. “Nope. You?” As you spoke, a flicker of guilt stirred. Rafe was still in the back of your mind, his presence lingering, tugging at the corners of your thoughts. The memory of his touch was enough to make you blush, but you couldn’t say any of that—not to Chris, and not to anyone else.

He hesitated, noticing your sudden change in demeanor, then shook his head. “Nope.” He looked away noticing your mom eagerly waiting with prying eyes,  “Anyway, it was good to see you, take care. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah. See you around,” you said, relieved as he walked away. 

God that was so awkward

-

You stepped out of the boutique with your mom, your newly purchased dress slung over one arm. The bright afternoon sun made you squint, and you took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air after what felt like hours spent in stuffy fitting rooms.

"Well," your mom said, eyeing you with satisfaction, "now that we’ve got that settled, we can get on to the important things, like accessorizing.” She gave a little smile, seeming more pleased with you than usual.

You smiled, barely listening as your mind drifted back to your encounter with Chris. Why here, of all places? 

Just then, a familiar voice called out across the street. "Y/N! Hey, Y/N!"

You turned to see JJ striding over, his hands shoved casually in his pockets, but his expression lighting up when he saw you. As he reached you, his gaze darted between you and your mom, a flicker of mischief in his eyes as he took in your shopping bags.

“Oh,” your mom said, straightening, “this must be one of your…friends.” Her voice held that edge she always had when she saw you talking to Pogues. She gave him a quick, tight smile. "Well, Y/N, I'll just grab a coffee down the street. You two…catch up. I'll be waiting in the car." Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked away, looking back just once before disappearing into the café.

Once she was gone, JJ grinned. “Nice to see I’m still charming the Kooks, as always.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “You have that effect.”

“So, what’s all this?” He pointed to the bags with a teasing smirk. “Getting ready for Midsummer? Gotta say, I never pictured you as the ‘princess of Kooklandia’ type.”

“Oh, very funny,” you said, nudging him. “Yes, it’s for Midsummers. My mom practically forced me to come out today.”

“Lucky me, running into you, then,” he said, shoving his hands back in his pockets and giving you an easy smile. “So, how’s it going? You look…like you’ve been through it.”

You shrugged, laughing a little, but your voice softened. “I actually just ran into Chris.”

JJ’s face fell, the teasing look replaced by concern. “Wait, Chris? Like…Chris Chris?”

“Yeah,” you replied, the awkwardness of it making you cringe all over again. “It was…strange. He was trying to be nice, but I don’t know. It just reminded me of how I’ve changed, you know?” 

JJ nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. “Y/N, listen. Be careful with those Kook guys—no offense, but they can be a lot. And Chris…he’s bound to have feelings still, so just, you know…keep an eye out.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the intensity of his reaction. “JJ, he’s harmless. We were just talking.”

“Yeah, maybe,” JJ muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I don’t know. You’ve seemed kinda distant lately. Like…you’re around, but not. Got me worried, is all.”

Just as you were about to respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced down, your pulse picking up slightly as Rafe’s name flashed across the screen.

Been thinking about you. What are you up to? The message was simple but meant everything, and you couldn’t stop the faint smile that crept onto your face as you typed back a quick reply, your heart beating just a little faster. 

JJ’s voice snapped you out of the moment. “Uh-oh,” he said, smirking as he watched your expression shift. “That look’s usually reserved for the extra-rich Kooks.”

You quickly pocketed your phone, fighting to keep your expression neutral. “What look?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. I may not be a Kook, but I know you well enough to see when something’s got you all…happy like that.”

You let out a laugh, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing. Just someone I know.”

JJ gave you a curious look, his playful smirk softening as he studied you. “Well, whoever it is, I hope they’re good enough for you. Just don’t go getting lost in Kooklandia too long. Us Pogues kinda need you”

The genuine concern in his eyes made your heart twist slightly, and you nodded, touched by his words. “I won’t, JJ. Promise.”

A flash of relief crossed his face, and he returned your smile with a lopsided grin, nudging you playfully. “Alright, princess, get out of here before your mom thinks I’m corrupting you or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you said goodbye, his words lingering in your mind as you headed to the car.  

-

During dress shopping earlier, your phone had buzzed with a text from Sarah, asking if you wanted to hang out. She went on about an argument she’d had with Topper, making it sound both dramatic and all too familiar. You’d texted back, agreeing to come over once shopping was done, already bracing yourself for whatever rant awaited you.

Your mom is currently driving to the Cameron's residence as she droned on about Midsummer's etiquette and the importance of making a good impression.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll pick you up in a few hours. We can get lunch and talk more about Midsummers,” she said as she unlocked the car. But her phone buzzed just as she opened the door. She glanced at it, frowning.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” She sighed, her voice turning business-like. “They need me at the hospital honey. I’m so sorry, would you be able to grab a ride home.”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t worry, Mom, I understand. I’ll ask Sarah if she can drive me,” you replied, secretly grateful for the change of plans. You’d had enough of Midsummer's talk to last a lifetime.

She gave you a sympathetic smile, and as you shut the passenger door, you watched her drive away, feeling relieved. But that feeling quickly gave way to nerves as you noticed Rafe’s truck parked in front of the house. Of course, he’d be here,you thought, trying to keep your pulse steady.

Once your mom was out of sight, you made your way up the Cameron's all-too-familiar staircase. You hadn’t been here since that night—when you’d drunkenly found yourself in Rafe’s room. The memories flickered back, and you thought you caught a faint hint of his cologne lingering in the air. You passed by his door, stealing a glance, but it was empty, the bed neatly made. Maybe he’s out with Topper or Kelce by the pool, you mused, trying to shake the thrill of knowing he was nearby.

Reaching Sarah’s room, you barely had time to knock before she flung open the door, grabbing your arm and pulling you onto the bed beside her. “Finally!” she exclaimed, tossing her phone onto the bed as she settled in next to you. “You have no idea how badly I needed to see you today.”

“Really?” you laughed, stretching out beside her. “What’s going on?”

“Ugh, where do I even start?” She let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back against her pillows. “The guys are outside right now, so I can’t be too loud, but Topper and I had the stupidest argument last night. He gets jealous of everything—it’s unreal. Sometimes I think he’s the insecure one, not me! He saw me talking with John B near the docks and now he’s convinced I’m sneaking around behind his back!”

Your eyebrows shot up. “John B?” That was news to you. John B and Sarah had never shown much interest in each other before—or at least, not that you’d noticed.

Sarah nodded, biting her lip with a mischievous smile. “Yeah, he and I talked a bit last week, and honestly, I kind of liked it. He’s so…different from Topper, you know? But I swear, I wasn’t doing anything sketchy. Topper just freaked out and, ugh, it’s such a mess.”

You couldn’t help but imagine how the Pogues would react if they knew about Sarah’s budding friendship with John B. It was complicated enough with your friendship with them, let alone…well, your situation with Rafe. The Pogues wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to know you were sneaking around with the one person they despised most.

“Wow,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I just can’t picture John B with a Kook like…well, like us, honestly.”

Sarah laughed, rolling her eyes. “I know, right? It’s complicated.”

“Speaking of complicated…” you began, realizing you hadn’t yet told her about the day’s chaos. “I ran into Chris today.”

Her eyes widened, surprise flashing across her face. “Chris? No way. How did that go?”

You gave her a tight smile. “Awkward, mostly. He was…polite, I guess, but I could tell there was something else. I don’t think he’s over it. He even asked if I was seeing anyone new.”

Sarah groaned, shaking her head. “Classic Chris. He’s just trying to find an excuse to come back into your life.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, “but I had to lie and say no. And that made it even worse because…”

You paused, hesitating. Sarah propped herself up on her elbow, eyes narrowing. “Because what?”

You took a deep breath, feeling your pulse quicken. “Because I snuck out with Rafe last night.”

Sarah’s eyes went wide, and a slow smile spread across her face. “Oh my god, what? Go on!”

“He came to my house, tapping on my window like a total maniac.” You laughed at the memory, but your voice softened as you remembered what had happened next. “We ended up going for ice cream and walking on the pier. He…he told me he wanted to try with me, you know? Like, actually give it a shot. And I said yes, Sarah. I told him I liked him.”

Sarah’s expression shifted, a mix of excitement and caution. “Wow…okay, so this is getting serious, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, feeling a flutter of nervousness at her words. “It feels…different.”

Sarah sighed, looking at you with a gentle but wary smile. “I get it. Rafe can surprise you sometimes. But be careful, Y/N. He’s my brother, and I love him, but…he can be unpredictable.”

“I know,” you replied, grateful for her understanding. “But right now, I just…I don’t know. I feel happy.”

Just then, a familiar voice drifted through the open window from the backyard, and your stomach did a flip. Rafe’s unmistakable laugh mixed with Topper and Kelce’s voices, the sound sending a thrill through you.

Sarah noticed, smirking. “He’s right out there, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Ugh, I know. But we’re trying to keep things secret, remember?”

“Sure, sure,” she teased, winking.

You both laughed, and the conversation drifted to other things. But as you glanced out the window, you saw Rafe and the guys heading inside, his attention focused on his phone. Sarah’s voice faded into the background as you heard him walk through the house and up the stairs, heart thudding as you wondered if he might notice you.

Excusing yourself with a quick “I got to go to the bathroom,” you slipped out of Sarah’s room, making your way quietly down the hall. Just as you rounded the corner, you nearly collided with Rafe, who looked up in surprise, his lips curving into that familiar smirk.

“Whoa, well this is a surprise, what are you doing around here, pretty girl?” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Sneaking into my house just to see me?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “I’m best friends with your sister, dumbass. You’re the one who’s supposed to be downstairs with your friends.”

Rafe leaned casually against the wall, his hair still damp and tousled from the pool, water droplets catching on his tan skin, his arms toned and relaxed. He flashed you that familiar, mischievous grin. “Kelce and Topper just headed out, so I guess that leaves us. Think you can handle it?”

Your heart skipped a beat as he closed the space between you, the playful glint in his eyes making it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

You opened your mouth to answer, but his hand was already reaching for yours, pulling you into his room. The familiar thrill of being this close, in a place where you could be caught any second by Ward or Rose, made your pulse race.

“You know,” he murmured sitting on his bed pulling you between his legs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” You tried to keep your voice steady running your hand down his chest, even as your heart raced. “What about me?”

He chuckled softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “Everything. The way you laugh, the way you look at me…” He paused, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. “The way you make it really hard to keep my hands off you.”

You swallowed, feeling the warmth spread through you. “Who said you have to?”

A slow grin spread across his face leaning in to capture a kiss, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the house, Sarah, the risks of being caught. It was just the two of you.

But then, footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and you both sprang apart, glancing nervously down the hall. Rafe gave you a quick wink, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Rose’s voice called down the hall, clear and firm. “Sarah! Rafe! Y/N! Dinner’s ready!”

Rafe pulled back, his lips just inches from yours, his playful expression turning to one of frustration. “Of course,” he muttered, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Before you could respond, Sarah’s footsteps sounded from the other side of the hall, followed by a quick knock on the bathroom door down the hall. “Hey Y/N dinner’s ready! Rafe, dinners ready. Come on, let’s go!”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, smirking as he glanced at you. Then, with his best impression of an annoyed brother, he called out, “I’ll be down in a few, Sarah!”

Satisfied, Sarah’s footsteps faded down the stairs, and in an instant, Rafe’s arms pulled you back toward him. His lips found yours again, the urgency even stronger now.  The thrill of secrecy rushed through you as his fingers tangled in your hair, his touch somehow gentle and desperate at the same time.

“Alright, you really need to go now,” he whispered between kisses, his voice thick with reluctance.

“You don’t make it easy,” you murmured, smiling against his lips. Finally, you pulled back, running a hand through your hair as you gathered yourself, fixing your clothes.

Taking a deep breath, you slipped out of his room, glancing over your shoulder one last time to see him watching you with that signature smirk. 

-

When you entered the dining room, the Cameron family was gathered around the table, and Rose flashed you a warm smile. Sarah was already seated, chatting with Wheezie, who was recounting some story with animated hand gestures. You slipped into the seat between Sarah and Rose, offering a polite smile to Ward as he nodded in greeting.

“Glad you could join us, Y/N,” Ward said, his tone warm. “We don’t get to see you around here often enough.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Cameron,” you replied, feeling a bit more at ease as Rafe entered the room and took the seat across from you. His expression was casual, but the glint of mischief in his eyes was unmistakable. As he sat down, his foot tapped against your thigh under the table, and your cheeks flushed.

Dinner began with light conversation, Rose asking about school, and Ward making polite inquiries about your family. The food was excellent, and for a while, you settled into the cozy atmosphere, almost able to ignore Rafe’s occasional gaze across the table and the flutter it stirred in you.

“So, Y/N,” Rose began, setting down her fork and smiling at you with that piercing, Kook-perfect smile. “I’m assuming you’ll be going to Midsummers? Did you end up finding a dress?”

“Oh, uh, yes! Just today, actually,” you replied, hoping to sound casual despite your racing heart.

She nodded approvingly. “Wonderful! Midsummers is such an important event, especially for making connections. Do you have a date lined up yet?”

