#I know it’s ridiculous but he means to much to me.

[poemtoken]

So much of coach’s narrative comes down to agency and his continual loss of it and I find that devastating. His struggle to be autonomous is wrapped up in his rocky relationship to his identity which is why he chose nationals over Paul despite maybe knowing in the back of his mind that making the terrifying decision could change his life for the better, and assuming he is guaranteed return. He values what he perceives to be safety over happiness because it’s all he knows, only to be wrong, and ends up regretting it in retrospect. The crash puts him in a position where despite being able bodied his entire life, he suddenly has to rely on a group of teenagers, his students whom he’s expected to care for himself and feels a responsibility to, are now the ones taking care of him, and overseeing other survival tasks that despite his practical know-how, he finds himself unable to do.

As they spend more time in the wilderness it becomes apparent to him that the team doesn’t really want nor need his help or advice anymore and feeling, too, that he might be useless, he resigns himself to inaction and fails the team he was supposed to protect and support without meaning to because his control over them is dwindling anyway. He tries to intervene both times but is met with disagreement from the collective as two of his students die preventable deaths because what does he have aside from his words, and would they listen anyway? He falls into despair imagining what his life might have looked life if he had chosen himself, if he had exercised any agency, but hypotheticals are useless. He checks out entirely as Shauna is giving birth in the other room.

He takes his life into his own hands for possibly the first time by deciding to end it and is interrupted. He realizes what witnessing an event like that would do to Misty and chooses his responsibility to her instead.

He finally makes an autonomous choice again in leaving; wanting not to hurt them but to save himself and so he stays far away. He leaves behind the only person he can trust because she has made it clear to him that she isn’t so different from the rest of them, and not for the first time, he is left completely alone. He regains his will to live but not even necessarily because that’s what he wants and more because he’s afraid, and in his head, the alternative is dying and being eaten. He is hyper aware of the way his leg is a disadvantage to him in a survival situation. So he leaves.

He scavenges and starves but makes do on his own. He adapts. He kidnaps Mari and feeds her and fixes her knee because even after the fear that prompts his departure, she’s scared and she’s hurt and she’s his to take care of. He knows that even if it means he pays for it with his life, he has to let her go. He probably figures she will talk, what other choice does she have? Upon being found, he saves Shauna and Van and Akilah, only to be captured. He knows going into the trial that it won’t be fair. He has no other options. He has no agency.

He is sentenced to death for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s placed in an animal pen, his only means of mobility withheld from him. He’s dragged to a tree to be shot by his former team and isn’t even afforded the dignity of a look in the eye as they do it. He can’t do anything about it. An eleventh hour prophetic vision spares his life, but the severing of his Achilles as the newly settled upon punishment violently strips him of what mobility he had left, and he hadn’t been afforded agency since he was off on his own. He’s left immobile and he’s in pain and he isn’t even allowed to die of his own accord despite his begging and pleading. Even if he knows it’s selfish or horrible or irrational to ask Nat to help him do it, he keeps begging because he has nothing left. Not even choice.

To be allowed to die is the one thing he wants and in granting him his final wish, She gives him back his agency. It’s not what she wants for him and she will feel that guilt for the rest of her life. She knows it will get her in trouble with the rest of the group, but it’s what he wants. That means something to her.

[freyjasrage]

Let's look at Mr K. This is high school. So many boys in high school are all about having an excuse to hit women, so Mr K's response of "why do you want men to hit women so badly?" is something that he's more than likely had to witness over and over again.

Let's look at the case of Chris Brown and Rhianna. Brown and Rhianna both say that she shoved him first. And then he went all in on destroying her face. But he tries to say it was self defence and other ppl agree with him.

What should the real lesson be here? Men and women aren't equal in strength for one thing. More often than not, men are stronger and able to over power women. Also, men are usually more violent. Can women be violent and over power as well? Yes, it just happens less often. You try and force equality in this discussion and it's ridiculous.

Really the takeaway should be don't let your self defense be an excuse to be violent. Are there other options you can take before resorting to violence? Can you walk away? Lock them out? Call other people/go to someone else to help diffuse the situation?

I actually think it would've been great to instead of solely making this an individual issue, it could've focused on what others can do. My own family has had the baby daddy standing outside causing a scene and then the neighbors blame the victim and kick them out. What if instead the neighbors told him to fuck off and kept an eye out for him? Sending a message of "you cannot bully this person they others on their side".

Women are more often emotional abusive as well. I don't know if I trust a high school teacher talking about emotional abuse when professionals themselves can barely grasp it but it could've been brought up. I think ppl also have a hard time labeling it abuse, so even just having a conversation about ppl we trust being mean to us and what it looks like and what to do about it could've been useful. It can be hard since especially teens like to tease each other, so for me personally I like to say if you tell someone to stop and they keep going, then it's crossing a line. And again what others can do about it when they notice it's a little too much.

One time in highschool our teacher said that it was never under any circumstances okay for a boy to hit a girl and I asked “not even in self defense?” and he said “no” so I pointed to the kid next to me and said “so if I just started whaling on this guy then he’d just have to take it? What the hell” and he was like “you two have had the same homeroom for three years do you not know his name” and I was like “that’s not the point right now” and Mr. K if you’re out there reading this I’m still mad about it

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe catches you watching p*rn

cw: 18+ MDNI duh, fingering, p*rn mentioned, AFAB reader, ovulation mentioned, “girl” used, lots of dirty talk, he talks u thru it

you’ve been so needy all day and rafe your stupid fucking boyfriend has been gone. you know you shouldn’t be mad really it’s not his fault he has to work and you’re ovulating. not his fault your skin has been burning up all day after he kissed you goodbye, looking as irresistible as usual and smelling so good after his shower.

you’re nearly beside yourself with neediness when the clock strikes 6 and he’s still not home. you huff and writhe on the couch, sick of the pulse between your legs being unattended. you don’t know why it’s so bad this time around, maybe because usually when you’re ovulating rafe is there to take care of you. you don’t know that he’s tracking your cycle, always knowing when you’re the neediest. but he’d forgotten to check the past few days, so caught up with work.

so there you are, in one of his shirts and only your panties, embarrassingly wet from just thinking about your boyfriend. you know your imagination won’t do it though and if you thought too much about him you’d just get angry again. you pull out your phone, idly swiping through twitter, finger hovering over your bookmarks. it would be easy to dip your fingers under the band of your panties and deal with the burning in your core. so easy that you can’t even stop yourself when a video plays on your screen and your fingertips slide past the elastic.

the video reminds you of rafe because of course why else would you watch it. it’s a guy holding his girl’s legs open, slurping obscenely and eating her out like a fiend, unrelenting even after she squirts in his face. the sounds fill the room and you huff a breath as your fingers pick up their pace, entranced by the noises and how you could almost feel rafe doing the same to you. you’re so engrossed that you don’t hear the garage door open, don’t hear your boyfriend walk up to the living room. in your defense you were playing the video loudly.

rafe almost panics at the sound, the insecure and slightly insane part of him ready to knock whoever the fuck is doing that to you out. but then he realizes it’s a video, you’re not even making a sound. he walks as quietly as he can to the source, seeing the top of your head over the couch and he watches your arm move, thrust. he shouldn’t be angry he knows it’s ridiculous to be jealous over your own hand but he is. he’s also getting hard so fast he’s nearly dizzy from how all his blood rushes south. he knows if he sees you he won’t be able to hold back so he makes his presence known.

you’re on the precipice of your orgasm when you hear someone clearing their throat and you instantly lock your phone shut. hand slipping out of your underwear as you prepare to be humiliated. he rounds the couch and plops down next to you, a smirk curling his lips as he watches your pretty eyes widen and your plush thighs close. you’re nearly shaking from arousal but you still hold back because of him.

“no by all means baby keep going.” his arm rests on the back of the couch, leaning into you. he smells just as good if not better than before, his sweat and skin mixing in with his cologne, it’s an addictive scent that you know only you find intoxicating. you’re still so wet and he’s not helping.

“rafe-“ your voice comes out small, almost a whimper. you sound so desperate he feels bad, clearly he hadn’t tended to you properly.

“or how about, you tell me about it?” his arm comes down on your side easily, pulling you onto his lap. you whine at the small friction of his pants against your clothed cunt.

“i needed you all day,” you whine at him, the feeling of your release fleeting is making your eyes sting and you pout at him. rafe’s hands slide against your skin, disregarding the shirt and kneading at your waist. the tips of his fingers graze your waistband and you’re not above begging for him to dip under.

“what were you watching baby?” you whine at his question, realizing he won’t give in until you talk.

“rafe please-“ your hips grind down, his hands keep you still, firm and bruising.

“come on you wanted to be a whore, you can answer.” he slaps your clit, not quite touching you but reminding you that your still his.

“he was eating her out, reminded me of you.” you murmur and he smiles behind you, stocky and long fingers pushing your panties to the side as his hand glided over your messy cunt.

“good girl.” you huffed at his words, trying to grind yourself against his hand. “nearly dripping onto me, you miss me that bad?” you’re so wet rafe thinks you must have been needy for hours. he’s only felt this after marathon sex and even then it’s from his mouth. he can feel your clit throbbing and your folds are puffy from inattention.

“y-yes.” you nod against him, moaning when his fingers slide into you. you’re so sensitive from being worked up all day the cold press of his ring makes you shake against him. it’s a delicious contrast to the heat you feel melting your brain. rafe’s fingers and hands are one of your favorite parts of him, they’re long and thick and somehow always know where to touch you best.

“poor baby, just needed someone to touch this drooling cunt huh? can’t go a day without my dick hmm?” you can’t respond when he starts fingering you, you think you won’t even be heard because your cunt is obscenely loud. squelches fill the room as he thrusts into you, your slick connecting his hand to your cunt like a string. he can already feel a wet patch on his pants under you and he swears under his breath at how wet you are. you’re so tight around his fingers, clenching like you don’t want them to ever leave. he curls them upwards and you shriek, grabbing his arm with both of your hands. “fucking brat, take it.” your grip does nothing to slow him down, hammering at your most sensitive spot and your brain shuts off. the sparks of pleasure fry your nerve endings and your eyes roll back into your head, rafe adds a third finger stretching you open and his thumb swirls around your clit. combined with the drag of his fingertips against your g-spot you’re crumbling within seconds. “there it is, come on baby, you’re doing so well” his gruff voice coaxes you into submission. the pressure building and building until you’re screaming and thrashing in his arms. your orgasm wrecks you and the dam breaks. you’re squirting into the air in front of you and rafe isn’t slowing down, pulling everything he can out of you. you’ve already drenched him what’s the point in holding back now?

a/n: omg heyyyy did yall miss me :> i missed u all ive been super busy and dw i am writing! this just came to me and i had to post it asap and yes im ovulating next question

[eddiesvixen]

Happy Birthday

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺.