The question caught you off guard, and you took a quick sip of water, trying to keep calm. “Not yet,” you replied, glancing down at your plate to avoid looking at Rafe.

“Oh, what about that young man you were seeing before?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “What was his name? Chris, right?

The mention of his name made both you and Sarah choke on your drinks at the same time. Sarah quickly recovered, covering her laughter with a cough, but your cheeks burned as you struggled to respond.

“Oh, uh, we’re…we’re not together anymore,” you managed, giving Rose a small, tight smile. You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you, though you didn’t dare look up. 

Rose’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “Oh, I see. Well, no matter. I’m sure you’ll find a date—someone with a good head on his shoulders,” she added, her gaze lingering a bit too long on Rafe as if expecting him to say something.

Rafe cleared his throat, his expression unreadable as he casually picked at his food. “I’m sure Y/N will be the best-dressed one there,” he said smoothly, his tone calm but laced with a subtle edge. The mention of Chris hadn’t gone unnoticed, and a hint of jealousy flickered in his eyes.

The comment hung in the air for a moment before Ward chuckled, drawing the attention back to himself. “Well, I thinkit’s great that you’ll be attending, Y/N. Midsummers is a special event. It really brings out the best in everyone.”

“Yes, sir. My family is excited about it—it’s all my mom has been talking about,” you replied, chuckling as you offered Ward a polite smile, eager to steer the conversation away from your love life, especially with one of the culprits sitting directly across from you. 

-

As the meal continued, Rose turned her attention to Sarah, her smile a little too fixed as she asked, “So, Sarah, I heard you were spotted down at the docks last week with…what’s his name? John B?”

The question dropped into the conversation like a stone, and Sarah froze, her fork hovering mid-air. You felt your pulse quicken as you glanced over at her, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

“Oh, that?” Sarah laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. “We just ran into each other. It was nothing.” She was doing her best to act casual, but you could tell Rose wasn’t convinced.

“Well, it just seems like…an unusual friendship, doesn’t it?” Rose remarked, her voice light, though her eyes were sharp and watchful. 

“Considering his father’s…reputation.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened as she replied evenly, “John B’s not like that. He just…runs with a different group of people, that’s all.”

Ward set his glass down, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s true. John B’s worked well with us, especially on the boats. He’s shown some responsibility.” He paused, looking between you and Sarah. “But I’d hate for either of you to get caught up in their habits—like sneaking around and stretching the truth. It’s just not the kind of influence we want for you two.”

You exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Sarah, sensing that Ward’s words held more weight than they seemed to on the surface. The underlying warning was clear.

Rose’s attention shifted to you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. “And you, Y/N, seem to spend quite a bit of time with the Pogues, don’t you?” she asked, gesturing lightly. “How would you describe their…character?”

The question hung in the air, and you could feel the unspoken judgment. You hesitated, thinking about how to explain it without stirring more suspicion. “They’re…genuine,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. “They’re rough around the edges, maybe, but they’re loyal, and they don’t pretend to be something they’re not.” You looked down, aware of Ward and Rose’s scrutiny. “They’re just good people, in their own way.”

Rafe cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Come on, Rose, it’s just a friendship,” he said, his tone casual yet carrying a hint of protectiveness as he glanced at you. “It’s not like either of them are running off with the Pogues and getting into trouble.”

Ward’s silence lingered, his frown subtle but clear. “It’s not the friendships themselves that concern me,” he said at last, eyes settling on Sarah and then you, “but the sneaking around and secrets. That’s what’s…disappointing.”

-

Just as the conversation drifted back to more mundane topics, Ward turned his attention to you. “Actually, Y/N, there’s something I wanted to ask you about. Your father’s company—he does business in real estate, right?”

Caught off guard, you nodded. “Uh, yes. He’s got some investments around the area.”

Ward nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. “Interesting. I heard he’s been expanding into some new developments recently, some pretty big projects.”

You sensed there was more to his curiosity than casual interest, and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe’s gaze sharpened. What was Ward getting at?

“Yeah, I think he’s been working on a few,” you replied, keeping your tone light, though you felt a prickle of unease. Your dad had mentioned some big investments lately, but he was always cagey about the details.

Ward gave a satisfied nod, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “It’s good to hear. The market around here’s always shifting, and it’s smart to have eyes on it.”

“Exactly,” Rose chimed in, shooting Ward a supportive glance. “Families that know how to work with each other tend to do better in the long run, don’t they, Ward?”

You nodded politely, feeling Ward’s intent but still uncertain about the details. What exactly was he interested in?

“Tell him he should swing by sometime,” Ward added casually as if it were an afterthought. “We could go over some ideas, and talk business. Who knows, might be a win-win for both of us.”

“Oh, sure,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “I’ll let him know.”

Ward nodded with a pleased smile, raising his glass in a small toast. “To partnerships,” he said, giving you a look that seemed almost fatherly.

You nodded politely, feeling Ward’s intent but still uncertain about the details. What exactly was he interested in?

-

Dinner was winding down as everyone began clearing dishes from the table and bringing them to the kitchen. Rose stood at the window, watching the heavy raindrops pelting down outside, her brows knitting together in mild concern.

“Oh, it’s really coming down out there,” she said, glancing back toward you. “Y/N, you have a way to get home, right?I’d hate for you to get caught in this.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond as Sarah chimed in. “I was going to take her, but I, uh…let Topper use my car earlier.” Her eyes flicked toward you and Rafe, her mouth twisting into a half-smile as if she could sense the tension brewing.

“Oh, that’s no problem,” Ward said, looking over at Rafe, who was lounging casually on the couch in the other room, scrolling through his phone. “Rafe, why don’t you take Y/N home? I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment. You and Rafe exchanged brief glances, each of you caught off guard, but Rafe recovered quickly, nodding with a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, I can take her,” he replied, his tone nonchalant, though his gaze lingered on you a second longer than necessary.

Rose beamed slightly taken aback by his sudden willingness. “Wonderful! Thank you, Rafe.”

Excitement and nervousness coursed through you knowing you would get alone time with Rafe without anyone suspecting anything.

-

Your heart thumped as you ran upstairs to grab your bag and then you said goodbyes to the Camerons. Ward remindingyou again to talk to your father about the business deal and Rose just telling you to tell your mom hi. 

Rafe grabbed his keys, and after a quick farewell to Rose and Ward, he led you outside, holding the door for you as you climbed into his truck, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. The rain continued to pour down, droplets hitting the windshield in a steady rhythm that enveloped you both.

As Rafe pulled out of the driveway, silence filled the space between you, his fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and his jaw was clenched just enough to hint that something was bothering him.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft but edged with something deeper. “So…looks like you got stuck with me .”

You chuckled, glancing over at him. “Guess I am.”

He shot you a sidelong look, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.”

“Maybe I don’t,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “maybe we can finish what we started earlier” your hand resting on the seat between you.

His gaze flicked down to your hand, and then back to the road, dodging your flirty comment. “Seems like Chris came up a lot tonight,” he muttered, his tone casual but carrying a distinct note of tension. 

Oh gosh is this what was making him so bothered, you thought

You glanced at him, feeling your heart pick up pace. “Well, it was Rose who brought him up,” you said softly, sensing that this was more than a casual comment.

Rafe nodded, a small frown crossing his face as he kept his gaze on the road. After a moment, you hesitated but felt it better to be honest. “Actually…I ran into him earlier today. At the boutique.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his expression hardening. “You ran into him?”

You sighed and nodded, feeling the familiar tug of conflict. “It was nothing, Rafe. Just…awkward. He tried to make conversation, and he asked if I was seeing anyone. I told him I wasn’t because…well because we’re supposed to keep this between us.”

Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his jaw flexing. “So…he thinks you’re single, then?”

You glanced at him, taken aback by the edge in his tone. “Rafe, it’s not like that.”

“But it sounds like it,” he shot back, his voice soft but insistent. “I don’t like the idea of him thinking he’s got a chance when he doesn’t.”

You looked away, raising your own voice caught off guard by his intensity. “Well, what do you want me to do? Tell him I’m secretly seeing someone who…hasn’t even asked me to be his girlfriend?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly regretted it, resituating yourself in your seat glancing out the window, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

Rafe’s eyes flickered with surprise, then softened as he pulled the truck over to the side of the road a block from your house, rain pattering loudly on the roof. He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Do you…want that?”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. The vulnerability in his eyes almost broke you, “Maybe I do,” you said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “But I’m not ready to put a label on it just yet, I like this sneaking around”

A smirk played on his lips as he leaned in, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Fine by me. But you’re still mine, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “And if I see Chris—or anyone—try to touch you, it won't go unnoticed” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. 

A shiver ran down your spine at the intensity in his voice, but a warmth spread through you at the same time. “Rafe, you know I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Good,” he whispered, his hand moving to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek and your lip. “Because I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“You’ve wanted this for a long time Cameron?” a smile tugging on your lips, “I always knew you had a thing for me.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he muttered, his lips curving into a smile as he leaned in.

You felt everything fade away as he pressed his lips to yours, the rain still hammering down. You melted into him, your hands threading into his hair as he deepened the kiss, his grip on you tightening as if he couldn’t get enough. The intensity between you grew, each kiss more urgent than the last, and before you knew it, he was pulling you over onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close.

You could feel the heat radiating between you, your breaths mingling as he kissed you with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands traced along your back, drawing you closer, as he whispered, “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, his words making your heart pound as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your back and he began to kiss down your neck hitting your soft spot. “Rafe…” you moaned out.

“And if I see any guy even thinking about getting too close…” He trailed off, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, a possessive glint in his eye. “I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you captured his lips in another kiss, feeling the heat between you building. 

“Rafe,” you breathed between kisses, “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Good,” he whispered, his voice rough as his hands explored you, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could stop, even if I tried.”

He held you close, his lips moving from your mouth to your jaw, then along your neck, each touch igniting sparks across your skin. You felt as though you were lost in him, the way he looked at you as though you were the only person in the world.

“I can’t wait to see you in that Midsummers dress,” he murmured, his voice rough with anticipation, his hands lingering at your waist. “I can only imagine how good you’ll look.”  he continues to whisper, “and how good it'll be when I take it off and fuck you.”

His words made you blush, a smile playing on your lips as you gazed at him. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

He grinned, capturing your mouth again in a kiss that was anything but patient, his hands roaming up your back, pulling you closer. Without thinking, your fingers drifted to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling slightly as you began to undo them, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your hands. He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening as you pushed the shirt off his shoulders, running your hands over the hard lines of his chest. 

You pull away quickly, and Rafe can sense your reason for hesitation.

“Don’t worry, baby. It’s raining so hard, and my windows are too tinted,” he says confidently, immediately going back to attacking your neck.

Rafe’s hand slipped under your shirt, tugging it off with a swift motion, his fingers exploring the newly exposed skin with an intensity that left you breathless. His hands cupped your breasts, and you shivered at the sensation.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your collarbone as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth left a trail of fire along your skin, kisses becoming more insistent as he marked you with small bites—a silent declaration that you were his.

Your hands drifted down, fingers skimming over his toned chest before finding the waistband of his shorts. You felt his body tense under your touch, his breath hitching, eyes darkening with a fierce, barely restrained desire as he looked down at you.

“Careful,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a warning. But the challenge in his gaze made it impossible for you to hold back. You pressed 

closer, letting him know you were just as ready for this as he was. 

You locked eyes with him, a smirk playing on your lips as you took your time grinding your hips down, feeling his hardness beneath you. Rafe let out a low groan, his hands instinctively gripping your waist, urging you to move. His grip tightened, one hand sliding over your thigh and pulling you closer, making you roughen the kiss as his touch neared the edge of your skirt.

A shiver ran through you as Rafe’s hand inched along your inner thigh, each slow movement sparking anticipation. When his fingers brushed over your panties, you caught your breath, your heart pounding as he pulled the fabric to the side. His fingers found your warm, wet center, and he sighed against your mouth, his arousal pressing insistently against you.

A low moan escaped your lips as his fingers entered you, the roughness of his touch making you grip his seat for support. You’d craved this feeling, the way only Rafe could make you lose yourself, and every lingering memory of your first night together flooded back, more intense than ever.

You let your lips drift down to his neck, biting and sucking as you went, intent on leaving a visible reminder. Your body was moving on instinct, grinding against his hand as he picked up the pace, each thrust of his fingers igniting you further. When he angled his fingers just right, your body tensed, and a choked gasp escaped you, urging him on as he went deeper.

You rocked your hips against his hand, feeling the pressure building, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. The pleasure built steadily until you felt it crest, your entire body shuddering as you surrendered to the intensity of it. The truck windows fogged up, trapping the warmth between you as the rain pattered on the roof outside.

Rafe’s fingers slowed, coaxing the last waves of pleasure from you, and you moaned softly, holding tightly to his arm. Just when you were catching your breath, he slipped his fingers out, leaving you with an ache at the sudden emptiness.

With a sly smirk, Rafe reached down, pulling his boxers lower to reveal himself to you. The sight made you bite your lip, but he didn’t leave you much time to dwell on it; his hands tugged at your hips, guiding you over to your knees. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a condom and tore it open, sliding it on in one smooth motion.

Breathless with anticipation, you steadied yourself above him, slowly lowering your hips as Rafe guided you down. A gasp escaped both of you as he filled you completely, the world around you fading away as you moved together, lost entirely in each other.

As he entered you, a shared moan echoed between you, raw and unfiltered. “Holy shit, you’re so perfect,” Rafe breathed, his head falling back, his voice laced with awe.

He leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his, his breath mingling with yours as he deepened the kiss, sending a rush of pleasure straight through you.

You began to move, adjusting to his size. Each new rise and fall brought a wave of intensity that heightened your pleasure. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you as you took him in fully, and you wondered if his fingers might leave marks. 

Your own hands curled around his arms for support, gripping tighter each time he filled you, your bodies falling perfectly in sync.

As you grew more comfortable, your pace quickened, driven by the sheer pleasure that neither of you could hold back.

“Rafe…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you began to falter, feeling yourself edging closer. No one had ever made you feel this way before, and you could sense you wouldn’t last much longer, each movement pushing you closer to the brink of release.

“You just feel so good. You’re so perfect, princess,” he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck and onto your breasts. With each thrust, he guided your movements, pulling you down harder onto his lap, as if channeling the jealousy he’d felt over Chris into each motion.

Rafe’s arm tightened around your waist, drawing you in deeper, the pressure becoming almost unbearable in the most addictive way. The sound of your pleasure filled the small space, mingling with the sound of the rain pounding against the truck. You swore that if it weren’t raining so hard, anyone nearby would hear the sounds of your moans. Soft whimpers and moans spilled from your lips as Rafe continued, making you completely his. He groaned, his voice low and rough, as your moans nearly sent him over the edge.

You were lost in the rhythm of it all, overwhelmed by the sensations as you neared your peak once more. Rafe’s thrusts became more intense, and you felt the tightening of your walls around him, a telltale sign that you were on the brink.

“Rafe!” you gasped, feeling your climax wash over you in waves, pulling a deep moan from your throat. “I want you so bad,” you murmured, 

“Come inside me, baby…” Your words seemed to ignite something in him, his eyes widening as he watched your body react, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as he thrust deeper.

You could hardly breathe, your body trembling as the overwhelming pleasure intensified. It felt like you were floating, the world outside fading until only he remained—his touch, his heat, the way he made you feel. Rafe groaned, a low, desperate sound as he felt your walls tighten around him, his own release fast approaching.

With a final thrust, he buried himself deeper, his hips moving sloppily as his climax took over. His hands gripped your waist as he moaned against your skin, his lips finding your chest as he rode out the last waves of pleasure. For a moment, both of you remained still, panting as you caught your breath, hearts racing in unison.  Rafe whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you caught your breath, Rafe fixing your hair.

“You okay pretty girl?” he asked leaning in to kiss you.

“More than okay, Rafe,” you say between kisses, smiling more and more. You swear you've never felt so happy.

You pull back slightly, and he does too, your eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability. You can't quite put your finger on why kissing him feels so different—so much better— so right.

You kiss him once more, instantly melting into his warm touch. You want to stay in his arms forever until your moment is interrupted by the buzzing of a phone. You glance over and it's Rafe's phone on the dashboard, Dad.

Rafe answered the call, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. “Hey, Dad,” he said, leaning slightly away from you as he focused on the conversation. You watched as his expression darkened, his jaw tightening at whatever his father was saying.

“I told you I’d handle it,” Rafe snapped, frustration evident in his tone. You could see the tension building as he rubbed a hand over his face. “No, I’m fine. Just… give me a minute. Just dropped Y/N off. I drove extra slow since the rain was so bad.”

Your heart sank as you realized your time together was slipping away. Rafe looked back at you, his expression apologetic, but you could see the stress brewing in his eyes. “I have to go. I’ll call you later, Dad” he said, clearly trying to wrap up the conversation.

You sat back slightly, feeling the warmth of your earlier intimacy fade, trying to give him space while the weight of the moment lingered between you.

Rafe ended the call and exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that. My dad’s being… well, you know how he is. Just pissed off about some investment bullshit,” he said, frustration still etched on his face.

“It’s fine,” you replied, trying to sound more upbeat than you felt. “Family stuff comes first.”

“Yeah, but I was really enjoying… this,” he said, with a smirk on his face but his voice still lingering with regret.

“Me too,” you admitted.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and for a moment, everything felt perfect again. “Let’s go do something this week, okay? I’ll take you out on a real date.” His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, promising more to come.

You nodded eagerly, giving him another soft kiss, cupping his cheeks as you savored the moment.

He helped you swiftly off him, both of you collecting your scattered clothing and attempting to put it back on correctly.

“I should get you home before your dad starts worrying,” Rafe said reluctantly, the reality of the situation settling over you both.

You nodded, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding that this moment together was ending. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Rafe started up his truck, creeping closer to your house. He pulled over in front of your home and parked.

As you climbed out of the truck and into the pouring rain, Rafe came over to the other side and offered you his hoodie to protect you from the rain. You swiftly put it on, feeling its warmth envelop you.

“Do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, finding any reason to spend more time with you.

You didn’t really have a choice but to nod. “Yeah, that’d be great,” you replied, a flicker of anxiety rushed through you at the thought of getting caught but it out to be rainy and dark enough, no one could make out his figure.

As he walked you to your front door, you said a quick, discreet goodbye, not wanting to raise any flags or cause your dad to look out the window. You took one last glance at him, watching him walk back to his truck, his shoulders slightly hunched against the rain.

As you slipped inside, your heart raced as you stood in the hallway, the familiar sounds of your home bringing you back to reality as you tried to shake off the lingering adrenaline from your time with Rafe.

“Y/N?” your dad called from the living room, pulling you out of your thoughts. You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself as you approached.

“Hey, Dad,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. He was sitting on the couch, the TV flickering in the dim light.

“Where have you been? You got home a little late,” he said, looking up at you and the clock with a hint of concern.

“Oh, I was just with Sarah,” you said quickly. “Her brother drove me home since she didn’t have her car.” The words felt slippery, but you hoped they’d hold.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly gauging your sincerity. “Okay, just make sure you’re careful out there, especially with the rain coming down so hard.”

You nodded, relieved that he seemed to accept your explanation. “I will, Dad. I promise.”

He glanced at the hoodie now draped on your arm, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s a nice hoodie. Is it new?”

“Yeah, I just borrowed it,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you fiddled with the fabric. “I got cold, so… you know how it is.”

Your dad nodded but remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Just remember honey, I worry about you, sometimes I don’t know if you’re out with those pogues or not. I’d rather you be safe than sorry.”

“Of course,” you said, forcing a smile to reassure him. “I’m always careful Dad, I promise.”

He smiled back, his worry easing a bit. “Good. Now go wash up and get some rest. You’ve had a long day. I love you”

“Okay, night Dad, love you too,” you said but right before you headed up the stairs you turned around, “Oh Dad, Ward Cameron wanted to meet with you about some business investment stuff” 

He simply chuckled and said “Okay” before you continued heading up the stairs towards your bedroom.

Once back in your room, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow as a muffled scream escaped—equal parts frustration and exhilaration. The adrenaline started to fade and the memories of Rafe’s touch, his kisses, and that promise of a real date whirled through your mind, making it hard to catch your breath. Excitement buzzed through your veins, filling you with a warmth that felt as surreal as it was intoxicating.

None of tonight felt real.

You could still feel the comforting weight of his arms around you, and his hoodie was still curled up in your arms, smelling strongly of his cologne—a lingering reminder of everything that had happened.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Reaching over, you saw a message from Kiara.

Hey, Y/N! The Pogues and I are hitting the beach tomorrow. The waves are supposed to be crazy good. Wanna come?

A grin crept across your face as you quickly typed a reply.

Oh, hell yes! That sounds perfect!

But as soon as you hit send, another notification flashed across your screen. This time, it was your manager, Lance.

Hey Y/N! I’m so sorry it’s late, but could you pick up a morning shift tomorrow? We’re short-staffed, and I could reallyuse your help!

Your heart sank as you rolled your eyes in frustration. Taking an early shift meant skipping the beach day you’d just agreed to. You hesitated, caught between the thought of spending time with the pogues or actually making some money.

With a reluctant sigh, you typed out a response to Lance,

Sure! What time?

Then, biting your lip, you shot a follow-up message to Kiara.

Shit, Ki, I’m so sorry! My manager just asked me to work tomorrow morning, so I’ll have to miss out. But maybe I can meet up later?

After a few seconds, you saw Kiara’s text bubble pop up.

Ugh, bummer. Don’t let those Kooks work you too hard! We’ll be at the Chateau if you wanna swing by later. I’ll even save you a drink. Plus, we have some stuff to catch you up on.

You tossed your phone on the bed with a sigh, the weight of the skipping out kind of making you upset but you’ve called off so many shifts these past few weeks. Plus you know there will be a party this week to make up for lost time. You kicked off your shoes and pulled the covers over you. Your body was utterly exhausted.

As you settled into bed, Butters, your cat, jumped up and curled himself beside you, purring contentedly. You ran your fingers through his soft fur, letting the rhythm of his purring lull you into a sense of calm.

"I hate skipping out on the Pogues," you muttered to Butters, who responded with a contented purr. "But, hey, at least I won’t be broke."

You sighed, snuggling into the covers and letting the warmth of your cat and the quiet of the room start to ease your mind. Just as you were starting to drift off, a new notification buzzed on your phone.

You picked it up, blinking at the screen in surprise.

Goodnight beautiful

A small smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the text. You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, even though you knew you'd have to face the consequences of whatever you were getting yourself into with Rafe. For now, though, you let the words settle in and your exhaustion wins, letting sleep pull you under.

--——----------————- ❥・-------------------------

Taglist: @rafesno1bae, @drewsphswife, @maybankslover

[backtothefanfiction]

Nightmares

Summary- Felix reassures you when you wake from a nightmare

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of death, mentions of knife attack, fluff, mentions of drug use, movie spoilers

A/N: in my world Felix lives

Summers at Saltburn Masterlist

No. No. “NO!”

You finally kick yourself awake only to feel an arm tense around your middle and the panic you felt in your dream comes flooding back. You begin kicking and crying out more but the arm around you stays steady and sure.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.” Felix’s voice coos. “It’s okay, you’re okay. It was just a bad dream.” He says, a soothing hand rubbing at your clammy back as you finally begin to settle, deep breathes desperately gulping down air to calm you. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.” He says. Just knowing he’s here and alive, not dead like in your dream was enough to help settle you.

You look around the room to ground you. As your eyes fall on the discarded golden wings from the night before you become tense again at the memory of the dream. So much for midsummer nights dream, more like midsummer nights nightmare. You were never touching drugs again.

“You wanna talk about it?” Felix asks as he continues to run soothing circles over your skin with his hand.

“It was Oliver.” Your timid voice finally said.

“What about him?” Felix asked as he brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers gently tucking it back behind your ear.

“He was killing everyone.” Your voice faltered as you once again looked to the wings, an image of Felix dead in the middle of the maze, an actually angel, placed itself back into your mind.

Noticing your fixation on the wings, Felix climbed from the bed. Grabbing the wings from the floor, he opened the window and threw them out before closing the window once more and climbing back into bed. His arms encircled you, holding you tight to his chest, as he snuggled you both back down amongst the pillows and bedsheets.

“He killed you and no one noticed until the following morning when we found you in the maze.” You quietly said against his chest.

“That sounds horrible…. How did he do it?” Felix murmured against the top of your head.

“He laced a bottle of champagne with cocain. It was a lethal overdose. It was so horrible when we found your body.”

You both sat in silence, both of you taking in the imagery of your dream before you continued.

“Venetia was suspicious first. The moment she started asking questions she was found in the bathtub having slit her wrists.”

Felix noticed how quiet and distant your voice was. He tried to shush you, tell you to forget about it, but you couldn’t until it was all out of your head. Proved wrong.

“He cornered me in the kitchen,” you said with a slight sniffle. The dream had felt so real. “He stabbed me. Plunged I knife straight into my stomach. When I was on the floor… he pinned me down- that’s when I woke up.” You said.

Felix had remained quiet the whole time you were recounting the nightmare. He felt how you finally relaxed once you had finished telling the tale back. “It’s okay. It wasn’t real.” He reassured, his soothing hand still running across your back, a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Try and go back to sleep, he’ll be gone when we wake again.”

“Promise?” You ask behind sleepy eyes.

“Promise.”

[coryosbaby]

Rafe Cameron x reader (18+)

You and Rafe aren’t friends.

That’s the only thing you really know about whatever you two have going on. The inherently sexual situation had began at Midsummers, when he had cornered you in a random bathroom and had got down on his knees and demanded to taste you.

You wouldn’t have anything against him, if it wasn’t for your friends. Hes nice to you, always has been, but you know that’s only one side of him. Because on the other side of the boy, he’s mean, and he’s violent. Especially to the other pogues. And if you’re being honest, the guilt from the fact that you’re fucking him in secret eats at you everyday.

And so what if that smile whenever he watches you cum makes something in your heart cease? And so what if his hands, although mostly rough, hold you gently while he when they know you’re having a bad day? And so what if sometimes, just sometimes, you see his face in public and want to run towards him and kiss him with everything you have?