𝘊𝘶𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳: 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘥𝘯𝘪 18+, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘷 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘣𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷 (𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱), 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘯𝘵: 3.8𝘬

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

“How much for that one?” Eddie nods at the tee hanging at the merchandise stand.

The worker looks at the tag. “Forty bucks.”

Shit. Forty bucks for a Slayer tee? To be fair, the concert was fucking amazing. And Eddie couldn’t get enough of the way you were just out there dancing. He wanted to surprise you. After all, your birthday falls just six days away, and he knows how much you waited for this show. So he hands the guy two twenty dollar bills.

“What size?”

Eddie points. “Extra large, she likes to wear them to sleep.”

The guy hands Eddie the shirt in which he quickly holds it behind his back because there’s you were, emerging from the restrooms. He could never get tired of seeing your beautiful face.

“Do not go in those restrooms.” You warn him with a small smile.

“Let me guess, some randoms hooking up?”

“Worse. Smells like the Hawkins High locker rooms.”

He cringes and dramatically gags. “Damn, and you pissed in there?”

You shove him playfully. “Shut up.”

You smile when you see something folded up in his hands. “What’s that?”

He shrugs and pulls you to walk with him back to the van. “Just something small.”

“How small?” You try to grab it but he pulled it out of reach.

“What ever happened to the element of surprise?” He shakes his head, wild curls following with the movement.

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you the same guy who opened his christmas gifts two days early last year?”

He smiles. “It was a big box! I knew it had to be something ridiculous.”

“And is this something ridiculous?” You raise a brow as he opens the passenger side door for you.

“It’s something you’ll love.” He nods, clutching his heart with a smile so sweet you can’t be angry. “Now will you get in the van? I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” You smile and tease as you get in the van.

“Oh you aren’t?” He smirks.

“Just drive nerd.”

He obeyed, getting into his van and when you look away to put your seatbelt on, he tosses the shirt into the back of the van. He drove you to a restaurant in the city. It’s fun. You can enjoy the scent of the greasy burgers and luckily it’s too late for Eddie to embarrass you by asking the waitresses to sing happy birthday.

When you sip your drink he takes chance to talk to you. “So.”

You grin. “So?”

He bites his burger so his words come out muffled and you snort. “English, Eddie.”

He chuckles and his cheeks tinge pink when you dab away the grease dripping down his chin.

“I um. I said are you excited? For your birthday.”

“I guess so?” You shrug. “Just feels like the older I get I don’t know what to do for them anymore.”

There’s a small pause before you say. “But tonight was the best.”

He smiles. “Yeah it was. You really can dance, sweetheart.”

“I can’t believe we saw Slayer though. I mean, that was fucking amazing.”

Your smile warms his heart. “Bet you’re glad I brought this then. Got some of it recorded so we can look back one day.”

He pulls the digital camera from his jeans pocket and you smile. “Almost forgot we recorded. My footage is probably shaky. Couldn’t stop laughing when you started shaking your ass to Postmortem.”

He throws his head back and laughs, you try not to stare at the porcelain skin, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Oh! So you weren’t shaking yours too?”

You smile and flip him off. “I’m entitled to.” Then you fold your arms. “And you looking at my ass, Munson?”

Shit. Way to give yourself away Eddie.

He smirks. “Kinda hard not to when that girl touched it earlier.”

It’s kinda hard to forget. The way you danced, your hips swaying and head banging. And when this other girl saw you, she started dancing with you. You were so caught up, it almost missed you when she grinded back on you. And you were having so much fun, the drink you did have encouraging you to have fun. You danced on her and with permission, she put her hands on your ass as you shook it on her.

You shrug and smile. “She liked what she saw.”

“Didn’t know you liked girls.” He sips his soda.

“Who do you think gave Robin her first kiss?”

He could’ve spit out his drink. Buckley got to kiss you before he did?!

“Shut up.” His eyes widen.

You laugh. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”

He shakes his head. “So you’re bisexual?”

“I don’t wanna label myself. But, I guess so?”

He nods.

“What?” You raise a brow.

“Nothing.” He says simply, then a smirk forms across his face. “Just can’t believe you practically twerked on a girl at a Slayer concert.”

You smile and laugh, gently kicking his boot with your own under the table. “Upset she twerked on me and not you?”

He shrugs. “Nah. It was worth the watch.”

“Perv.” You roll your eyes and smile.

The waitress brings the bill. “Will that be all?”

You both shake your heads and before you can pull your cash from your purse he gives her the cash and tip. You raise a brow.

“Thanks.” He grins as she takes the money and walks away. You usually pay the tip when you both go out.

“Really?”

He grins. “Not letting you spend a penny on your birthday.”

You smile. “Sap.”

He smirks. “You like it.”

You do. It’s one of your favorite things about Eddie. The way he can be upset about something but when he gets around you he becomes so sweet. Like at the show when the mosh got loaded, he knows you like to dance there. But when some guys got too aggressive, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back for a drink. He always looks out for you, just like you look out for him.

“Come on. I got something to help you calm down for the night.” He slides out of the booth, holding out his hand to you.

You grin and place your hand in his as you stand. “Rick give you another good stash?”

He smirks. “Something called purple palm tree delight?”

“Sounds intriguing.” You smile, wrapping your arm around him, fingers in the loop of his jeans. “Lead the way.”

“Holy shit.” You grin and take another hit of the purple palm tree delight.

“Yeah, this is definitely a keeper.” He smiles, looking at you. The way your lips look around the joint, the way they form an O shape when blowing out smoke.

You grin. “You’re staring. What’s on your mind?”

He looks over your face. Examing your features. Your nose, your lips, so plush and soft. Your eyes search his face for any emotion.

“I got you a present. Well.. another. The first one is at the trailer. You’ll have to wait to see it next week.”

You smile. “The first one? How many did you get me?” You sit the joint in the ashtray, and the ashtray into the front seats.

He grabs the shirt from where he tucked it under the seat and he hands it to you. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

You smile and take the folded up item, unraveling it to see the slayer logo on it. It’s black and it’s so soft, begging you to wear it.

“Eddie, you didn’t have to.” You look at him with a grateful and appreciative gaze.

“I did. It’s worth it.” His eyes search your face, almost a mimic to how you searched his seconds ago. “Do you like it?”

You clutch the tee to your chest and smile. “I love it, Eddie.” You hug him and press your nose to his shoulder, he wraps his arms around you tightly.

“Anything for you.” He rubs your back.

And you know he’s being truthful. Like when he took you to the homecoming dance in freshman year because your douche of a boyfriend dumped you days before it. And when he snuck into your room with medicine and snacks after a late shift at the hideout because you were sick. Eddie always swore to do anything for you. Or when he helped you move into your apartment and you freaked out about being an adult. You didn’t want to be on your own, so Eddie always makes sure you aren’t.

You kiss his shoulder, lips meeting the soft fuzz of his worn band tee. His eyes widen and his hand freezes on your back.

He speaks softly. “Did you just kiss me?”

You pull back. Did you overstep? You only intended to share a sweet moment with him, he knows it’s rare at times. You shrug. “Yeah.”

He looks over your face for a moment. His gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

“Do it again.” He murmured it so lowly you almost missed it.

You couldn’t believe he was asking you and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever tell Eddie no. You cup his face, feeling the slightest peach fuzz under your palms as your thumb strokes his cheek gently. Your noses brush almost as gently as your lips do, and you press yours to his.

You kiss him like he’s the only guy in the world, and he kisses you like he needs you to breath. His lips are warm and plus like soft pillows. You grip his shoulder and with your free hand you cup the back of his neck. He moves a tentative hand to your hip and the other rests on your jaw, his calloused thumb stroking the material of your shorts.

When you tug his hair he gasps at the action and you take it as your opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth. He’s shocked at first, his best friend just slipped her tongue into his mouth. But from the taste of your lip gloss and the scent of your perfume filling his nose he couldn’t stop you. He didn’t want to stop you.

He laps his tongue at yours and you taste the weed and something that’s simply Eddie. You think you could survive off of this taste if anything else. His hands hold your hips as he lowers you slowly until you’re laid flat against the floor of his van.

He finally breaks the kiss for air. You’re both smiling, lips slightly bruised from how passionately you kissed.

“You’re so beautiful.” He grins.

“You’re one to talk.” You cup his face away from his messy curls as they drape over you.

“Just so we’re clear, that wasn’t just a ‘thanks for the gift’ kiss was it?”

You smile and pull him down to kiss him again. “No silly. That was a take off your shirt before I grow impatient kiss.”

He smirks and teases you. “Mm, looks like you’re already there, princess.”

You smirk and start to undo your top. “I wont ask again.”

He smirks. “Well shit.”

He undoes his belt and you both remove your clothes, desperate to have a taste of each other. Shirts, jeans, shorts, socks. All littered to the corner of the van and Eddie’s in awe as he looks over your body. Soft skin and the curves of your full breasts as they sit bare. Your ass and thighs are begging for attention from black panties that confine them.

But you’re in awe too. Those black briefs he has on don’t hide much either. And the damp patch on them tells you that he yearns for your body as much as you yearn for him.

You grin. “You wear briefs now?”

He chuckles and his cheeks tinge pink. “Harrington told me they’re more comfortable. So I figured I give them a try.”

You smile. “And are they?”

He smirks and looks down, he’s begging to be freed from their hold. “Not at the moment.”

You press your toes to his chest and he smiles, his hand wrapping around your ankle as he kisses it. He kisses up higher and higher, past your calf and up your thigh.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve waited for this, for you.” He looks into your eyes when he bends lower and kisses your mound through the material of your panties.

You bite your lip. “Eddie.”

“Yeah?” He tilts his head to see your face fully.

“As much as I’ve dreamed about you going down on me, I need you to fuck me or i’m gonna lose my mind.”

He laughs and sits up, cupping his bulge through his briefs. “Shit. You can’t just say things like that. Almost blew my load.”

You laugh and sit up, gently tucking your fingers into his waistband. When you look up at him for permission he nods rapidly, dark curls bouncing around. You pulled his briefs down to his knees and his cock hits his tummy.