You try not to think about all of these things as he fucks you into his mattress right now. And honestly, it’s working.

“Always running that fucking mouth,” rafe growls. you’re moaning, whining under him as he pounds into you, your swollen pussy begging for release. “thinking you can say whatever the hell you want. but you’re fucked out of your mind now, aren’t you baby? can’t say a single fucking thing.”

Your hands come up to grasp his shoulders, and you press hot, wet kisses onto his biceps. he groans, whispering, “fuck.” under his breath when your tongue traces the vein coming down his arm.

“Desperate girl. yeah, you want this dick, don’t you? Little fuckin’ whore…” his fingers reach down to rub your swollen clit. Your wetness practically gushes down your thighs at his words.

The boy’s name is all you can say, all you can think, as you come undone for the the third time that night. your tight pussy squeezes his cock in such a harsh grip that it has Rafe’s hips stuttering. your juices squirt all over the man’s cock as you feel his hot seed spill inside of you. Rafe practically whimpers at the feeling of his release. never would he have thought he would be able to fuck you like he dreamed of so many times. And if we’re being honest, he wants you, all the time; wants to take you on dates, buy you gifts, get you married to him so he can show you off to everyone and everything. Maybe even get you to be swollen with his child.

But knowing Rafe, he’s addicted to the feeling of harming his own mind. Whether it be with drugs, or violence, or denying his feelings for the love of his life right in front of him. And that’s why he’s been so quiet, so full of confusion and despair.

But despite this, however, he begins to get caught up in the smell of you, the heat of you. And as his hand is wrapped possessively around your pretty throat, as he coats your walls in his creamy white seed, four words that dictate Rafe’s entire brain spills out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“I fucking love you.”

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

-

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone. 

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it. 

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum. 

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him. 

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash. 

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears. 

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

[malegains]

I use Bing to make my pics. Go to Bing’s website, click images, click create. Make an account if you need to, it’s worth it. You can use a throwaway email. Use naturalistic language, separate phrases by commas, the closer to the top a phrase is the more it’s weighted.

I make this post because I get the strong sense the Bing party will be over soon. Every day the AI cottons on to phrases and chokes on things you used to be able to sneak past. Stuff that was safe and useful a day or two ago now result in a dreaded Prompt Blocked (too many of those and you’ll get suspended, it hasn’t happened to me but it seems the threshold is low).

Safe prompts return four images. Fewer than four mean the missing ones were “not safe.” A prompt that processes but gives no results, or “egg dogs” is not too much of a cause for worry - retool, try again. Sometimes I don’t even change anything, and the one result I get on the second try is such a freakshow that it was worth it.

A prompt that is rejected without processing IS a worry and you should probably abort, as explained. However, keep in mind it’s not just sexy stuff that can trip that wire. I once got a harsh warning because I put “Phoenix park, Dublin.” I deleted that and it ran no problem. Avoid any and all political controversy (sigh. I know).

Recommendations:

Using age, profession, and nationality can influence the look of the model very easily. “French rugby player” is a go to for me, for example. In general, “rugby player” is cheat code for “make him sexy.” The mind of the machine, what can I say.

Use descriptive phrases of action and location to engineer what you want to see. Be creative and be specific. “Reading a placard at a botanical garden,” for instance. It seems this allows more extreme kinky stuff to sneak past the filter. I usually start with “side view” because otherwise you only ever get models looking straight ahead.

Grey sweat pants has become a trigger (they caught on). However, “gray pants” still works and gives some very tasty results.

High social cache locations and activities also seem to help. I got some WILD and EXTREME hyper images from adding “goofing around on stage at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.” Paired with “cast as a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and the mega bubble butts and thick thighs were BULGING, as long as you didn’t mind a little tutu and fairy wings (the corny goofy masculine dude having fun facial expression that the earlier inclusion of “goofy” brought really worked in this instance). Most of these freaks were NAKED and I didn’t even ask for that!!! (No dong of course, this is Microsoft still)

Mention of glutes, butts, asses, etc are very dangerous and usually get you in trouble. I found some traction with “gluteal mass” but it got wise, and “bulging lower back muscles” used to be interpreted as glutes but seemingly no longer. “Disturbingly huge hamstrings” or “jaw-droppingly large hamstrings” does work to get That Ass sometimes, I guess because the computer has a fuzzy idea of the posterior chain.

Also, “pecs” used to be safe but is now also on the danger list. “Pectoral muscles” still seems safe, for now.

ALWAYS include shoes or footwear if you don’t want a tight cropped image. Black athletic shoes, sandals, converse sneakers, dress shoes, fluevog shoes if you’re making a fancy beef heap. Avoid boots. “Leather boots” once got me in trouble with the filter all by itself.

Adding a personality or mood descriptor near the top seems to humanize and give vitality to the outcome. Intense, goofy, outgoing, exuberant, shy - these have all done wonderful work for me.

If you’re into hyper / immobile muscle, imagining scenario where they’re constricted by space is useful. A prompt which just (“just”) gives a realistic super heavyweight will give an appalling mockery of the human form if you add “crammed into the front seat of his car.” Get creative. Elevators and doorways haven’t worked well, but cars, trains, planes, busses, subways, and CHAIRS of all descriptions have done well. Also, scooters and bicycles and mopeds really bring out the super freaks for whatever reason.

I write this to encourage you to go create some fleshcrafted sexy abominations of your own while it’s still possible. My sense is this party is only going to last a little while. I’ve already got more than 1000 images to share so, my larder is stocked to supply this blog for a while. But the more freaks we make while the freak factory is still in production, the better.

Get cooking!

[revasserium]

twst request are open :) send me a prompt and a character!

those who make sandcastles

leona kingscholar; 1,394 words; fluff... bc i was thinking about leona's power and... well.

he has never fancied himself a romantic (more a lazy realist, how could he not be, after all he’s seen, all he’s suffered, being born who he is — what he is), and yet the first time he makes you laugh, he wonders if he hasn’t just been lied to about what romance is for his entire life.

because how else is he to explain the way you make him feel, the way he can’t stop himself from staring when you move to brush your hair behind your ears, how his eyes are drawn to the sloping line of your shoulders when you sit across from him at lunch, shrugging or laughing at something someone else said. how else does he explain away the purr already curling up his chest the first time you reach out to run your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly on the ends, marveling at the softness, saying that you wished you had hair like this — so beautiful and thick.

“it’s the royal blood that does it,” ruggie had teased, giggling to himself, and leona had considered glaring, but it’d been too hot and he found he couldn’t be bothered, not when you were still absently running your fingers along his scalp, making a mess of his thoughts.

“i dunno,” you’d said, looking down at him from above, his head pillowed on your lap, a grin perched on your lips like fireflies on a midsummer’s night, “i think it’s all the napping. they don’t call it beauty sleep for nothing.”

“hn, you should try it sometime, it’s pretty nice,” leona had said, letting his eyes fall shut, his tail tapping lazily against the gorgeous green lawns, the shade of the massive willow tree above them sending dappled sunlight across your skin in patterns he wishes he could paint into the darkness behind his eyes. just so he could trace them over again with his fingers, trail them over with his lips.

and at first, the tells himself that it’s a summer thing — the both of you driven to incoherence and passion by the warmth, the heat, that something like this could never last, like building sandcastles in a desert storm but then one night, you tell him that even if that were true, nothing would change. that you’d still be here in the morning.

“but…”

“why?” you finish for him, turning to look at him, your cheek pillowed on your folded arm, your eyes a pair of twin stars, locked in orbit in a distant galaxy and, not for the first time, leona finds himself caught in the sheer gravity of you.

you smile, and he thinks he feels the entire world around him spin to a stop, the wind shushing itself in the ruffling feathers of sleeping birds, the jungle a respite of silence for a single beat, a single held breath.

he reaches out to trail a finger along the silken smooth of your cheek and you reach out to catch his hand, pressing his palm to you.

“because… even if this ends one day… it wouldn’t change what i feel for you now. and just because a thing might break or fall apart one day doesn’t mean it isn’t worth building in the first place.”

leona laughs, the sound deep and rich as it rumbles from him, even as he shakes his head and pulls you closer, pulls you into his chest, tight enough for you to squeal, pushing back against him, squirming in his arms — he breathes you in and lets himself sink into the scent of you, the sweet and musk of your skin, the slight tang of your sweat, the fragrance of your body layered over his sheets.

that night, he falls asleep with you in his arms.

the next morning, you wake up to find him already awake, watching you with half-lidded eyes, a broad, easy grin on his lips.

“good dreams?’ you ask.

“mm,” he says, stretching slow and deliberate before twisting in a swift motion to pin you beneath him, “the best.”

you blink up at him, slow and sleepy and soft, “what about?”

“about… all the castles i’d build for you one day.”

“one day?”

“yeah,” he says, leaning down to nose at the juncture of your neck, shivering as he feels your fingers tangling in his hair, the breaths quickening in your chest.

“why one day?”

“cause…” he hums, trailing his lips gently along the exposed skin one your shoulder, savoring the way you gasp when he lets his teeth catch along your collarbone, “i don’t want to build you sandcastles.”

you laugh then, and he drinks in the sound, leaning down to catch it between his lips, silently thanking the heavens that the temperature of the dorms is so carefully controlled.

“so… what kind of castles will you build me?” you ask, pulling away, all the sleep now gone from your eyes, replaced by a sharp, scorching desire, the kind of look that sets leona’s entire body aflame.

he growls, deep in the registers of his throat, his chest, his whole body rumbling with the sound.

“i’m gonna build you castles of glass.”

“glass?” you quirk your head, your fingers pausing in their slow but certain journey down the front of his already half-opened sleep shirt.

he grins, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your wrist and watching you gasp.

“yeah, from what i hear, they’re quite a bit sturdier than sand.”

“th-that they are but…” you hiss as he kisses up your arm before placing your hand behind his neck, his hands settling around you waist, “w-what’s all this about, all of a sudden?”

leona smirks before rolling the pair of you over to settle you over his hips, your hair spilling over your shoulders as you squeak and steady yourself with your palms on his chest.

“cause i’ve decided that i don’t want this to be over — i don’t want this to break or fall apart… i want this to last for —“ he still hesitates over the word forever, because sweet god, when did he become that kind of person, the kind of person who promises forevers, anyway?

“for a long, long time,” he says, finally, even as you press your lips and smile down at him, your thighs on either side of his, the morning sun washing the horizon in pinks and oranges, your cheeks a mirror for the blushing sky.

“and… what’s stopping you from doing that now?” you ask, walking your fingers up his chest, tracing your thumb along the line of is lips. he catches it between his teeth just to hear you moan.

“well… turning sand to glass isn’t exactly easy… we haven’t covered it in alchemy class yet.”

you tumble into a fit of giggles, burying your face in his chest, and leona finds himself laughing too, wrapping his arms around you, letting the laughter wash through him in waves, ebbing and cresting till he’s full to bursting with it.

“alright then, i’ll look forward to it,” you say, when finally, the pair of you have settled back into your bodies, your skins still tingling from all that laughter.

“you better. it’s gonna be incredible.”

“the most beautiful thing on the entire savannah.”

“mhm. and they’ll be strong enough to withstand any kind of storm.”

you grin, leaning up to press your lips to his jaw; he turns down towards you, catching your kiss against his.

“hm… but you’ll have to be careful,” you say, a bit breathless when you pull away.

leona hikes an eyebrow, “and why’s that?”

“cause glass is breakable, isn’t it?”

and here, he shrugs, casting his eyes back up at the high ceiling of his dorm.

“sure, but… if it breaks, then we’ll fix it. if it shatters then… we’ll build another one. a bigger one — a better one.”

because leona has never considered himself particularly romantic, but with you, he’s slowly come to realize that love, even more so than sand, is infinite. and you can always, always make more of it when you need it.

[takaraphoenix]

A Midsummer Night's Mischief

Tags: m/m, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Jackson Doesn't Leave, magic, curses, fluff, m/f

Main Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Side Pairings: Scott/Allison, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent

@writersmonth Prompts: fairy + stage

Summary: A traveling production of A Midsummer Night's Dream comes to town. Only that it's all fairies and they leave the town, and the pack, cursed to only tell the truth.

This Fic on FFNet | This Fic on AO3

A Midsummer Night's Mischief

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

It was supposed to be a fun night out for the pack. A traveling production of A Midsummer Night's Dream had come to visit a few days ago and Stiles was eager to see the premiere. When he noticed that Lydia, Allison and Boyd were just as on board with it as him, he decided this should be a whole pack outing. Scott was on board when he saw how much Stiles and Allison were looking forward to it. Isaac seemed indifferent but okay with going. Erica and Jackson were the ones fighting him the most on it, until Stiles used his secret super power – somehow, inexplicably, being able to convince their Alpha to do most reasonable things (not everything, but somehow Stiles was the best at convincing Derek) – and once Derek put his foot down and gave that commanding Alpha growl, Erica and Jackson gave in. And so, that Friday, the pack prettied themselves up to go to the theater.

Stiles loved that, wearing a suit, seeing his pack look all fancy too. Lydia had taken everyone shopping so they would have appropriate attire – even though this wasn't some big theater, it still felt nice, sophisticated in a way they never got to be. Allison looked stunning in her silver dress and Scott had actually run into the entrance door because he had failed to take his eyes off his girlfriend. Lydia wore green, coordinated with Jackson whose dress-shirt matched her dress. Erica's dress was tight, purple and sparkly, while Boyd had a purple handkerchief in his breast pocket to match his girlfriend. Looking at the three couples, Stiles tried not to think about the fact that him and Derek were both wearing red. It wasn't a secret that red was Stiles' favorite color, and of course did the Alpha wear red. Just a coincident. A coincident that made Stiles blush.

It was supposed to be a great night, them just having fun with something different for a change – instead of training or running or fighting monsters or just sitting in the Hale House to watch movies together. Naturally, Stiles didn't get a fun, fancy night with his pack. No, the actors on stage turned out to all be fairies. Seelies and pixies and trickster sprites. The night ended in a magic prank.

By the time the pack was filing back into the Hale House, they were all arguing. The fairy curse was one that made people speak the truth, but not just the truth, an unfiltered truth, because normally, people still had the option to not speak instead of saying the truth. Ironically enough, Stiles was the one the least affected by that curse. He generally didn't lie around the pack anyway because what was the point of lying with a bunch of living lie detectors, and he's never had a brain-to-mouth-filter to begin with. It was his pack who were really suffering.

It had started innocent and funny enough because Scott just started listing every single thing he loved about Allison, like literally every single thing. Which, admittedly, did get annoying by the time they got back home. Then Erica and Boyd started fighting, because Boyd admitted he hated her new shampoo, it made his nose itch, and Erica got upset that he never just said things like this he just smiled and wanted to please his girlfriend. Lydia and Jackson were in a full on discussion about The Notebook, why, Stiles had no idea, those two had a really weird relationship with that movie. Things stopped being funny with Isaac though, because the blonde puppy blurted out that he thought of Derek as a father and that he was so afraid that he shouldn't, that that wasn't how he should look at his Alpha even though Derek was his guardian but Derek was only his guardian because he was his Alpha – and it really hurt Stiles to hear the panic in Isaac's voice.

They were all forced to be brutally honest, even about things they weren't ready to admit. Because on its own, it was nice to hear Isaac admit that, Stiles could even see the pride on Derek's face and it made Stiles feel all fuzzy and warm. Isaac's panic about it had the opposite effect.

"Okay, so we have to figure out what kind of curse this is," Stiles cut through the bickering. "If we do, we can break it. Fairy magic is usually a type of bargain."

And with that, Stiles fell into a rambling rant about fairy magic, culture and bargains. Fascinating topic, he had hyperfixated on it during the summer. He was glad it paid off, as most of his supernatural related hyperfixations did. Yay, his ADHD. He got about two minutes into his rant.

"Stiles," Derek growled. "Shut up."

That didn't just shut Stiles up, it also shut the pack up. They all looked at their Alpha startled. It had been months since Derek last told Stiles to shut up, not since Stiles had joined the pack officially. Because Derek actually valued Stiles' opinions, knew that Stiles usually had the solution to whatever problem there was, heck, the Alpha had even learned how to filter through the rambling for the important information. It wasn't that Stiles was insecure, necessarily, but… he had been told to shut up all his life, he was so used to people being annoyed by his rambling, he was used to it… and now he'd kind of gotten used to the pack actually valuing his opinions and letting him ramble on, even when it was completely random and unrelated, just because they knew he needed to ramble, just because they knew he cared. That was what pack meant. So it hurt, a lot, to hear Derek growl at him again to shut up, like he used to before they were pack.

"Right," Stiles cleared his throat. "Sorry. Focus. I know it's annoying-"

"No," Derek growled again, this time in frustration. "It's not annoying! You're not annoying."

Stiles stared at him in confusion. "Then… why would you tell me to shut up?"

"Because it makes me want to kiss you," Derek ground his teeth together, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the floor, away from Stiles. "You're so passionate and enthusiastic and I love the way your interests make your eyes sparkle, it makes them look like liquid amber instead of their warm brown, and when you figure something out and smile I just want to kiss you."

"Oh, finally," Lydia groaned, leaning her head back. "I thought we would have to watch the sad, mutual pining until we graduate high school, this was getting painful to watch."

"Ma—aybe we should leave them to it," Boyd suggested when their Alpha growled. "Let's go, everybody, give our Alphas a little privacy."

"Privacy is overrated I want to see them kiss, babe," Erica pouted.

She still let her boyfriend pull her along though. The pack left the room, Boyd dragging both Erica and Isaac along, while Allison herded Scott and Lydia ustairs, Jackson being the only one who very eagerly fled all on his own muttering about how he so did not need to see this, all of them heading upstairs, until just Derek and Stiles were left. The curse should make Stiles blurt out all kinds of things too, but his brain wasn't working yet, it had come to a full stop. He just stared at Derek.

"Say something," Derek's voice was near pleading. "Anything at all. You're never quiet. You being quiet is unsettling, it… it makes my wolf snarl and want to tear apart whatever made you quiet."

"Right, yeah," Stiles cleared his throat, laughing a little nervously. "I… don't know what to say. You did it, you left me speechless, the impossible feat, I guess…"

"I know," Derek sighed, looking dejected. "You don't feel the same. How could you. You are so amazing, so strong, all the things you went through, as a human, and still you chose the pack, without having any obligations, you chose my pack, and I'm just grateful to have you in it, I don't need more, even if I want it, I understand that you don't… feel that way about me. I threatened you too often, I growl too much, I… half the time, I don't know what I'm doing still, even though I try."

"What," Stiles blinked up at the wolf. "Are you crazy. You try so hard and you improved so much, you became a great Alpha who actually respects his pack and helps them, and if you're lost, you at least learned to ask for help and I'll always be there to help you, Derek, our pack means everything to me. There was never a choice for me, I'm ride or die, you must have noticed that."

"Thank you," Derek whispered, visibly relaxing some. "I don't need you to love me, but I need you in my pack, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Hi, yeah, wait, can we rewind to the bit with the love? What. Wait, there was also a bit about kissing what did that mean, what do you mean?"

"I love you, Stiles," Derek looked at him, unusually vulnerable. "I love you more than I ever thought I could. When you start talking, all I want to do is pull you into a kiss and never let you go again, I want to listen to you for hours just because I love how passionate you are about the topics you're interested in. I love your little fidgeting because it's so cute. I want to run my fingers through your hair, ever since you grew it out, my fingers itch to feel if it's as soft as it looks. I could get lost in your beautiful eyes and count all the shades of Earth and whiskey in them. I want to hold you close and never let you go, I want to lead our pack together, with you."

"That's like… the most words I ever heard you speak in one go," Stiles whispered in awe. "And I am struggling with computing any of them. I mean, you love me?"

"I know," Derek heaved another sad sigh. "You could have someone better, should have someone better. Someone your own age with whom you can be without the fear of your father arresting them. Someone who can… communicate their feelings better…"

"Yeah, no, shut up," Stiles threw his hands up. "First of all, my dad would absolutely not arrest my boyfriend, like, damn mom was seventeen and he was twenty-two when they got together, it would be a total hypocrite move to do that, and it's not like you are a decade older than me or anything. Besides, he absolutely would never arrest someone I love and I love you so much, Derek. I mean, the growling is actually kind of hot if you're not threatening me, but also even the threatening was kind of hot when it involved you pinning me against a wall. I love you, I love how much you're working on yourself, and on the pack, you… you suffered so much, and you lost so much, and you deserve to be happy and I'm so glad that you're actually rebuilding the Hale Pack, rebuilt the Hale House, reclaiming what others took from you. I'm so proud of you and I'm so in love with you."

Derek stared at him warily, like he expected this to be a lie of sorts, before the wolf remembered that what had started this conversation was their inability to lie right now. Stiles swallowed hard, staring at the man he'd been in love with ever since Derek had come running into the hospital to protect Stiles from Peter after the two figured out who the Alpha was.

"I want to kiss you, right now," Derek whispered, yearning in his voice.

Stiles nodded jerkily and walked over to Derek. He rested a hand on the Alpha's cheek before pulling him down into a slow, soft kiss. He gasped at the feeling of Derek's stubble against his skin, the softness and warmth of his lips, the way Derek's tongue slipped into his mouth.

"I love you," Stiles repeated once more, as soon as their kiss broke. "I love you, Derek. Hear me and believe me, okay? You deserve me, if you want me. You deserve to be happy."

Derek made a small, wondrous noise, as though he couldn't understand that this was real. His arms wound around Stiles' waist and for a moment they could enjoy peace. Until the bickering from upstairs got loud enough to remind them that they still had a curse to break and fairies to fight.

~*~ The End ~*~

[tanjamikaelson]

STRANGE LOVE - CHAPTER 1

MASTERLIST CHAPTER 1: | IT'S GOOD TO BE BACK |

Allison hadn’t seen the Outer Banks since she was seven years old. Now, years later, she was back, her heart caught in a delicate mix of excitement and anxiety. The memories of her childhood summers spent here flooded her as soon as she stepped off the boat. Aunt Anna was standing on the dock, arms wide open with a welcoming smile. When they hugged, it was more than a simple embrace—it was the warmth and comfort of all those years apart, melting away instantly.

As they loaded her suitcases into the trunk and began the drive to Aunt Anna’s house, Allison gazed out the window, soaking in the scenery. The Outer Banks had changed, but it had somehow stayed the same. The sprawling beaches, the giant houses, and the crisp, salty scent in the air felt both foreign and familiar. There was an ache in her chest, but it was softened by the thought of being here again.

Finally finishing school had been a huge relief, and her parents letting her spend the summer at the Outer Banks was like a dream she’d been waiting to relive. She had missed this place more than she ever admitted—the sandy shores, her sister Kie, and her best friend Jessica, whom she'd known since birth. Though distance had kept them apart, Allison and Jessica had somehow managed to maintain their friendship over the years. The thought of reuniting with her brought an excited flutter to her stomach.

Arriving at the house, Allison’s heart pounded in her chest. The house stood before her like a relic of her past—different, yet still carrying the same charm. And there, on the porch, was Kie. Her face lit up the moment she saw Allison, and they both broke into a sprint, running toward each other. They collided in a tight embrace, tears of joy brimming in their eyes. It had been far too long. The house itself had the same cozy atmosphere, with its wrap-around porch and the familiar scent of blooming flowers mixed with the ocean breeze. Inside, the warmth of the family photos lining the walls brought a rush of nostalgia, the space feeling lived-in and loved.

Kie pulled back from their embrace, her eyes shining. "Can we go somewhere? We have so many things to catch up on," she said eagerly.

"Two of you should probably stay here," Mark interjected, his voice tinged with concern. "They said the hurricane will be bad.”

Allison laughed, brushing off the looming threat with a light-hearted joke. "First night back and already a hurricane? Didn’t know I had that effect on the island."

Both girls burst into laughter, the tension easing.

"Help Allison move into her room, and we’ll start dinner," Anna suggested, giving them a knowing smile.

Kie nodded and grabbed one of Allison’s suitcases. Together, they made their way through the house, down a hallway that ended with a familiar door. When Kie opened it, Allison paused to take it all in. Her eyes landed on the nightstand, where a framed photo stood. It was from the last Midsummers before she moved away—Allison, her parents, Kie, and Kie’s parents, all dressed up for the event. Allison picked it up with a bittersweet smile.

"This is still happening, right?" Allison asked, holding the photo.

"Yes, unfortunately," Kie replied with a hint of disdain in her voice.

Allison raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Why unfortunately?"

"I’m not a fan of Midsummers anymore," Kie admitted. "Too many stuck-up Kooks in one place."

Allison let out a laugh. "But we are Kooks," she pointed out, teasing.

"Oh no, maybe you are. I’m with the Pogues now," Kie corrected her with a proud smirk.

"Really?" Allison’s surprise was clear, her eyebrows shooting up in curiosity.

"Yeah," Kie confirmed.

Allison couldn’t help but prod further, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "So, boys, girls, both?"

"Only boys," Kie answered with a roll of her eyes.

Allison’s grin widened as she leaned in, teasing her sister. "Are they cute? Is that why you're hanging around with them? You like one of them?"

Kie’s defense was immediate, and her cheeks flushed slightly. "No, I don’t. No Pogue on Pogue mackin'," she said with mock seriousness, though her smile betrayed her.

Allison laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, like that rule ever works."

For the next half hour, the sisters caught up on their lives, filling the gaps that distance had created. They unpacked Allison’s belongings, reminiscing, joking, and reconnecting in a way that felt like no time had passed at all. When they were almost done, Kie’s parents called them for dinner.

Afterward, Allison took a long, soothing shower. The warm water cascaded over her, washing away the fatigue from her journey. She let herself relax, the anticipation of the summer ahead finally starting to settle in her bones. By the time she crawled into the queen-sized bed, her body was heavy with exhaustion. It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her, her dreams filled with the promise of new adventures.

・ • ・ • ・

The next morning, Allison woke to the soft sound of birds chirping outside her window. The golden light of dawn spilled into the room, casting a warm glow over everything. She stretched and got out of bed, feeling refreshed and eager to start the day. When she glanced out the window, though, she saw the damage left behind by Hurricane Agatha. The backyard was a mess, and though the sight wasn’t pleasant, she was grateful that she had slept through the storm.