You laugh and he huffs, wrapping a fist around his base.

“You know, no guy wants to hear his girl laugh when he pulls his dick out.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “What? No. I’m just.. surprised. I turn you on this much from just kissing?”

He grins. “If you knew how turned on you got me all the time, you’d probably be grossed out. I mean-“

Eddie was gonna confess about how many times he’s hidden his hard on’s from you when you’d hang out in his trailer in his tees or at the lake in that skimpy garment you call a bikini but he grits his teeth at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his cock.

“Kinda heavy.” You grin and gently brush your thumb against the vein on the underside of his cock.

“Oh fuck.. sweetheart.”

“Im glad you’re turned on.” If you keep talking like that, you just might kill him. “Because I am too.”

You grab his hand and place it between your thighs, his palm pressed your clothed core. He looks at you as you lean your head back, he kisses your neck and you can’t hold back the moan that slips out.

He moans when he feels your grip become more firm around him, gently stroking his cock. What he lacks in girth he makes up for in length. You gasp as you feel his fingers dip into your panties, teasing your folds with your slick before slowly plunging his finger into your tight folds.

“Fuck, so good Eddie.”

He loves how his name sounds falling from your lips and he loves how wet you are for him. What he loves even more is how you’re stroking him. Keeping the same pace he has on you as he adds another finger, his thumb expertly finding your clit.

With your moans and your soft hands jerking him off, he knows he wont last long. He gasps and moans, hips stuttering to meet your strokes and his stomach tenses up. He uses his free hand to stop you and your eyes shoot open.

“Sorry. I just need to be inside you baby.”

You nod and bite your lip to muster the desperate moan he could’ve pulled from you when he took his hand from your panties. He pulls his briefs off fully so you do the same with your panties, lying down rested back on your elbows. He reached into the front glove compartment and when he sits back up in front of you you’re greeted with the blue squared package in his hand.

“Better safe than sorry.” He shrugs, ripping it open with his teeth.

Before he can slide it on you grab his wrist and he raises his brows.

“I’m on the pill.”

His eyes widen. “All this time?”

“Yeah. Well actually it’s not a pill, it’s a shot. Still, contraceptive so we’re safe.”

He feels a new wave of pleasure wave over him. He’s never gone raw. He looks over your body then your face. “Are you sure?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.” You rub his hip. “I want us to both enjoy this.”

He smiles and tosses the condom to fling wherever in the van. “Are you kidding me? Fuck trojan.”

You laugh and he joins in soon enough. He kisses you. When the laughter dies down he speaks softly. “Ever gone raw with… anyone else?” He hated how much that question made him feel like a loser but when you shake your head he smiles.

“I haven’t trusted anyone enough to.” You look over his face. “It’s special.”

He grins. “You’re special.”

You tease him yet again. “Sap.”

“Yeah and if you tell anyone i’ll tell them exactly what you just said.” He quips back.

You roll your eyes. “Kiss me before I change-“

He wouldn’t dare let you finish that sentence. He kisses you passionately, both hands cupping your face. You sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his curls tickle your neck and chest.

It’s intimate and steamy and so good. The way his hand drifted down your body and he took a break to kiss your chest, gently licking then sucking then kissing each nipple in that order.

He positions himself and you reach down to help him. You both moan in tandem as he slides into your wet heat. There’s a sting at the stretch but you’re so wet and so turned on that it doesn’t hurt much, in fact it adds to your pleasure and his. The way you’re gripping him like a vice.

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so tight.” His eyes are shut, trying not to blow his load like he did his first time in sophomore year.

“So big Eddie.” You feel pathetic. That’s about all the words you can get out before he slowly rolls his hips, moans falling from both of your lips and you lace your fingers in his hair as he buries his head in your neck, leaving kisses there.

The moans and pretty whimpers that fall from his lips make you clench around him. You’d be embarrassed about the squelch that comes from between your legs if he didn’t seem to be in love with it.

“Eddie.” You moan and he’s quick to respond.

Through gritted teeth he pants. “Yeah baby?”

“Faster.”

When he hears your tone he can’t think anymore. He’s not sure if he’s been thinking at all. Not since you removed your shirt. He kisses your neck one more time before he sits up and grips your hips.

“If it’s too much stop me. Don’t wanna be too rough.”

You grin. “I like rough.”

He smirks. “Why am I not surprised?”

You’d talk back at him but he’s got your hips gripped tightly as he lifts them, your ass rests on his thighs as he fucks into you. The angle allows him to hit spots you didn’t know someone could hit. Realization only hits you now that no one’s ever fucked you the way you deserved.

Behind moans and bables of pleasure, you can feel his hands exploring your body. You roll your hips with his and he tosses his head back.

“Fuck, baby. You’re gonna make me come too quick.”

You pull him down and speak softly into his ear. “Let me ride you.”

He feels like whatever he did in his past life must’ve been heroic as fuck, because you’re making him harder with every passing second.

He hugs you and helps roll you both over, making sure his cock stays nestled where it belongs. You grip his shoulders and he grips your hips so tightly you know they’re gonna have dents from his rings but you don’t care.

You share a passionate kiss, tongues dancing together in a dance of pleasure. Moaning into each other’s mouths as you roll your hips over his lap. He’s helps you move, hands gripping your hips even tighter as he fucks up into you.

You moan and kiss his neck, your tits moving against his chest and he thinks this view is actually better than whatever footage he got on that camera earlier. His girl, in his van, moaning his name.

“Fuck. Eddie, i’m so close.” You cup the back of his neck.

He knows. He’s known for the past minute. The way your pussy grips around him. claiming him all for herself. He nods and keeps his pace. Grunts and moans growing more desperate.

“Fucking milking me, sweetheart.” He gasps as he feels that familiar twitch.

A symphony of moans and whimpers fill the van as he empties himself inside you, helping you ride him as your body jerks and he feels the warmth of your release wash over his cock, dripping beneath your bodies.

You pant and lay your head onto his shoulder. He sees your body’s a bit tired and to that much he can agree. So he lays you both down, another moan coming from you both as he pulls out.

You both lie there, the smallest breeze of wind coming through the slightly cracked window. He looks over at you and smiles as he sees you pulling on the Slayer shirt.

“Told the guy you liked them bigger.”

You smirk. “My guys or my shirts?”

He laughs and sits up on his elbow as you lay back down next to him. “How’s that for a birthday present?”

You smile. “Good dinner, good show and a good orgasm? You really know how to treat a woman.”

He leans in, hand resting on your hip under the shirt. “There’s more where that came from.”

You smile and kiss him, fingers lingering on his hip as well but you feel that twitch again. You snort as you look down then back up at his face.

“You’re such a horndog.”

“Like you don’t want another taste.” He reaches down and grips himself.

“Actually I do.” You teasingly lick your lips and he swears you’re trying to kill him.

He shakes his head. “Don’t think so.”

“What?” You squint at him.

He pulls his briefs back on to simmer the strain of his cock when he lays between your legs. “You’ll get a taste of me. But you stopped me already from tasting you, and with this shirt on? Baby, i’m starving for it.”

He parts your legs and kisses up your thighs. You smile and grab his jeans from the corner above your head. You grab his little cam recorder and he smirks. “Really?”

You mimic his words from the diner. “So we can look back one day.”

He smiles. “I fucking love you.”

And those are the last words spoken for a while.

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: thank you for 200 followers 🩶

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘺 @strangergraphics

𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @pupwrites @sheneedsrocknroll92 @koshkahhh @kthomps914 @definitionwanderlust @veravee-blog @losingmygrasponreality @ironmusictrash @littlemissholy @bastardstevie

[gdinthehouseee]

Hotline: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: you're one of the lucky few who gets selected for a phone call with g-dragon himself! good thing this time it's not being recorded...

word count: 2426

tags: fluff: flirting and teasing, suggestive themes

ao3 link,, prompt written by @infinetlyforgotten - i hope i did this justice!!

Ji-yong leans back in his chair, phone in hand, scrolling through the long list of numbers submitted in response to his post. He smirks to himself, amused at the sheer volume of fans hoping for a random five-minute call. It’s been fun so far—cute, endearing, full of stammering voices and excited giggles. He enjoys making his fans happy, even if it’s just for a brief moment, especially when he had been feeling the loneliness truly getting to him. 

He dials the next number, and something shifts.

“Hello?” 

The second you answer, he forgets how to function. Your voice is warm honey, smooth and rich, flowing through his speaker like something out of a dream. His breath catches in his throat. He even momentarily forgets to speak.

“…Hello?” You repeat, ignoring the fear that it might not be him, a hint of amusement in your tone this time. “Did you pocket-dial me or—”

“No—” Ji-yong blurts out, sitting up straighter. “No, I meant to call.” He exhales a laugh, dragging a hand down his face as he tries to pull himself together. “Though, I’d say it’s already a lucky accident.”

Never mind. That was definitely him.

“Oh?” You chuckle, voice like velvet. “Smooth. You flirt like this with all your fans?”

“Only the ones with voices like yours.”

It’s meant to be a cheeky throwaway line, but the moment it leaves his mouth, he feels the warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Why did he say that? He sounds ridiculous.

But then you laugh—low, sweet, and just a little bit teasing.

“So this is what it’s like to be on the receiving end of G-Dragon’s infamous flirting,” you muse. “Gotta admit, I see the appeal.”

Ji-yong blinks, caught off guard. He’s used to flirty reactions, sure—shy giggles, overwhelmed gasps—but this? Someone actually keeping up with him, matching his energy?

It’s dangerous.

“Oh?” He tilts his head, smirking. “You mean you weren’t a fan before this?”

“Hmm… I don’t know,” you tease. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

Ji-yong chokes on air. He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he laughs. “Damn—you don’t hold back, do you?”

“Not my fault you’re so fun to mess with,” you say smoothly.

He groans dramatically, but his face is burning. He’s got the stupidest grin on his face, and he can’t even hide it. This is supposed to be just another fan call—just five minutes, a little flirting, a little teasing—but now he’s the one getting wrecked.

“I think I should be the one interviewing you,” he mutters. “How does it feel to have G-Dragon wrapped around your finger in under three minutes?”

You hum. “Pretty powerful, honestly. I might start charging for lessons.”

He actually whines. “You’re dangerous.”

“Now you’re catching on.”

Ji-yong laughs, the sound coming straight from his chest. He doesn’t even realize how much time has passed—until his phone buzzes, signaling that the five minutes are up. His stomach drops.