After taking a shower and going through her morning routine, Allison headed downstairs. The rich smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen.

"Morning, sweetheart," Anna greeted her with a smile as she poured a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

Allison nodded, smiling back. "Morning! Yeah, I slept like a rock." She sat down at the kitchen table. "How bad was the storm?"

"It was pretty rough," Anna admitted, handing her a plate of waffles with chocolate syrup. "But we're all safe, and that’s what matters. Breakfast?”

Allison thanked her, digging into the waffles with enthusiasm. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the sweet taste of syrup hit her tongue. After finishing, she leaned back, satisfied. "Where’s Kie?" she asked, noticing her sister wasn’t around.

"She’s with Mike at the restaurant. We should head over soon. There’s some cleaning to do before we can open again," Anna replied.

Later, when they arrived at the restaurant, Allison and Anna quickly got to work alongside Kie and Mike. The hurricane had left quite a mess, but they worked efficiently, the hours slipping by as they cleaned, organized, and prepared the restaurant for reopening. By the time they finished, Kie had packed some sandwiches and was ready to head out with her friends. Allison watched from the porch as they arrived, deciding she would meet Kie’s new crew another time. There was still plenty of summer left.

・ • ・ • ・

Later that day, as Allison organized her room, her phone buzzed. It was Kie, inviting her to a kegger party at the Boneyard. Allison couldn’t hide her excitement. She always loved parties and was eager to meet new people. After applying some light makeup, and slipping into her bathing suit, and a short summer dress, she made her way to the party, the energy already buzzing within her.

When she arrived, the party was in full swing. Pogues, tourists, and Kooks mingled under the twilight, the air filled with the sound of music, laughter, and waves crashing in the distance. Despite the clear divisions, everyone seemed to be having a good time. Allison scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on Kie, who was sitting on a fallen tree, talking to a guy. She waved, catching her sister’s attention.

Kie beamed when she saw her. "My friends can’t wait to meet you," she said, grabbing Allison’s hand and pulling her closer.

As they approached, Kie's friends — John B, JJ, Pope, and Jordan — were laughing and holding beer cups. Their attention shifted to Allison as Kie introduced her. "Hey, guys, this is my sister, Allison."

Allison smiled warmly, shaking hands with each of them. "Hi, nice to meet you." She couldn't help but notice Jordan. His quiet, laid-back energy drew her in, and there was an undeniable attraction between them.

Jordan, too, seemed captivated. He kept his gaze on her a little longer than the others. When their eyes met, he poured her a cup of beer with a small smile. They exchanged glances that were more than polite—a silent understanding that neither of them needed to voice.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the music. "Allison, is that you?"

Allison turned around and her heart swelled as she spotted her childhood friend, Jessica. "Jess!" she exclaimed, running over to hug her. "I can't believe you're here!"

Jessica’s face lit up. "I can’t believe you’re here! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Allison laughed, soaking in the reunion. "Looks like it worked."

They spent the next hour catching up, dancing, and laughing. Jessica filled her in on the local gossip, while Allison updated her on her life away from the island. The beers kept flowing, and soon enough, Allison was pleasantly tipsy, the weight of the day lifting as the night unfolded.

As the night wore on, Allison decided to find Kie and her friends again. She made her way back to where they had been earlier, but only Jordan remained, sitting alone with his beer.

"Hey, where's Kie?" Allison asked as she approached, her curiosity piqued.

Jordan shrugged casually, his easy smile making her heart race a little. "Not sure. She’s probably off somewhere with JJ, John B, and Pope."

"Mind if I join you?" Allison asked, feeling the pull between them grow stronger.

Jordan nodded, shifting slightly to make room for her beside him. "Of course not." His voice was soft, the kind that could easily put someone at ease.

The atmosphere around them felt intimate, despite the loud music and crowd. The connection was undeniable. As they sat together, their conversation flowed easily, with Allison teasing him playfully and Jordan responding with a mix of humor and charm. When Jordan noticed her empty cup, he offered to refill it.

"One more cup and that’s it for tonight," Allison said with a grin, grabbing his hand as he stood up. "But only if you drink too."

Jordan smiled down at her, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Okay, one more cup for me too."

"Good," Allison teased. "I don’t like to drink alone."

He handed her a fresh cup, and they clinked their drinks together. "Well, here’s to new friends and being back," she toasted.

"I feel like it’s going to be a great summer," Jordan said, raising his cup to meet hers.

"Now that I’m back, of course it will be." Allison winked, playfully bumping her shoulder against his.

Jordan laughed, clearly enjoying her confidence. "Confident, are we?"

"Always," Allison smirked, taking another sip of her drink.

"As you should be." Jordan leaned closer, his tone a little more serious now.

Allison felt a spark of attraction flare between them. She edged even closer, her breath mingling with his. "So, do you like confident women?" she asked, her voice low and teasing.

"Who doesn’t?" Jordan replied, his gaze locked on hers.

"Some guys don’t," Allison teased. "That’s why I’m asking."

Jordan’s smile deepened. "I like confident women, but I also like making women feel confident."

Allison raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Now that’s a good answer," she said, her attraction to him growing by the second.

The firelight danced in his eyes, and the pull between them intensified. Allison bit her lower lip, feeling herself lean closer.

"But," she said with a mischievous grin, "I hope you don’t have a crush on my sister."

Jordan blinked, surprised, then laughed. "What?"

"You know, four guys, one girl," Allison teased. "It’s hard not to start liking someone."

Jordan shook his head, his laugh rumbling softly. "No, I don’t have a crush on her. But I can’t say the same for the others."

Allison rolled her eyes playfully. "I don’t care about the others. You’re the cutest."

Jordan smirked, his gaze darkening slightly. "Oh yeah?"

Without hesitation, Allison stood up, taking his hand and pulling him with her. "How about we move this somewhere else?"

Jordan allowed her to lead him away, curiosity and excitement playing on his features. They wandered to where she had parked her car. Allison hopped up on the hood, pulling him closer as she locked her legs around him. Their lips met in a heated kiss, her tongue softly licking at his bottom lip.

Jordan’s hands slid over her thighs, gripping her skin and pulling her dress up higher as their kiss deepened. Allison’s heart raced as she guided his hand to her inner thigh, just grazing the edge of her panties. She moaned softly, the heat between them intensifying.

But just as the moment built to a peak, Jordan pulled away, glancing around nervously. "Someone will see us."

Allison’s brow furrowed in confusion. "So?" she asked, her voice breathless. "You’ve never had fun in public?"

Jordan chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair. "We could move into the car."

"Hmm, maybe later," Allison teased, her voice filled with desire. "I want you to touch me here, now."

Jordan’s gaze darkened, and he let out a soft laugh. "Okay, okay, just be quiet if you can."

Allison grinned widely, leaning back against the hood. "Yes, sir," she whispered, pulling him closer again. Her body responded to his touch, her skin warming under his fingers as they slipped beneath her panties.

But the sound of chanting and the word "fight" suddenly pierced the air, cutting through the intimate moment. Jordan paused, his head turning toward the noise. They both looked toward the water, hearing the crowd chanting the names "Topper" and "John B.”

Curiosity and concern replaced the passion as they rushed toward the crowd. Just as they reached the clearing, Allison’s breath caught in her throat. JJ had a gun pressed against Topper’s head, his face a mask of fury.

"You move, broski," JJ warned, pressing the gun harder into Topper's temple.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, some starting to back away, fear creeping into the air. A few stayed, holding their breath to see what would happen.

A girl Allison didn’t recognize stepped forward. "Put the gun down, JJ," she pleaded.

JJ hesitated, then slowly lowered the gun, but the tension didn’t dissipate. He lifted the weapon toward the sky, firing two deafening shots into the air.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" JJ shouted, his voice ringing out above the chaos. "Get the hell off our side of the island!"

The sound of gunfire sent people running, scattering in every direction. Allison stood frozen, her grip tightening on Jordan’s arm as the shots echoed in her ears. Her heart raced in her chest as she watched Kie and Pope rush toward JJ.

"Are you crazy?" Pope yelled, pushing JJ backward.

Allison stood frozen, shocked by the violence and chaos. This wasn’t the carefree summer she had imagined. The summer that began with nostalgia and excitement was quickly turning into something much darker and more dangerous.

A/N: Just letting you guys know that Rafe will show up in the third chapter.

[tallulah-caseys-misadventures]

Peppermint Mocha and Charlotte Brontë

646 words, oneshot, read below cut

It was a cold, foggy day as I made my way to the café on high street, cold enough that I'd pulled my legwarmers out of my suitcase where I'd pre-packed them for school next week. I'd gotten the matching bolero too, though it was more like a pair of arm warmers that were attached across your back, and with my thumbs through the thumb-holes its sleeves peeked out from underneath my jumper. I think it made me look a little more put-together than just having the legwarmers on their own.

The café was doing a special on their festive drinks, probably to try and get rid of leftover stock, so I got myself a peppermint mocha. I settled in to the corner furthest from the door with my drink and my croissant, and cracked open my copy of The Life of Charlotte Brontë. It wasn't the most exciting read, but it was recommended for the course, so I gave it my best shot.

…If this woman's description of the Brontë sisters' hometown is accurate, no wonder they were like that. Maybe Heckmondwhite was cold, and not as cosmopolitan as advertised, but at least it had colour. When it wasn’t foggy, anyway.

The bell above the door chimed and I looked up on instinct as the local goth couple walked in. Aoife, the redhead, runs her father's music store when she wasn't off at college, and I think her girlfriend Roisin works at the animal shelter a town over. I didn't want to be caught staring, so I went back to reading about how sad and grey the landscape surrounding Haworth was.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on Aoife and Roisin, it just sort of accidentally happened when I heard them say Liverpool and College in the same sentence. There can’t be that many colleges in Liverpool, can there? Especially if I heard correctly and they’re doing music, you wouldn’t have a performing arts college and then a separate music college in the same city, I think. Not unless it was a really big city. What if they know Alex? Would it be weird if I went up and asked them what college is like as an adult? If I befriend them and he knows them, I can be his cool college friends’ friend from back home instead of just his little sister’s mate.

Okay, Tallulah, it’s time to display some Northern Grit and ask them, very casually, about life as a higher-ed arts student.

“Um, hi, I couldn’t help but hear that you two are doing a music course in Liverpool?” I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. “Yeah, why? Are you thinking of signing up once you’ve done your A-levels?” replied Roisin. “Maybe, but I want to know a little more about what it’s like first,” I said, “I’ve been going to a performing arts school in Yorkshire and we do some classes on music there,” “We can’t speak for the more theatrical courses, but the music course has been really engaging and I’ve learned a lot about how music is produced, not just performed,” said Roisin, “Aoife grew up around music though, so she had a bit of a head start,” “Not as much as you’d think, I can play almost anything you hand me but figuring out the best way to record is a whole different beast,” said Aoife, before launching in to a detailed explanation of how mixing desks worked. I nodded along like I understood, even though the closest I’d gotten to learning about how music was recorded was a quick session with Bob that got derailed by some disaster or other. Maybe I’ll try to learn more next term. I asked Aoife to write down some things for me to look up before I went back to my own table and packed up to leave.

A/N:

I wrote all 600+ words of this last night, which is quite the change of pace from my usual three-sentences-if-I'm-lucky writing habits, so I thought I would post it before I had too many second thoughts. It was an exercise in prompted writing, you can find the journalling game I played for inspiration here - note that you'll need a deck of cards to pull for the prompts, or you can use this generator I just put together for it. I might add more to this at a later date and post it to AO3, but I can't guarantee that so I'm posting what I have now.

[imthefailedartist]

Just had the longest. Scariest. Darkest hannibal themed dream nightmare.

Hannibal and Will worked at a museum. No one knew who Hannibal was, not even Will. But they do still have that weird predator/prey relationship and are they about to kiss energy.

Hannibal is the biggest unknown killer in their world. He kills people and preserves them in glass boxes 3' x 1.5'. It's dream science they are tight packed but not cut or bloody they have empty space. Some floral and greenery. They look frozen in time, but not, in their little scene. One of the victims was Aubrey Plaza, but not. If you've ever watched Hannibal, the boxes induce that horribly beautiful feeling you get when you see the crimes on that show (especially the mushroom garden, beehives, and the eye) think like closed living terrariums. Or Shakespearean faerie nudes. A Midsummers night dream(I've never seen or read it). Think like you searched greek roman mythology on pinterest and the pictures that would show up.

He killed Will and a woman puts him in a box hugging his face buried in her chest. I think Will was planning to leave the museum, in turn leaving Hannibal and he couldn't have that.

The scary part is 4, including Will, of Hannibals Boxes are on display in the museum. He gives tours on them.

The dream ends with him at a late night event where he is playing several games with museum goers at once. A lady is rude to him and a kid, so she goes on the list. One of the guys he's playing against is a sore loser. Hannibal does a rally of all the games he's playing and comes up behind the guy and whisks him away, no one notices. Somehow, the woman becomes the last person in the museum, in the dark a black cloak clad Hannibal runs out and snatches her up her screams are the last thing I hear, and then I wake up.

[lovelyballetandmore]

Skyler Maxey-Wert | Semperoper Ballett

[klbwriting]

Not Romeo, Not Juliet

Chapter 10: Never Did Run Smooth

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: YN comes to see Jason, he tells her the truth

The course of true love never did run smooth

— A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM, ACT 1 SCENE 1

“What are you doing here?” Jackson demanded as he approached YN. She stood up from the bench, fists clenching as the three seniors surrounded her. Jason walked up quietly, listening to the conversation.

“I’m here to see someone,” she said. She noticed Jason but kept her attention on the others, her fists relaxing. She had no reason to fear Jason and she knew that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

“Who are you seeing?” Matt asked. Chelsea took a step closer to her, making YN roll her eyes.

“None of your business,” she said. “Now please, can I just wait in peace?” Chelsea glared.

“Watch your tone here bitch, you’re not in Gotham anymore,” she said.

“Clearly, I’m in Bludhaven home of mediocre John Hughes movie,” YN said. Chelsea looked confused. “Lord, just leave me alone…” Chelsea shoved her hard enough to have her sit back on the bench. Her hand moved to slap YN, but Jason caught her arm, sliding himself between the seniors and YN, who stood up behind him.

“Hands off,” Jason said. He reached back, taking YN’s hand. Once he saw no one moving back towards her he looked over. “You want to go somewhere else?” She nodded. Chelsea glared.

“Is this the girlfriend Jason?” she asked, saying girlfriend like it had a nasty taste. He held up YN’s hand. “Gross, traitor.” Jason sighed.

“It's high school theater Chelsea, not tsarist Russia,” YN said. “In another year no one here will care that you ever went to this school or did a shitty job playing Ophelia.” The seniors looked scandalized as Jason gently YN and they started walking towards the outdoor lunch area.

“She looked like her head might explode,” Jason said with a laugh. He looked down at YN, seeing a tight smile on her face. “My brother blocked your number.”

“I figured something like that, didn’t think you were the type to just disappear,” she said. He set down his bag on a bench by small rose garden that surrounded the lunch tables. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure why he hates me, but I’m sorry about it. I mean I didn’t ask to be born poor…”

“Its not because you’re poor,” Jason said softly. He didn’t know how to tell her about her father. How do you break that kind of news to someone? ‘O ya, your dad is a crime lord and my brother things you’ll become one to, so I’m not allowed to date you because my dad once had a hard on for Catwoman…o did I mention he was Batman?’ Ya, that would go over well.

“Then why doesn’t he want us to see each other?” she asked. He looked down, not sure what to say. “Please tell me, I miss you, you honestly are my best friend Jason and I thought, well, even if that’s all we are I just want my friend back.” The look in her eyes and the break in her voice pushed him over the edge.

“He found out who your father is,” Jason said. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open, that was clearly not the answer she was expecting. Jason slid an arm around the back of the bench, and she automatically leaned towards him, staring at him. He wished he could look into her eyes forever. “Your father is Sal Maroni, the crime lord, Dick used his connections to find out about that and…” he really didn’t know how to continue.

“Tell me,” she said, voice barely audible. She had tears threatening to spill over now and she had started gripping his hand hard, needing to ground herself into the moment.

“According to Dick’s sources Sal thinks you might be his best bet on a successor to his business. I guess he’s the one paying for your school and your apartment, and when you graduate, he’s going to offer to pay for your mother’s treatment in exchange for you joining his ‘family’” he said. He winced a little at how hard she was squeezing his hand. The tears that had been forming were now spilling from her eyes. “Dick seems to think…”

“That I’ll go become some underworld crime boss to try and save my mom’s life?’ she asked, voice now full of barely contained rage. Jason nodded. “What do you think?”

“I think you would never do anything like that, I think that you’re a good person and you love your mom, but you would never run off to become some kind of gang leader,” he said. YN nodded.

“You would be right; I love my mom. Which is why I would rather stab Maroni in the testicles than join him. How dare that fucking asshole decide that my mom’s life is only worth something if he can use it to get something out of me. How fucking dare he think that I would ever…” she was fuming, standing now and pacing the grass. Jason stood also, watching. “And your brother…how did he find out about this?”

“He’s Dick I honestly don’t know how he finds out anything…”

“He’s a dick alright, judging me by my parent’s. If I did that with you, I’d think you were just some drunk drug addict, or some playboy depending on which parents I wanted to go with, but no, I don’t look at you and think like that, I just think I love you…” she rambled before biting her lip and looking down. Jason felt his heart stop.

“You love…me?” he asked, words almost failing him. How could she possibly love him? How did anyone love him? Jason had never been good with self-esteem, not when he was a little kid who wasn’t worth enough to his mother to get clean, when he lived with Bruce and never seemed to live up to the standard that Dick set, and not with Dick where he couldn’t seem to do anything right, how could he ever be worthy of love? YN looked at him like he was insane.

“Of course, I love you,” she said as if it were fact, a small smile on her face. When he was quiet a moment too long her face began to change, her smile fell, and she looked worried. Jason wanted her to smile again but his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t seem to find words, so he stepped towards her, gently taking her face in his hands and he kissed her. She answered eagerly, hands finding purchase on his chest and Jason suddenly felt at peace. He’d never felt this way before, even when he died he could only remember chaos, but this, her lips on his, hands gripping his uniform shirt, his hands feeling the warmth of her skin, this was peace, this was heaven, this was what being alive was about. When they parted he wanted to immediately kiss her again, feel that peace and that happiness. He took a deep breath, leaning his forehead to hers.

“I love you YN,” he whispered. He hugged her close, just holding her for a while. “I’m going to get a phone on the way home, one my brother won’t know about, I’m sorry that I didn’t get one sooner.” She just nodded into his chest, head sitting right over his heart. “Let me take you home.” She nodded, taking his hand as they walked towards where he parked his bike.

Jason woke up, groaning as he looked at the phone Dick had bought him. It was only 4AM, why did he have so many messages? He opened them, frowning several of the other theater kids were asking about him and YN and what was up with her dad. His heart dropped as he clicked the link one of them sent. It opened to a Gotham news article, a video playing that clearly showed him and YN talking on the bench. It was their whole conversation and the kiss, the article talking at length about him being the missing son of Bruce Wayne and YN being the illegimate daughter of Sal Maroni. Jason felt his world spinning. Not only was Bruce going to definitely know he was alive now but everyone would know about YN, including several people who would very much so like a conversation with her. He reached under his mattress for the burner phone he had bought, finding several missed calls from YN. He called back.

“Jason?” he heard, her words slurred.

“YN? I’m coming right now,” he said, already up and getting dressed.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt my mom…” she said, clearly still sobbing.

“No one is going to hurt her or you, I’m coming to get you, I don’t care what Dick says I will bring you both here and we will figure something out,” he said, getting on his bike. “Give me five minutes, I’ll be there.” He hung up and took off. The streets of Gotham were nearly empty this early in the morning and it did only take him five minutes to pull up to her apartment. He ran up the stairs two at a time, but froze when he saw the door standing open, hanging by one hinge. He stepped inside the apartment where her mother was lying on the floor, panting.

“Are you hurt?” Jason asked, kneeling by her, helping her to stand slowly. She shook her head.

“Someone took her,” she said. Jason nodded, swallowing hard. He needed to stay calm. He got her mother back to bed, calling the emergency nurse they had to come see to her. Then he started searching. The living room looked like there had been a struggle, furniture out of place, the coffee table in pieces, her phone smashed on the floor. Then he saw the note lying nicely on the kitchen table. He walked over, careful not to touch it. He felt a surge of rage go through him.

Maroni, she’s at dock 15, bring the evidence and 50k, Falcone

[portgasmalia]

taking what's mine, rafe cameron second part to 'daddy's favourite' pairing: rafe cameron x female reader summary: after leaving him in the library without satisfaction, rafe takes revenge at the midsummers, but goes further than wanted. malia's notes: please, i can't with myself. currently writing so many parts for this one drabble i did because it got so many notes. send me to hell for having rafe 24/7 in my head... even during sex? lol I'm so proud of it, and I'm definitely making this a damn series, cause I'm obsessed lol.

azure material wrapped your body in an extra layer of protection. yet, the long slit on the left side of the bottom long gown ended in the middle of your thighs. revealing enough skin to gain the attention of a suited company who wouldn’t ruin the reputation of your family. after the cameron’s strutted in, heads held high and waving from left to right, you and your parents walked into the venue. a little midsummers ritual since the two most influential man had to be praised like gods.

eyes directed at the choice of outfits, the satin material of your mothers dress and rose’s lady liberty inspired head piece. people whispered to each-other, their grimaces hidden behind the glasses and the truthful opinions drowned by the alcoholic liquid. “you look beautiful, like fucking beautiful.” rafe appeared beside you, hands deeply in the pockets of his suit trousers. instead of feeling grateful for the loving compliment, you snorted.

receiving such nice words from rafe had a double meaning. While most girls with gosh about the appearance of the blonde, and almost backed him to drag them away to the bathroom, you had a better self control than the kooks around. the gazes of multiple, curious people already lingered on the two of you. being part of figure eight meant to either work off the ass to bring home a steady income or laying around in the sun, occupying themselves with talking trash and spreading rumors.

turning the head to face the male who didn’t move a step, your eyes raked over the well-dressed figure. engulfed in a certain light shade of baby blue, the fabric mirrored the cloudless sky on a sunny day. sadly for you, the color matched the ring around his pupils perfectly. simply said, rafe cameron looked extremely attractive in the suit, which rose probably picked out for him after thousands of protests.

bottom lip caught in the tight grasp of your teeth, you could not stop your eyes from taking him in. instead of releasing a sly comment about you being obsessed with him, rafe chuckled and took a step back to allow you a better, overall sight of his appearance. “shit, you really went all out for tonight.” it was a compliment wrapped in amusement that escaped your mouth.

for a moment, you forgot about the possessiveness rafe has shown in the past weeks. after the multiple meeting in the library, and the sharing of loving or rough touches, he almost called you, his. but it was far from what you wanted to be. nothing about the cameron’s seemed right, but you could not figure out the wrongs yet. still, after declining his offer of becoming his girlfriend, he started to up his game in trying to seduce you.

the ideas popped up in his head randomly, and tonight, after seeing how tightly the fabric of your dress wrapped around your curves, he would take it a step further. he had to after listening to the comments of the boys around him. filthy words about your body, your status and their fantasies while nobody knew that half of their dreams were already fulfilled by rafe.

while he disappeared when topper and kelce shouted his name repeatedly, you found your way towards the bar and ordered a strong drink. there was no chance that you would get through this awful event without at least a sip of alcohol. but after the third glass was drowned too quickly and the fourth already stood on the counter, a large hand appeared and grabbed the glass, you paid for.

“woah stop. i paid that, that’s mine.” you wildly gestured through the air with one hand, not glancing around the see the thief. the effort of turning quickly, and the sudden spinning, would cause dizziness. you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the residents of figure eight.

a heavy-breathing chest pressed against your back, tightly and not leaving any space between. the hand on the counter retreated, lifting the glass to the dry lips and pouring a sip into the mouth to taste the liquid. “mhm.” a low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, the vibrations traveling straight down your spine.

the warm breath of the male fanned over your exposed neck as he lowered his head. “wouldn’t have taken you for a bourbon woman.” the voice got raspier through the amount of alcohol he drank throughout the evening, yet, it was the most familiar melody you’ve ever heard.

“surprises everywhere, rafe.” you leaned your head back, your loose curls scattering across the pale blue fabric of his suit jacket. this small contact between the two of you was enough to cause a drama if your father would see the interaction. fortunately, he was deeply in a conversation with ward cameron. probably, another business plan or attempting to create a bond between the influential families. hell, the connection already existed before they even found a solution for both their sakes.

“you know, it’s pretty unfair.” rafe muttered against your skin, his chewed-up lips pressing soft but quick kisses around your neck. little moments of affection, but still his teasing manners. “what do you mean?” you furrowed the brows, confusion twisting your gentle features.

“i’ve been standing over there, the entire time. having a good up-and-down talk with my mates when my eyes find you, again. standing at the bar, tapping your heel against the tiles, stretching and moving from left to right.” his words were barely a whispered confession as you felt the gentle touch of his fingers graze down your rips towards your waist.

“and?” the confusion clouded your mind, his explanations of unfairness made no sense to you. letting his hand wander, you wanted to prevent being seen by your father. but escaping rafe’s skilled fingers and precise touches happened to be more difficult. “you moved to the left, and stretched out your leg. the little slit on your lovely dress slipped slightly to the side and revealed those beautiful scarlet red, lace panties underneath.”

pupils grew as he continued to confess what he was able to witness from the other side of the room. as observant as he was, it gave him a clear advantage in most situations. mainly because no one else seemed to notice how much she exposed of her body without realizing it. attempting to pull down the fabric further and cover more of your thigh, rafe acted quicker and swatted your hand away. “don’t think about it, babygirl.”

the thin fabric between his rough fingertips, he hiked the dress further up until a little bit of cherry red lace was seen. “stop, what the hell?” you wiggled yourself out of his comforting hug, and immediately pulled the material down again. “we’re in fucking public, rafe. if my father sees us..”