“Oh,” you murmur, clearly catching on. “Time’s up, huh?”

He stares at the screen. Technically, yes. He should be moving on to the next call, but for the first time tonight, he doesn’t want to. His fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. He tilts his head, biting his lip before letting out a slow exhale.

“…You know, I don’t have to hang up just yet.”

A pause. Then—

“Oh?” Your voice dips slightly, amused. “Breaking your own rules, are we?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “What can I say? You’ve got me hooked.”

“And here I thought I was just another fan,” you tease.

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, no. You’re trouble.”

“But you like it.”

“…Maybe I do.” Silence stretches for a moment, comfortable, easy. Then Ji-yong leans back, smirking to himself. “Besides,” he muses, “it’s not like anyone’s keeping track of how long I spend on each call. There were thousands of submissions. Who’s gonna know if I stick around a little longer?”

"So, tell me, G-Dragon—what exactly is it about me that’s got you risking your entire fan service event?"

He groans, dragging a hand down his face with a grin. "Don’t make me say it."

"Oh, but now I have to hear it," you tease. "If I’m making the Kwon Ji-yong bend his own rules, I should at least know why."

"You do know why," he mutters.

"Do I?"

Ji-yong bites his lip, hesitating for a split second before sighing dramatically. "Fine." He shifts in his seat, voice dropping ever so slightly. "It’s your voice."

"My voice?"

"You know what you’re doing with it." He shakes his head. "You sound like… I don’t know, like late-night secrets. Like something I’d get addicted to if I’m not careful."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Damn," you murmur. "That was kinda poetic."

He groans, laughing as he slouches down in his chair. "I know! What are you doing to me?"

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I kinda love the way you sound too?"

He stills. Heat creeps up the back of his neck, a slow, steady warmth that spreads across his skin. He should be used to compliments by now—he's heard everything from breathless confessions to outright marriage proposals—but for some reason, this? From you? It hits different.

"Yeah?" His voice comes out softer than he intended.

"Mhmm."

A smirk tugs at his lips. "And what exactly do I sound like?"

You hum, pretending to think. "Hmm… Let’s see. A little raspy, a little smooth. Definitely addictive. Like something that will linger in the back of my mind even after we hang up."

Ji-yong exhales, running a hand through his hair as he grins at the ceiling. "You are trouble."

"So you keep saying," you tease. "Yet here you are, still on the phone."

Ji-yong chuckles. "You make it sound like I have a choice."

"Don’t you?"

"Not even a little."

The silence that settles between you isn’t the kind that demands to be filled—it’s the rare kind, the effortless kind. It lingers, soft and unhurried, stretching out like the quiet between verses in a song, like the pause before a secret is shared. There’s no pressure to speak, no expectation to keep the moment alive, because somehow, it already is. And maybe that’s what startles you the most—not the teasing, not the flirting, but how easy it feels, how natural it is to simply exist in the space between words with him.

You had submitted your phone number as a shot in the dark when you were scrolling mindlessly on your socials—not expecting to be selected among the lucky few, let alone flustering him and making him want to stay on the phone with you. Not only had Ji-yong called, but somehow, you had him completely hooked—flustered, lingering, unwilling to end the conversation even though he was supposed to have moved on minutes ago. You weren’t just another quick call, another fleeting moment in a long list of fans. No, you had done something you never imagined possible—

"I’m not usually like this, you know." He finally spoke up again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Oh?"

"I mean, yeah, I flirt," he admits. "But I don’t usually—" He pauses, searching for the right words. "Get like this. All flustered and… stupidly into it."

You laugh, the sound light and teasing. "Stupidly into me, you mean?"

He groans, tipping his head back. "You really love making me suffer, don’t you?"

"A little," you admit. "But only because you’re making it so easy."

Ji-yong grins. He should be embarrassed, maybe even a little concerned about how fast you’ve gotten under his skin—but instead, he finds himself leaning into it.

"So," you muse, playful again. "How much longer do I have before you finally hang up?"

He scoffs. "Why do you sound so sure that I’m the one who’s gonna end the call?"

"Oh?" You chuckle. "You planning to wait until I hang up first?"

He smirks. "Let’s just say I’m not in a hurry to let you go."

Your voice drops into something softer, something warmer. "Good. Neither am I."

Ji-yong shifts in his seat, biting his lip as he glances at the clock. The numbers glare back at him, taunting him with the reality that this call should’ve been over minutes ago. But he doesn’t care. Not when your voice is still curling around his ears, warm and teasing, laced with something that makes his pulse tick just a little faster. He leans back, running a hand through his hair with a smirk. "You know," he murmurs, voice dipping lower, "if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like keeping me on the phone."

"Mm." You hum, thoughtful, playful. "And if I do?"

"Then I’d say you’re playing a very risky game.”

"Am I?" You chuckle, light and airy. "You’re the one who called me, Ji-yong. If anything, you walked right into it."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. First, you fluster me, then you trap me?"

"You say that like you don’t love it."

And—fuck. You’re right. He does love it. Loves the way you aren’t afraid to push back, to tease him just as much as he teases you. Loves the way your voice curls around his name like you’ve said it a hundred times before, easy and familiar. Loves that you aren’t giggling nervously or fumbling over words, but rather, you’re playing with him—matching his rhythm, keeping pace like you belong in this dance. It’s been too long since he’s felt this kind of thrill from something so simple.

"You’re trouble," he murmurs, letting the warmth seep into his tone.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it’s true."

You hum, as if considering something. "Tell me, Ji-yong," you muse, voice dipping ever so slightly. "If I am trouble… what are you going to do about it?"

His breath hitches.

Oh. 

So that’s how we’re playing this now.

He grins, slow and wicked, as he tilts his head, pressing the phone closer to his ear. "That depends," he murmurs, voice rich with amusement. "Are you the kind of trouble that wants to be chased? Or the kind that wants to be caught?"

The pause that follows is heavy, thick with something just beneath the surface. And then—

"Hmm," you hum, letting the sound drag out, teasing. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how good you are at chasing." Your voice drops, syrupy sweet, just a little taunting. "I don’t make it easy."

“Oh?" His voice is lower now, curiosity and something else bleeding into his tone. "You like making people work for it?"

"Only if they’re worth the effort."

"Damn."

You chuckle. "What?"

"You’re really gonna make me suffer, aren’t you?"

"Or maybe I’d let you catch me."

His fingers tighten around his phone, grip instinctive, like he’s holding onto something fragile—something he’s not ready to let slip through his fingers just yet. There it is. That spark, that delicious push and pull, a challenge wrapped in temptation. The kind of game that doesn’t come with rules, only the thrill of seeing who gives in first. It’s the promise of something just out of reach, close enough to taste but not quite close enough to have, and it sends a slow, anticipatory heat curling in his chest.

"That easy, huh?" His voice is a little rougher now, a little more raw.

"Did I say it’d be easy?" You tut softly. "You’d still have to put in the effort, Ji-yong."

He exhales, rubbing his jaw. "And what exactly would that effort look like?"

You hum, like you’re truly considering it. "I don’t know. Maybe I’d make you prove you really want to catch me first."

He lets out a low laugh, something dark and amused. "And how would I do that?"

"You tell me," you purr. "How far would you be willing to go?"

His heart kicks hard against his ribs. This is dangerous. He should be wrapping this up, moving on to the next fan, doing literally anything other than entertaining the very inappropriate thoughts now creeping into his mind. But fuck—you’re making it impossible. The silence stretches for a beat, letting the tension coil between you. Then, his voice drops, deliberate and smooth.

"Far enough to make sure you never want to run again."

The air shifts. You inhale—just a little, just enough for him to hear it. For the first time in this entire call, you are the one caught off guard. He can’t help but wonder what other noises you could make for him—

"So?" He continues, his voice is a murmur now, low and smooth. "Do you like to run?"

A beat of silence. Then, soft and teasing: "Only if you can keep up."

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re really testing me, you know that?"

"I know," you purr, not a hint of apology in your tone. "And I think you like it."

"You’ve got me sitting here, completely ignoring the fact that I have a hundred other calls to make, just because I don’t wanna hang up on you."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," you tease.

"It is a bad thing." He huffs a quiet laugh, leaning back in his seat. "I don’t do this, you know."

"Do what?"

"Get stuck like this." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "You’re making me break my own rules."

"How rebellious of you."

"God, you’re gonna be the death of me."

"Oh, come on," you muse, voice dipped in amusement. "You’re telling me no one else has ever done this to you before?"

"Not like this." 

The confession slips out before he can stop it, unfiltered and a little too honest. There’s a pause. Another shift in the air between you. Then, softer now, more curious than teasing: "Ji-yong."

He swallows, his name rolling off your tongue like warm honey, settling into his bones. He doesn’t know what it is about the way you say it—light, unhurried, like you’ve known him forever—it makes something in his chest tighten.

"What?" His voice is quieter now, softer.

"You still haven’t answered my question," you remind him, and when he stays silent, you press further. "How far would you be willing to go?"

He exhales, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Why don’t you stick around and find out?"

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[goldfades]

That post about Y/N and Joe parenting style was so perfect. I honestly believe Joe is also super stubborn and would 100000% get in a long standoff with Hayes over him refusing to eat his vegetables. And I think Hayes, ever the mama’s boy, would probably win that battle. And Y/N would absolutely feel the need to tell Joe that Hayes definitely got those qualities from him.

oh, absolutely. joe burrow is one of the most competitive people on the planet—there is no way he’s backing down from a battle of wills, even if his opponent is a three-year-old with chubby cheeks and a mop of curls. and hayes? stubborn doesn’t even begin to cover it. the kid is relentless, especially when he knows he has you on his side. it’s that lethal combination of burrow determination and your charm—an unbeatable duo, really. so yeah, if joe tells hayes he has to eat his broccoli? that kid is digging in his heels. and joe, rather than letting it go like any normal parent, is treating it like the damn super bowl. no one is blinking. neither of them will surrender. it’s a full standoff. and of course, you, ever the observer, just sit back and watch it unfold because you know hayes is gonna win this one

it starts with a single piece of broccoli.

small, harmless, nestled between the mashed potatoes and tiny chicken nuggets on hayes’ plate. it’s nothing special—just one of the little florets you steamed earlier, cut up small so he wouldn’t even notice if he just ate the damn thing. but oh, he notices.

“no.”

joe sighs, already looking exhausted. “hayes—”

“no,” hayes repeats, shaking his head so hard his curls bounce. “don’t want it.”

“just one bite,” joe tries, tone even, logical. “you love green beans, buddy. this is the same thing.”

hayes looks offended. “it is not.”

you, sitting across from them at the kitchen table, hide your smirk behind your hand. joe shoots you a quick glare, but you just lift a shoulder, amused.

“one bite,” joe presses. “then you can have more nuggets.”

hayes, still holding his ground, frowns at his plate. he looks at the broccoli, then at his dad, then back at the broccoli. then, slowly, he crosses his arms.

joe sighs again, rubbing a hand down his face. “hayes.”

“no.”

you can feel the irritation rolling off joe in waves. the man doesn’t lose—ever. and now his toddler is serving him his first real defeat in his own damn kitchen.

“hayes.” joe’s voice drops into dad mode. that serious, no-nonsense tone he pulls out when he means business. the one that usually works.

hayes, completely unbothered, mirrors his father’s serious expression. the tension is palpable. this is no longer just about broccoli. this is a battle of principles.

you clear your throat. “hayes, baby, just one tiny—”

he turns to you, eyes wide and tragic. “mama, i can’t.”

you almost laugh. “why not?”

“it’s green.”

joe looks personally offended by the logic. “so?”

hayes stabs his fork into his mashed potatoes aggressively, like this betrayal is too much.

joe groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this is ridiculous.”

you hum, amused. “wonder where he gets it from.”

joe glares at you again. “don’t.”

you just sip your water, smiling.

the standoff continues. minutes tick by. hayes doesn’t move. joe doesn’t budge. they’re both stubborn as hell. the only difference is, hayes has an out—he has you.

and you? well, you’re having too much fun watching joe suffer.

after a full ten minutes of absolute silence, hayes suddenly exhales deeply. then he shakes his head, slides his plate an inch away, and mutters, “i not hungry no more.”

joe throws his fork down. “are you kidding me?”

“nope.” hayes pops the ‘p’ dramatically.

you lose it. full-on, shaking laughter right there at the table. joe, unamused, shoots you a look.

“oh, come on,” he grumbles. “you’re on his side?”

“i mean.” you wipe a tear from your eye. “he is your son.”

joe scowls. “he’s your son when he’s like this.”

hayes, ever the opportunist, slides off his chair and makes a beeline for your lap. you scoop him up easily, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. he smells like baby shampoo and mashed potatoes.

“you’re ridiculous,” joe tells him flatly.

hayes just grins, curling into you. “mama don’t think so.”

joe shakes his head, defeated. then, after a long moment, he sighs. “fine.”

hayes perks up. “no broccoli?”

joe’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “no broccoli.”

hayes cheers.

you press your face into his curls to hide your laughter.

joe mutters something about never losing to a toddler again. but you both know that’s a damn lie.

[lemotmo]

Okay 911 fandom...

I feel like I've been very nice about this before and I always figured it would all just disappear after a while, but this insane Ryan Guzman hatred is getting out of hand. And frankly? It is pissing me off!

So, let's get something very clear here:

This whole concept some people have in their head that Ryan is the reason why Buddie won't ever go canon? IT IS WRONG!

The man has screamed Buddie from the beginning. He came up with the name for Christ's sake. Just because some of you only joined the fandom after 7x04, doesn't mean you get to shit on this guy. You don't know the lore or the history. So shut up!

This idea that Ryan is a bad actor and he is botching up his scenes with Oliver, because Oliver clearly plays Buck as in love with Eddie?

Again... WROOOONG!

Buck is sooo much further on the Buddie path than Eddie is. All he has time for right now is his son! Ryan is NOT going to play Eddie smitten with Buck, because he isn't there yet in the narrative. He obviously cares deeply for Buck though and we see it in everything Ryan puts into his acting. He is obviously a talented actor and artist. So again... SHUT UP!

If I see any of you threaten the man over a fucking fictional ship on a TV-show? I will report you on whichever platform you are on and I'll make sure that everyone knows who you are so they can block you accordingly. Are you insane?! You cannot threaten people for doing their job.

And NO! Nobody is going to recast Eddie because you have it in your stupid little ignorant dumb minds that the man is a misogynist, a sexist, a racist, a terrible father (ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU CANNOT CALL A MAN YOU DO NOT KNOW A BAD FATHER! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING!?) and a whole other slew of things that are simply made up in your own head!

He made one single mistake a loooong time ago. He admitted that he was in a very dark place around that time. He even talked about trying to take his own life at a certain point. How much more honesty do you need?

After that mistake he apologised and he has obviously worked really hard to become a better guy. We can hear that in every interview he does. Stop spreading the narrative that people can't be forgiven after they apologise. What age are you? Four??? Of course people can be forgiven. It's called growth. This insane cancel-culture that has been growing rampant for the last couple of years has gone to all of your heads. Wake up and SHUT UP!

Stop these ridiculous claims and please do everyone a favour! Move on to another fandom where miserable people like you are welcome.

For years now this fandom has been a great place to be in. I love it here! But I've had it with the insane hate-campaigns against a guy just doing his job.

I won't even go into the insane Eddie hate I have seen lately.

This has got to stop!

I am still not a Ryan stan, but I am a decent human being and admirer of his work. So whatever has been going on lately? It is NOT right and we should all shout that from the top of our lungs.

If anyone is reading this and recognises themselves in what I have written here? Please step outside, touch grass, look at the sky and if you are following me? Kindly unfollow me. Thank you.

If anyone is reading this and feels the same way? Feel free to follow. I promise that I don't often make posts like this. I try to spread the fandom positivity as much as I can. So expect lots of that here.

Can we now just go back to enjoying what is really important here? Buddie is about to go canon. Let's celebrate and have fun! We've been waiting years for this. This is our time.

[fushigujiro]

boyfriend!onyankopon loves watching you get ready. don’t matter for what, how, if it’s lazy or all out, he just loves watching the process of you getting ready for anything even your temper tantrums because your hair isn’t cooperating or you have nothing to wear (your closet is full as shit). he loves the makeup part the most. he watches intensely from start to finish, just quietly sitting like an obedient boy. he observes your style when you get to the dressing part and just admiring the small details you make to accessorize your outfit. his little fashionista baby (he swears you get the drip from him).

boyfriend!onyankopon just has to touch you. he can’t just not touch he wants to touch you, he needs to touch you. he loves touching you, simple as that. everytime you guys are home he wants you cuddling by him, on him, straddling his lap, to lay his head on your thighs, your chest, your arms- he wants to be in your skin and i’m also going to add that he loves smelling you. he thinks it’s a fetish but to be honest he can’t help it he loves your natural smell and the scent combo you use all the time, makes him wanna lick you…n sometimes he does randomly but you allow it

boyfriend!onyankopon is very intimidating from afar but as you both got closer and he became your man, he’s a big ass softy not only for you but small animals. (he’s a cat lover) you both have a pet kitty at home that he secretly acts like he’s not obsessed but lets kitty sleep with you guys at night, takes her out for errands, and gets her cute clothes. one time, in the middle of the night, 3 of you were in bed and you’re just resting your eyes while he thought you were sleeping and played with kitty on his lap. he was just softly cooing at her and humming until you heard him say “i love you two girls so much” his deep voice professed, softly petting the smaller girl that purred at his touch and love…a little did he know, you did too<3

boyfriend!onyankopon is so freaking sassy it’s actually ridiculous but i’ll get to that part soon. he loves to tease you. he can never go a full day without being “did i annoy her today? i need to do so before the day ends” it’s his mission to annoy or else he wouldn’t think he was an up to par man for you apart from other things that he knows he’s got down..multiple times *wink* but i digress. he teases you, will mock you, bother you, annoy you and it’s very irritating but adoring because it’s him. though, the thing is the second you tease him back he’s like a damn sass man and so childlike which brings me back to the beginning on why i said he’s so damn sassy. muthafucka will stay having his arms crossed, looking everywhere but you, will side eye you, roll his eyes, give attitude that’ll make you be like… “is this me right now? huh??” but if you make it up to him he’s grinning like a cheshire cat…just bad

boyfriend!onyankopon is a very laid back man. he’s very chill. he’s chill about you, he’s not obsessive- crazy obsessive at that, he lets you do you and he’s your personal cheerleader (we love to see it). he will always encourage you to do anything you wanna do but because i said he’s a laid back man doesn’t mean he won’t get protective over you. if a guy bumps into you he won’t hesitate to get in front and confront the man in his face. he doesn’t have to say too much, with how he speaks, his deep almost baritone voice and his low lidded but intense gaze is enough to turn a grown man into a baby and back off scared.

boyfriend!onyankopon loves taking pictures of you. yess he loves living in the moment but then again, he can live in it and remember it when he goes to his photo album that's named 'my pretty girl🤞🏾' and looks at all the pictures and videos he's took of you over the years. baby pictures ‘n videos he got from your family, pictures you asked him to take of you when you dressed up nd felt pretty, funny pictures you both laugh at as well as pictures you'd kill him for because they’re the off guard. you’ll forever see a phone in his, has flash on ( purposely) and will go up in your face, snap it and put it as his wall paper….he loves you so much

boyfriend!onyankopon will let you do anything to him. did I mention baby boy has a whole tattoo sleeve? looks so yummy on his buff arms but I digress for the nth time. he'll let you use washable multi color markers on his tattoos as when you get bored 'cuz you tend to use him as a "experiment" is how he'd put it. if you wanna do his makeup he'll huff and puff but he'll let you do it just so he can hear your pretty laugh and gaze at that beautiful smile. wanna put a soothing face mask on him? he's agreeing. he likes doing these things with you it creates beautiful memories with his girl. he enjoys the mask, the roller, gua sha- even you tweezing his eyebrows. he'll lay back with you straddling him, his big veiny hands rubbing up and down your thick thighs whilst his eyes are closed to just enjoy the moment of you blabbering nonsense with you doing his face and kitty coming on the bed to cuddle by his shoulder....he loves it here and never would dream wanting it to end.

꒰ note ꒱.....it's been 3 years of procrastination + writers block and lord have mercy it's been too long since i've wrote something but my life has been too much since then. after some motivation from my bf and the most help (from my bf<33) i'm back again! i'm open for requests to get more things out andddd just happy to be back<3 (thank you babe for everything)

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 8

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey

TW: Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Guns, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dissociation, Trauma, Blood, Cursing

Chapter Summary: The more fierce the action, a more extreme reaction. He had long abandoned his scales but he would gladly become a monster to ward off trespassers that would enter your forest. When dawn arrives, would you see your dragon in the horizon?