“let him.” rafe shrugged, taking a step back and letting his hands disappear in the pockets of his suit pants again. “i don’t fucking care anymore.”

“god damn it, rafe. stop being foolish.” you snapped, snatching the bourbon glass out of his hand and stomping towards the house. most guests gathered in the gardens, enjoying heywards food and the last warmth of the sun before the midnight blue hid it.

pushing past the groups of people, you felt the need to sulk in loneliness for a moment. it wasn’t easy to deny rafe a love he desired so badly. after all, he needed one call to pick you up, spend time with you, share a midnight conversation or use his fingers to fuck out your brain. a simple thank you wasn’t enough for what he has done, but you didn’t trust him enough to engulf in a relationship.

too many lies. too much coke. enough problems.

your feet carried you to the dressing rooms down the corridor where the jackets of the guests were stuffed away in wardrobes. running the palm softly across your face, you felt the alcohol in your blood. leaning against the wall beside you, shivers spread across the exposed skin of your shoulder blades. the coldness of the stones a complete difference from the warmth of your figure.

“oh dear, you should take a seat.” rafe’s voice echoed through the empty corridor, ringing in your ears. “are you following me? really?”

“just looking after what’s mine. can’t have any of the other lads touch you with their dirty fingers.” rafe shrugged again, simply stating the thoughts on his mind. once, you were out of sight, the blonde panicked and feared for your safety. not every young adult kook had a plan of being nice, and rafe knew it exactly. „i’m not yours.“

he chuckled, a deep and dark sound erupting from his chest. „that’s where you’re wrong babygirl. you’re mine, and mine only.“ strolling towards you, rafe found his spot in front of your slightly drunk figure, taking in the mesmerizing picture. he couldn’t count how many parties of his you visited, and how many times you declined the alcohol after having one drink. you never accepted substances, you‘ve always somehow been the good girl.

yet, you were about to get shit-faced, while the kooks around, laughed, and danced. rafe placed his hand above your head, mirroring the position from the library a week ago. it’s been a long seven days, without his touch or the indescribable compliments. while you waited for him and the revenge plans he plotted, he never came around until today.

leaning in closer, his warm breath fanned across the top of your nose. disparate kinds of whiskey lingered in the air, he probably had a couple of glasses with topper and kelce. at least the little white powder didn't stuck to the outsides of his nostrils like couple of times before, when he quickly wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. "so," he muttered, dipping his head lower to receive access to your collarbones and side of the throat. featherlight kisses blown against your smooth skin, the effects of his small, genuine gestures already created shivers along your spine. "i'm claiming what's mine."

hands traveled across her figure, carefully bunching up the expensive dress around her waist. he would hate to destroy the material that clung perfectly to your body, hugging your curves tightly. "rafe, what are you doing.." you questioned his actions, the sudden change in kisses and how his teeth dug into your soft flesh underneath.

"told you, claiming what's mine." fleshy fingers pushed the lacey fabric of your panties aside, the rough tips stroking carefully through the lips of your pussy. wetness pooled between your thighs, and rafe greeted the warmth with a smug smirk. "are you insane? anybody could walk in!" you protested, trying to wiggle out of his grip once more but this time, he used much more of his strength to keep you in place. this time, you would not run away from him and his intentions.

"ditching me in the middle of the midsummers? that's one thing. but leaving me with a fucking boner in the library, having to take care of myself after i pushed those beautiful, little whimpers out of you? that's another and I'm taking my reward for good work." without another second of hesitation, two fingers pressed against your entrance. slowly pushing inside, and stretching your walls in preparation. a satisfied moan slipped out of your mouth, followed by a deep groan from rafe.

the sounds you made, whimpers and moans, always made him mad crazy for you. even more, than he has been before. "rafe, stop. if my dad sees -"

"i don't give a fuck about what your dad sees, or what he thinks. you understand that, baby girl? if i have to, i'm going to show him who you truly belong to." the words were punctuated with the thrusts of his long fingers, pushed in deeply and curling to reach the little spot, he knew you loved. your lips were sealed shut, pressed together in a thin line and yet, the moans slipped through like your mouth was widely open. "looks like you've waited for me the entire night."

as quick as his fingers disappeared inside of your pussy and spread your wetness over your clit and lips, they were gone. swirled around, the side of the face pressed against the wall and the dress still bunched around the waist, you couldn't see entirely what he was doing. overstepping the boundaries you set or just wanting to pleasure you in a completely new position because the alcohol twisted his mind.

the scarlet red panties further pulled to the side, the string rested on your left ass cheek. the tip of his tongue darted out, licking over his chewed-up bottom lip at the sight. delicious in any kind of way. awaiting patiently his fingers to be pushed deep inside your pulsating walls again, the rustling of a belt being opened, and hitting the tiles on the floor caused a feeling of fear. “rafe, what do you think your doing?” you stammered together nervously, trying to push yourself off the wall to examine what kind of madness he intended to do. but rafe beat you to it. his weight pressed tightly against you, squeezing your body between the warmth radiating of his tall figure and the shuddering cold of the wall.

your question dissolved when his hard dick pressed against your exposed ass. the bead of pre cum smeared across your smooth skin when he leaned down once more. face nuzzled in your neck and the wild mess of hair, he chuckled. a deep sound, almost dark and filled with pure evilness. “oh my ducking god. rafe, stop it!” you fought against his grip, wiggling your body from left to right. an attempt to escape his plans, but it didn’t work at all.

“keep pressing your fucking ass against my dick. it will only convince me more that i should take what’s mine.” he muttered into the mess off your hair. a hand wandered down your body, across the curve of your back until rafe reached his destination. beads of pre cum spread across your ass, the small reminders glistened in the dim yellow light. a sight, he was utterly pleased about.

“rafe, no. please.” you whined, pleaded with him to stop the madness. everything you instructed him not to do, was about to be broken. a low growl rolled off the tongue when his long fingers wrapped around his painfully hard shaft. crouching down a little as he was towering above you the entire time, you felt his tip graze over your pussy, covering himself in the wetness pooled between your thighs. “just taking what’s mine. as i should have done long ago.”

you heard the chuckle, the devilish sound coming from rafe’s mouth as he pushed the tip in. manicured nails scratched at the wallpaper, your eyelids fluttered close at the sudden sensation. trapped in a haze, between pain and deep pleasure, a strangled moan escaped your mouth. rafe’s narrowed eyes watched how his shaft slowly disappeared in your pussy, welcomed by the warmth and the strong pulsating of your stretched out walls. a feeling, a situation, he thought about in any possible scenario. made out scenes, came up with ideas but the one right now, it was pure spontaneity.

“see, princess. your body ached for me.” his hand wandered across your ass, rough fingertips caressing over the smooth skin before finding a rest at your waist. in this moment, the very gentleness he treated you with vanished under the hooded gaze. your walls clenched around him, needing and wanting more as your body betrayed your mind. “don’t worry baby. i’ll fuck you good.”

underarm laid out across your ass, the left hand on the right waist, rafe slowly withdraw his hips. the reddened tip was the last part of him that stayed in your pussy, until he decided to thrust into you again. rough and deep, from the very first second. “holy shit, you’re so fucking tight, babe. am i your first?” rafe got lost in the feeling. your walls gripping him tightly, screaming for more, and the pleasure-twisted expression on your face. like his addiction started growing further.

teeth dragged along the smooth column of your neck, calloused palms pressed into the curves of your waist. “yes.” you forced yourself to not decline the question that lingered in the air. for any possible person, the answer seemed like a genuine statement, the truth unfolding while roughly examining half of your face. but rafe’s mind worked in another pace, and around the usual. he felt the hammering jolts of your pulse, the intensity of your thudding heart increase and the way, your walls attempted to keep him deeply inside.

“holy shit, rafe.” his name slipped out of your dried mouth like a perfectly sung melody, decorated with a little crack in the end. intrigued by the thought of being seen by a possibly influential kook, his harsh thrusts complimented the moments of an almost-bliss. the chance of being close was denied multiple times by you. “say my name. i wanna hear you scream it, princess.” rafe’s voice a rough mutter, coaxing out the words out of his dried mouth as he particularly focused on how perfectly he fit into your drenched pussy. it was close to a heaven-like moment, just like he predicated to his mates earlier.

the two males who stood at the staircase, waving away the people who tried to trespass while rafe busied himself with your body. a statement he made to topper and kelce before leaving abruptly to hunt after you. tonight, your games were certainly over. forcing you into the first time wouldn’t be a very gentle movement, but you would come around for more, beg and plead to feel rafe inside of you again. the exact days he aimed for.

the thrusts became relentless quickly, after testing the waters and your reactions, rafe certainly dropped the act of gentle and soft. calloused pads dug into the azure material, leaving marks through the thin fabric around your hip bones. the palm of your delicate hands smashed against the wall, frustrated about the situation and close to an orgasm washing over you. hidden in a bliss-filled haze, you still attempted to free yourself before being forced to carry rafe inside of you for the rest of the night.

but in every single step, you decided to take, the determined kook beat you to it. pushing off the wall, ended up in your back painfully arched, and your ass further in his direction. the large palm of his placed over the back of your hand, holding you against the wall and leaving no way to escape. "princess, enjoy it as long as it lasts. you will crave me after."

roughly, muttered promises, he had experience with. times, way before your father decided to move to the island, and create another successful business. they begged him, and the image of you, on your knees for him, pleading for release or at least a touch, it made rafe feral. possessive. greedy for more. "come on, princess. let yourself go a little."

the hand on your waist wandered over your back, and around your left hip to reach between your legs. wetness spread across your pussy, flooding down the insides of your thighs. pleased by what his rough tips felt, rafe chuckled. "so fucking hot." emphasizing his words with the hard press of his pads against your bundle of nerves, a loud gasp mixed with a needy moan escaped your mouth. a sound, you could not prevent any longer as your body completely betrayed your mind.

"good girl." he growled, starting to rub irregular circles over your clit while the pace and strength of the pounding stayed rough. by the way, his breaths became hasty, and with the almost inaudible groans that spilled out, he showed how close he was to painting your walls. "come on, princess. cum for me, squeeze my dick."

as the times before, words worked like a deadly spell on you. the unwanted tingling spread, his tip brushing against the soft spot regularly, and the moans were accompanied by filthy whimpers. you were embarrassed, completely disgraced by what was happening but the feeling was intensely good. walls clenched tightly around him, your orgasm washed over you before gaining a clear thought. rafe and his experience the only thing on your mind left.

"shit, rafe," escaped your mouth, nails scratched on the wallpaper. you spasmed from the intensity of the orgasm, head falling forward as his name was spoken like little, thankful prayers. the exhaustion and the sore feeling settled in rather quickly afterward, the aftermath of his roughness.

squeezed tightly by your pulsating walls, the way, your sweet voice praised him and repeated his name, triggered his orgasm. one, two, deep thrusts were enough, pushing his hips against your ass, the fingers which stroke over your pussy, pressed against the little bundle of nerves again. harshly but not strong enough to hurt you, as he painted your insides with white, hot spurts.

face placed in between your shoulder blades, rafe wanted to stay forever in this place. cuddled up with your body, feeling the warmth radiate from your figure after such an intensive experience. yet, he knew, he could not as the midsummers were still in full swing downstairs. slowly leaning back, he pulled out, and you winced at the loss of contact.

lacey pants hooked underneath one of his fleshy digits, he placed them back between your cheeks without cleaning the mess he made. "walking around the entire night, while I'm dripping down your legs." the male chuckled, crouching down to pick up the baby blue suit pants and pull them back up. closing his belt to keep them in place, his hooded gaze watched how you carefully pulled the expensive fabric of the gown down again, smoothing wrinkles with the delicate palms of your head.

you turned away from the smugness that covered his face, the mischief twisted in his features, and walked towards the staircase. the mess of strands placed over your left shoulder and collarbone, hiding the reminders in a mixture of blue and purple that rafe left along the side of your throat. one glance at them, and your father would instantly find the attacker, and find a reasonable argument to have them disowned by their family. "don't be like that, princess."

the sole of the polished, brown leather shoes boomed against the floor, the sounds coming closer with each step hurried after the leaving woman. "you've had fun to, i heard that."

amusement placed aside, you did not find a second to joke about what has happened. "yeah, great fun, stomping my rules of not being fucked by you, without actually being with you." you hissed over the shoulder, glancing forward instead of backward to the man who followed like a lost puppy.

"well, we can be, if you want." rafe shrugged his shoulders, it was precisely what he wanted after the past midnight meetings. the memories made in the library, or underneath the blanket of golden stars. "i tried to trust you entirely first. what's going on behind the curtains, rafe, that sarah runs away with a pogue, and denies her inheritance and family?"

you stopped the escape from his convincing warmth and turned around once you reached the staircase. one answer, you did not like, you have the greatest way to run away. arms crossed over your chest, rafe's thumb and pointer finger outstretched across his forehead, slowly massaging the temples on each side.

"nothing. she's just being a dumb, little girl. falling in love and shit."

"that's enough of an answer. thank you, i won't be a dumb, little girl then and fall for your tricks further." ashamed by what you have done for the man in front of you, the lies you told your parents about your whereabouts, and the multiple times, you covered for him. all for nothing, or maybe not?