Author's Note: This went through so much revisions and I had to talk to my beta reader many times about how certain scenes should go. (I just have ridiculously high standards.) Many parts in this chapter had transformed from what I have in mind, mostly for cohesion but I am quite satisfied because I still managed to retain the canon events I set.

To everyone, thank you for reading. Your comments make me smile and while I do write for myself, I never regret the day I shared this to the world.

Tagging: @phisen @wrimaira

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8

8: My Dearest, Enduring

A population of less than 50.

Louis knows the little community of prey hybrids residing here in this corner of the N109 zone basically know each other and everyone, to his surprise, is very cordial with the predator hybrids who come by to shop and buy artisan goods.

Good.

The residents here are good people.

He doesn’t really know there is a community here after becoming the head of this organization composed of lion hybrids and since then, he had made up his mind that protecting the residents here should be a top priority.

A hypocrite, Louis knows he is one having been raised in one of the more fortunate prey hybrids who taught him how to play with the rules the humans had set and it is only because he is rebelling against his father that he realized not all hybrids are as lucky as he is.

Perhaps he is even more of a hypocrite every time he reminds each resident here to be wary of the predator hybrids they welcome in their homes like friends because he had grown to respect the rowdy group of lion hybrids that followed his every command.

Even then, his worries are heard and the older prey hybrids understand his concerns except for the younger ones and one of them is you.

You were so polite.

Polite on telling him off and you weren’t even sarcastic, you are just so blatantly honest.

“Thank you, Mister Louis but Skye likes his food cooked so I am sure the rumor isn’t true.”

It was amusing, hilarious even how you brushed off his warning just like that but even then, Louis had already made up his mind to watch over you and this community no matter how stubborn some of you can be.

“The tailor shop owner is on the line.”

“The old deer?”

“Yeah, he is asking if we can drop by and check on his daughter,” the older lion hybrid holding the phone answered, covering the receiver to keep the conversation between them, his eyes flicking at the clock nearby.

It would be a miracle if your father can catch the last train back and any taxi drivers charge anyone who wants to go at the N109 zone with exorbitant prices.

“Can’t he just ask his son-in-law for that?”

“I don’t think they have any relatives- Wait, you mean Sylus ?”

“Who else? That dragon is coming there almost everyday that the miss and him might as well be married.”

The older lion hybrid laughed at the young deer’s remark but relented, answering your father that Sylus would be the better alternative but his smile turned into a frown as he continued to listen to the other line.

“What’s wrong?”, Louis asked, his brows furrowed and the lion hybrid put down the phone after telling your father they would come check.

“He said Sylus isn’t answering.”

“Must be out there smuggling god knows what.”

“Are you sure? Because he said he called the shop again just now and his daughter didn’t answer.”

The curtains of the open window billowed against the cold breeze, a silence settling inside the office.

“And then I thought that son of a bitch is down bad-”, Louis mumbled, grabbing his coat hanging on the nearby armchair and the older lion hybrid did the same, their footsteps thudding against the hardwood floor.

Did Sylus manage to deceive everyone here? 

No.

No, Louis saw how that man held you before you two went out yesterday. Both of you were the talk of the community, no, the entire N109 zone. The little display of affection where Sylus spun you around like both of you were newly-weds had turned everyone’s heads and people are convinced that you were able to do the impossible.

The unthinkable.

In your hand, Sylus had willingly placed his leash for you to hold and Louis doubts that you even know it.

As Louis took his place in the passenger seat in front, he silently prayed that your father was simply an overprotective parent tonight.

But, when he gazed at his reflection in the side mirror, a quiet thought passed in his head-

-Something even more dangerous is lurking in a place already crawling with beasts and oddly enough, a small voice is telling him it isn’t Sylus.

────────────────────

The little baseball team always loves watching the evening cartoon reruns on the old television your father placed on the receiving area of your old shop.

They were such tall hybrid children for their age and oddly enough, they all managed to huddle together in front of the small screen, their attention towards the little pink dog hybrid and his adoptive human grandmother.

A small gasp, sometimes a burst of laughter, and then they will be quiet again as the show goes on.

It was one hour after your old shop closed when he came by and you found it odd that the people who follow him around are not here with him. He first greeted the children who just murmured a polite ‘Hello’ and ‘Good evening’ but their eyes had always remained guarded before going back to their show.

His attention never always linger longer at anyone else.

It was always at you.

Every little step you take away from him, he tries to close the distance even further and his distorted voice is becoming angrier by the second until his grip around your wrist was too much to handle, your eyes blurry because of the pain.

“I’ll watch over you until you die. Why can’t you understand that?”

Even to this day, you never understood why he was fascinated by you.

The reel of that old and distant memory ended with your cry for help, small, so small followed by your favorite little baseball players shouting in anger and then the tape ended abruptly, a film with no conclusive ending. You have left that tape with everything including the ashes and the scent of fire together with the concrete pillars of your old shop that remained standing.

In the old cinema hidden in the deep recesses of your mind, you have returned as the sole audience of the only film showing and the main actress is no other than-

The defenseless deer hybrid wearing your face with tear stained cheeks.

Why did she (you) scream? To try to warn her (your) dear crow friend to not try to go near the mass of black threads or else it will never fly again but it did not listen.

Why are there tears on her (your) face? Because his hold on her (your) wrist hurts, the gun she (you) hastily tried to hold is now lying on the floor.

Why is she (are you) praying? Because there must be a way out of this hell, for heaven to not punish him anymore if that is what it takes to just to let her (you) go.

“Did you think you are like them now just because you know how to shoot, branches?”

You always play hard to get.

At least, that’s what he thinks. The more you stay away, the more he gets annoyed.

Shy. Skittish. Wary.

You little deer hybrid. 

Common. 

So relatively common and there are so many of you but he just can’t help being attracted to you even when you always keep your damn eyes on your shoes.

He and his group kept you safe so why can’t you stay put? Why did you have to scream like he is the��monster here?

He came prepared this time, making sure you are alone. Just outside your shop are other humans armed to the teeth, capable, and one ridiculously strong predator hybrid such as that brute you just kissed goodbye a few hours ago can only handle so much.

How is it you chose Sylus of all people, a hideous beast, over a human?

“Stop crying.”

His command echoed across the old theater together with your cries of trying to run towards the only exit but no matter how hard you push your legs, you stay on the same spot, the distance between you and the exit unchanging and you wonder if it is a crime to say no that the heavens decided to grant a cruel punishment on you, forever trapped in a loop.

“I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

A low warning and the human holding you down froze for a moment, the cold barrel of the gun on the back of his head but the hand holding the weapon trembled just slightly and he smirked as he slowly raised his hands, letting you go.

“I wouldn’t even count that as an option.”

“But I do.”

“What is it with you prey hybrids thinking you are all capable of holding a weapon?”

“I am surprised myself,” Louis replied, watching the man slowly turned around to face him, letting you go in the process and in the corner of his eyes, he can see you slowly walking away, reduced to a shambling fawn and cradling the crow with the broken wing, your only source of warmth and even then, wounded little beings can only offer each other comfort and nothing more.

When they arrived a block away from your shop, Louis was bracing himself for the inevitable, to see one of Sylus’ expensive cars parked right in front with the lights of your shop all out, the crack of bones and blood but they were all welcomed with an unexpected surprise.

The car plates.

Bullet proof vests and rifles.

Humans.

It was luck alone that Louis managed to sneak in through the back door of your shop with the rest of his companions making small talk with the friends the human brought along.

“You should be grateful we are the first one to come over,” Louis added, his eyes trained at the human’s hands, “Sylus does not bargain when it is her on the line.”

“Then he will learn.”

“He is already wanted for several crimes. Do you really think he would give a shit if a new line is added to the list?”

“He will if the crime wasn’t his.”

The male deer hybrid’s brows furrowed, confused and his eyes wandered briefly on where you were standing earlier.

The gun he gifted you on the floor.

The feathers of that crow who uses your antlers as a perch.

The cuts around the human’s eyes, bleeding.

“Do you see it now? I hope his pretty little deer knows what happens when abominations like you lays a finger on someone like me,” the human grinned and it only grew further while he watched the look of realization dawn on the deer hybrid’s face.

If he can’t have you, then no one can. Even fucking Sylus.

“Sylus will negotiate, or he would have to say goodbye to the little miss seamstress over here. Do you understand, brat?”, the human continued, stepping closer until the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead.

Everyone knows Sylus can pay every high ranking official in the government.

He can pay the police to turn a blind eye on this.

He can pay the judge to rule down this accusation.

He can pay the jury almost composed of all humans to vote for your favor.

But he can never pay the overzealous humans who just need one reason to burn down your homes, your businesses, to throw rocks at your windows-

To take every part that makes you a hybrid.

They would come here. Oh they would, and you will be the first one whose head will be in the silver platter.

But all of that will only be possible if the human manages to leave the N109 zone alive.

The paper the human slipped on his breast pocket is heavy, heavier than the gun he kept pointing at where the human was standing even when he already left, the chimes of your doors announcing his departure.

────────────────────

Luke and Kieran always set a portion of their allowance for candy and anything sweet much to Sylus’ disapproval.

Not that they have an addiction, it was mostly because the scent brings a sense of comfort, of a childhood lost then slowly regained, and they recently found out that the treats always taste sweeter when shared.

One of the benefits of having your noses tinkered by humans is that you don’t have to pull out your phone anymore to check where the nearest bakery or candy shop is.

They just have to take a deep breath, shift through the many scents that permeate where they are standing and follow the distinct smell of freshly baked pastries or caramelized sugar. 

A yellow brick road and the two wolf cubs weave past the crowd of hybrids and humans who cast them odd looks, mistaking their excitement for manic obsession for something else.

Their favorite sheep hybrid once told them predator hybrids off their rockers wear the same expression when they caught the scent of a terrified prey hybrid’s papercut.

Those hybrids, the worst of the worst, are locked up far, far away from humans and hybrids always say the same thing.

They even taste better when they are scared.

Luke always played it off but it is a thought that lingers in Kieran’s mind, the memory of that stained handkerchief lives almost rent free and comes back during the early mornings while waiting for sleep.

“Let me in.”

It wasn’t a request, a command coming out of the boss’ mouth when the oldest lion hybrid stood between him and the door of your shop.

Kieran knows everyone can smell it. 

Every predator hybrid outside your shop practically covered their noses at this point and he and his brother not only covered theirs but their mouths too because-

-They were drooling.

His brother holds onto the railings of your shop and if they weren’t in the company of other people and Sylus, he is sure Luke is going to vomit out his dinner.

“Do I need to repeat myself or do I have to move you out of my way?”

“You, of all people, should know what happens if a predator hybrid like yourself comes near a terrified hybrid such as her.”

“I am well-aware,” Sylus answered, his resolve firm and his eyes trained directly at the lion hybrid, “Now step aside and do not take my words as suggestions.”

There was a pause, the old hybrid blocking his way to you scrutinizing him for any telltale signs of a predator ready to hunt and even with the scent of fear settling in the cold night air, inviting anyone with sharp teeth to this forbidden supper, and he noticed one thing.

Sylus’ pupils were not even dilated like the rest right now.

A dragon hybrid’s senses are far more superior than a lion but here is Sylus, not even slightly bothered and it is only because of his age that he is able to pick up a subtle hint of worry on the dragon hybrid’s eyes.

The older lion hybrid took his word this time and opened the door for him which granted him a nod of approval from Sylus.

“Luke, Kieran.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Open the windows. That human stink is everywhere.”

The twins looked at each and then pulled the neck scarves you have sewn for them over their noses before wearing their masks back, following their boss inside.

The human is lucky he arrived a minute later because Sylus would not hesitate to show how serious he is when it comes to your well-being.

It was an affront, a clear disrespect to his precious deer and even until now, that human stink is trying to blend with the scent of cotton and wildflowers. 

No, blend is a kinder term.

It is trying to force itself onto it.

It all concentrated at your front desk and he stood there, his mind reconstructing what took place as he bent down to pick up the gun he assumed you dropped, his eyes lingering on the droplets of blood.

It isn’t yours.

It’s from that insolent human.

“That crow of yours tried to pick out his eyes.”

It was a quiet voice but it resounded through the entire room and Sylus turned around to see that male deer hybrid standing next to the stairs leading to the second floor of your house.

“And did it manage to blind him?”

Sylus initially thought this upstart’s words are empty, flowery phrases to earn the trust of the other prey hybrids but he had proved him wrong.

“If your bird’s wing weren’t broken, the human would be carrying his own eyes on his way out.”

Louis watched Sylus took measured strides to approach him but this time, the subtle animosity between them from before is set aside in favor of you. 

The stairs ahead of them looms, the path that used to be warm and inviting when Sylus made his way of your little game of hide and seek earlier is now an entrance to a dark forest even the sunlight refuses to penetrate, your home shielding you from the prying eyes and if it can, it will keep you forever, away from the hunters and their dogs.

“The human had already placed a price for his silence,” Louis began, pulling out the folded paper on his breast pocket and passing it to Sylus, “He is open to negotiate but we both know he wants full compliance.”

“I do not concede against the demands of a trespasser especially right now.”

“That trespasser may not see eye to eye with his fellow humans but they will hear him out if he points his finger at her.”

“What’s your proposal? Give everything he wants free of charge, pat him on the back and let him be on his way?”

“No, I am just passing his words to you,” Louis answered, then glanced at Sylus who briefly scanned the paper he had handed before passing it to one of the twins, “If you want my opinion-” 

There was a pause.

“-I would say stories don’t hold much weight if there is no one to tell it.”

It would be an unfair trial if you stand against the court of law mostly run by humans.

How many friends did the human bring along? Too many based on their scent that still lingered. Too many people that would bend the truth until it is unrecognizable, reversing the roles of the actual victim and the criminal.

Even then, they don’t need to do that. People had already passed judgment without hearing you out.

It would be your words against an insolent human.

Your silence would be taken as acceptance for your crimes, your cries would be treated as crocodile tears.

“The abandoned warehouse will meet with an unfortunate accident later tonight,” Sylus answered, slowly making his way up to you and then he turned to look down at Louis, “Those who are inside were not able to call for help in time.”

Only humans negotiate. Monsters like him don’t.

A silent agreement passed between them, a plan, and Louis watched Sylus skipped the fifth step of your stairs.

Sylus would gladly wield the needle on your behalf, to sew together a tapestry of lies so carefully knitted that he will use it to cover you, to shield you from those who would take you from here, from your new home.

────────────────────

“You’ll always be alone.”

It was before the sun broke from the horizon when an older dragon spoke to Sylus before, watching their reflections against the gentle flow of the stream.

Sylus had snapped both of his horns, his tail was short back then, easy to hide behind the thick coat and he practiced his laughs and smiles enough for his lips not to reveal the unusually sharp canines.

All those efforts, just so he can play with those human and prey hybrid children he always sees beyond the treeline where their group is staying-

No, hiding.

He was angry at the older dragon back then. 

What’s wrong with wanting friends? He wanted the same thing those humans and lucky hybrids have. 

His room always became a theater during the evening, the memories are old films that persist despite the dust that settled, and he is the lone audience.

That memory always stood out before.

You’ll always be alone.

The older dragon wasn’t mocking him.

The older dragon wasn’t even talking to him.

The older dragon was talking to his own reflection.

What did his kind do to merit such treatment? Must there always be a price for everything he cherished with his heart? Why would his nightmares refuse to stay in the realm of the unconscious?

“Sweetie?”

His voice was soft through the wooden door of your room, his hand on the handle. The sweet scent of cotton and wildflowers was almost comforting if not for the undercurrent of terror, fear, and most of all-

-Sadness.

Your answer is only a quiet sob, so soft as if making sure no one would hear even the tears that touch the hardwood floor of your room.

Sylus was hesitant at first but he slowly turned the handle of your door and through the small gap, the trail of Mephisto’s feathers led inside your cabinet.

“I am sorry I am only good at sewing.”

Mephisto’s beeps were distorted, even with its damaged voice box, Sylus knows it is still trying to comfort you, telling you it suffered worse.

You have always found Daisy an odd little crow. Too smart, too observant and its exposed wirings finally revealed why but it is still your friend, badly hurt and your needle and thread won’t be able to fix it.

Your crow friend rested its head on your chest, cawing softly and it is only when your blurry eyes landed on the silhouette standing just outside the cabinet both you and Daisy were inside that you trembled violently.

“Daisy didn’t mean to,” you pleaded, “Daisy’s a good bird-”

No, begged.

You begged through the wooden panels of your cabinet thinking he is the human who welcomed himself in your own home.

Is Sylus angry?

No, there is a better word to describe the wrath that is simmering under the surface of his collected self, close to breaking loose and it was simply because he doesn’t want to terrify you with acts of aggression reserved only for those who are deserving that he held himself together.

“I know, sweetie.”

There was a pause, your sobs coming to a sudden halt and weakly, you called out his name, the sound so fragile but he would always recognize your voice even among the crowd.

It was enough of a reason for him to slowly open the door of your cabinet, crouching down and bracing himself for the inevitable heartbreak, suffering. Suddenly he is the most powerless man alive, the only comfort he can provide is to hold you close and even then, it will never be enough to lighten each drop of your tears, each single tear heavier than the weight of this wide and uncaring world.

Suffering is never a foreign concept in his life, bullets wounds and cuts were painful more so are insults, and when he thought something finally beautiful had taken root in his life, the storm looms on the horizon, threatening to pull it from the soil.

“Skye,” you repeated, your face buried against his chest until you slowly looked up to him.

“Daisy’s-”, you stuttered and you slowly revealed to him his companion that is worse for wear, “Daisy’s broken, Skye. I don’t know how-”

“I’ll put our friend back together, little doe.”

“I tried to warn Daisy, Skye, I tried to do what you taught me-”

“You were the bravest girl, sweetheart. The bravest I have ever known.”

“I am not-”, you shook your head sadly, looking down at his fingers grazing at the exposed wirings of your beloved crow and to your wrist still red, “Brave girls are strong. Brave girls don’t let other men touch them like that-”

You didn’t even land a scratch on that human. 

“His hands were-” you continued, your next words incomprehensible as you clutched his shirt, “I didn’t like it but he said I was lying.”

Sylus didn’t say anything but he understood each word as he listened to you pour out all of your grievances, all the heartache and he rubbed one of his horns against one of your antlers, a gesture you found soothing as he waited for your heart to slowly return to its steady rhythm, the scent of fear slowly dissipating. 

He wanted to kiss your tears away yet he knew he had lost that right when he came here a minute later.

But he will earn it back.

Each drop of tear he tallied, each apology that isn’t supposed to come from you he counted, and in the darkness of your room only lit by the distant moon, this little corner of paradise mourns with you. 

It was when you quieted down that he carefully gathered you in his arms and every step he made while he made his way back to his car parked at the entrance of the shop together with the twins, his resolve only grew stronger.

Sylus eats his enemies alive.

Sylus doesn’t leave any survivors.

Sylus is a man that takes without remorse.

Each rumors echo in his mind and oh, they are baseless claims, false accusations he did not bother to deny. Insignificant but it served his reputation well.

It doesn’t matter, he would normally tell himself.

Until now.

Tonight, he wouldn’t be the man of many rumors.

Tonight, he would make those whispers grow into terrified screams.

Tonight, he would live up to each and every one of them.

The dawn will break tomorrow and Sylus will make sure only ashes would remain by then and it would end with his triumph.

Very soon, sorrows will plague you no more.

────────────────────

“We’re alone because we look hideous.”

Sylus is not the most well-mannered boy when he was young and he will never forget how the frown of the older dragon reflected in the surface of the running stream at his answer.

Pointed horns. Sharp canines. Tail.

All they are missing are hooves for feet to complete the look of a demon he sees in pictures of old fairytale books. 

No matter how many stories the older dragon hybrids told over the small campfire of the days where they used to soar the sky without fearing of being shot down, those who lost the feud had already lost their right to say their side of the story.

The only benefit of being given the role of villain by default is you have no one to please but yourself.

He knows every choice he makes will culminate to a bad ending anyways, a sad note. 

The last dragon, alone on top of his treasures, will draw his last breath and then finally, maybe he will understand why that older dragon is looking at the reflection of the sky in the stream.

It has been a self-fulfilling prophecy, one that he prayed fervently for it to change during the long nights and in the crossroads of his long journey, he had finally received a response and the answer is-

You leaned against him, holding on to the sleeve of the coat hanging on his shoulders, your gaze at his hands deftly repairing your crow friend in his lap.

The abandoned warehouse a few meters ahead from where the car is parked looms, lit by a few sodium lights with rotten shipping containers piled up on each other. The lightbulb of the small guardhouse flickered accompanied with the radio announcer’s voice, the night shift guard leaving in a haste after Sylus gestured him to leave through the open window of the car earlier.

“Sweetie, you and the twins will have to go somewhere for me.”

“Why can’t you come with us then?”

“I am going to have a talk with that human, miss seamstress, and I want you to be far away from here as soon as possible when I do.”

“That man?”

“Yes, that man,” Sylus answered and he watched Mephisto stand up, stretching its wings and flying out the window for a test flight. It was a quick fix but Sylus knows he had to a more extensive repair after this.

“Can I go with you?”

It was a silent question, and your ears drooped when he didn’t say anything, silently assessing your peculiar request.

“Sweetheart, I am afraid I won’t be able to indulge you on your request this time,” he answered, shaking his head and he removed the coat hanging from his shoulders, draping it over your petite frame.

“Just for tonight, little doe. Count this as me owing you a favor.”

“I don’t want you to owe me anything.”

“Then consider this as my duty as your protector. Something that I must do alone,” he replied, watching you lean against his hand when he traced the shape of your ear drooping. “Your dragon will fly back to you before the sun rises.”

Did those dragons in the paintings you saw with him also made the same promises to the people they love? Is that why they were called liars? That the word did not come from a place of disgust but anguish of a vow that met an abrupt end?

In this crossroad, is there why you have to say your goodbyes?

What can you do that this story will not end with a long, long, sigh? You can barely even use a firearm and if anything, you’re only good at sewing and cleaning.

Sylus smiled gently when he noticed your furrowed eyebrows, smoothing them out with his fingers and your eyes drifted on his sharp canines.

“My protector is too kind,” you finally answered and then you reached out to fix the good luck ribbon around his horn, “If he doesn’t mind, can I ask for another request?”

“Then what is it that my bravest little doe wants?”

His breath hitched when you undo the first two buttons of your blouse, pulling the cloth just enough to expose your skin, his eyes tracing the slope of your neck.

A vial of prey hybrid’s blood can sell for so much in the black market. An option you almost considered when you lost your shop in the fire back at Bloomshore District.

Every predator hybrid has one, at least that’s what the rumors said. 

A small indulgence but mostly because it enhances their physical abilities, and even when you believe he doesn’t need one, this is the only solution you know that would greatly benefit him especially when ahead of him are humans you are sure would harm him just like how they culled his kind.

Just like how they hurt you.

“Don’t let a single drop go to waste, alright?”

“Are you sure about what you are offering-”

You silenced him with a gentle press of your fingers against his lips, a gentle smile on your face.

There is no room for doubt, that he is sure, and you are not going to take a no for an answer this time when you pull him closer to you, tilting your head up for him.

Of course, Sylus had always dreamt of sinking his teeth on your neck but certainly not hard enough that his sharp fangs would break the skin and certainly not in this situation.

Yet, you are always one who is clear with your wishes.

“I want to be with you.”

“Then be with me.”

Breathe. He inhaled sharply before holding you closer and the scent of cotton and wildflowers almost clouded his senses, his tongue darting out to lick the supple skin while looking for a suitable spot to nip.

(You wanted to bolt but you won’t allow your deer side to take precedence.)

Bite. His canines sank on your skin and his heart raced in a rapid staccato, a dizzying concerto as he groaned in satisfaction against your trembling body, your hands holding his shirt tightly and a quiet sob escaped your lips.

(He wanted to take a piece of your flesh but he won’t allow his dragon side to overcome him.)

Taste. He had always considered the prey hybrid black market barbaric but every predator hybrid who tried the blood of a prey hybrid says it tastes like vintage wine, the finest among the collection but yours is different, completely unique.

(An exchange, a mutual understanding, and blood of the sacred deer is the offering of this long-awaited union.)

If pure love has a flavor then it would be-

White rabbit milk candy.

You will be the first and last, the only hybrid he would partake in, and even then, the gods must be laughing at the sheer absurdity of a carnivore not pouncing on a prey’s throat but Sylus is going to make sure he will return to your side.

Not all meetings have beautiful endings but your story and his has always been one of a kind.

His tongue swiped over the bite mark and then he pulled away, making sure to button your blouse for you and even with his head slightly bowed down, you can see his pupils dilated and his attempts on making his breath steady.

“You’re a good dragon,” you said quietly and he smiled when you kissed his cheek.

“Good dragons don’t burn down cities for their sweethearts, darling deer,” he answered and he pushed the gun he picked up from your shop earlier to your hands.

Just a safety precaution as you and twins make your way to the safehouse he directed them to bring you to and he let out a quiet sigh when he heard the twins tap through the tinted windows of the car.

“It’s time for me to leave, Miss Deer.”

You reach out to fix the collar of his shirt, adjusting the silver accessory to stay in its proper place.

“Take care, Mister Dragon.”

The ribbon you have tied on his horn swayed against the night breeze after he stepped out of the car, the door closing behind him and the tip of his tongue darted out to lick the remaining blood on the corner of his lips.

With your blood running in his veins, the world will be yours and more.

────────────────────

“Did anyone tell you that you are too overconfident for someone who is the last of his kind?”

Sylus approached the human sitting at the center of the warehouse, not slightly bothered by his insult and his tail swishing lazily while his eyes roamed around his surroundings, mentally counting each human equipped with an assortment of firearms.

Perhaps negotiation is a more recent term to describe a trap.

As always, the two wolf cubs did not disappoint, the numbers they provided were always on the mark.

A small army.

“I do not see the need to bring anyone with me tonight.”

He answered, taking a seat across the human and then crossing his legs. His eyes narrowed slightly when he caught the remnants of your scent that clung to the human’s clothes.

The human studied him before speaking, taking note that the coat that always hangs on Sylus’ shoulders is missing. His hair is slightly disheveled and there is a little detail that made his smirk grow back.

Sylus came here unarmed.

“In a rush, Sylus? Did my gift catch you off-guard?”

“Gift? Is that what you call packages such as those these days?”

“I prefer to call it a reminder. Your precious seamstress wouldn’t be hiding in this dump you call your empire with her father if she didn’t play hard-to-get.”

“Or if you learned to take no at its face value,” Sylus answered, watching the human’s face soured and his eyes flickered at the human tapping his finger on the armchair.

The more he looks at this beast, the more he detests Sylus further.

He was supposed to be in the advantage here. Didn’t Sylus knows he holds your fate in his hands? How is it then that he walked here as if this is just one of his business meetings?

“I came here all the way as you requested,” Sylus continued, his voice betraying nothing, “So tell me your price yourself.”

Greed. This human stink of greed and desire out of everyone inside this room and it only grew when he asked his question.

“Oh, I am very easy to please,” the human grinned, and his finger tapped faster on the armchair, “A monthly deposit of a ten million in local currency, a monthly shipment of firearms and ammunition, and-”

The human let his words hang in the air and Sylus had to resist the urge of rolling his eyes, his tail twitching in annoyance.

This one has a flare of dramatics, doesn't he? It is almost hilarious as if he is watching one of those stage comedies held by those students at one of the universities he is a sponsor to.

“-Her antlers.”

And people call him a monster.

“Is that all of your demands?”

The human nodded, practically drooling just at the thought of those majestic branches that grow from your head that you shed every winter. You and your father kept them hidden at the back of your old shop, a tradition the deer hybrids uphold, and before they started the fire, he made sure to secure yours first.

Oh, they were just so pretty and they still smell like you if he puts his nose close enough even after all these years.

Sylus didn’t answer, smiling coldly and he scanned his surroundings for one last time, deciding he had heard enough.

This sick bastard.

Then, Sylus laughed.

He laughed carelessly, even when the human in front of him and his men were taken back and he continued to laugh until his voice filled the wide expanse of the warehouse

“You trespassed my empire even if I sent you and your people on your way last time and now you are demanding a share of my fortune and my firearms,” Sylus said, his laughter slowly coming into a halt, “And you thought I would willingly give my sweetheart’s antlers she loves so much to you? To you of all people?”

He slowly rose from his seat and all guns were immediately pointed towards him, his tail flicking in anticipation.

“Stay where you are-”

“You are not in the position of giving me orders.”

“You’re outnumbered, you’re unarmed-”

“You should have listened more to those little fairy tales you humans made yourselves.”

There was a roar, enough to shake the earth, and among the small army of mercenaries and loyal bodyguards that the human had brought with him, his face was the palest as their eyes slowly looked up from where Sylus is standing to what is now standing in his place.

Wings so wide, it will blacken the sun- An omen.

Claws so sharp, it can tear through the thickest metals- A catastrophe.

Maw so large, everything that will go inside of it will disappear- An apocalypse.

The pain did not register in the human’s head when the dragon bit almost half of his arm off his body and it was only through the adrenaline that the human managed to roll to the floor in time because the beast was aiming for his head next.

“Fuck!”, the human screamed in pain and pointed at the dark abomination before them, “Shoot him! Aim for his eyes.”

Sylus had long abandoned this form, even back then as a child. The few remaining older dragons who raised him had always looked up, their hands reaching for the heavens once again but never did.

Times have changed. When your kind is culled, you would do anything to survive.

Horns, tail, claws, teeth, wings, scales.

They have no place in this modern world.

These features were traded for firearms and his bare fists and they just became an accessory, a reminder to anyone his kind is still here but barely.

For you, he will wear this atrocious form.

His roars were earthquakes, bullets barely penetrating his scales and the closest wound they could ever inflict on him is when they managed to shoot one of his horns, shattering it.

When did the animosity between the humans and dragon hybrids started?

The embers of this feud still remained, flickering and even when Sylus had tried to search for answers, he never discovered what sin so unforgivable his kind did that everything in this world had conspired for his happiness to be fleeting and every word shouts and screams of horror made him greedy for more, the fire around him growing larger.

Here he is, the product of all desires and hate the dragons had harbored for all years of being hunted and your tears is what broke his self-imposed curse of hiding this form.

No nice and friendly dragon would do this.

He is a wicked dragon, corrupt by all means, but he is yours. 

Your blood coursing through his veins is his fuel together with every memory of you and even if the blood from the wound of his shattered horn is making his vision blurry, he refuses to stop even if he is tasting iron from the limbs and heads he had torn off.

“We are losing people here!”

“Throw more grenades at him!”

“Fuck, we are going to die here!”

The distant glow of the roaring flare reached the N109 zone and even the outskirts of every district nearby together with the smell of burnt meat and the shaking of the earth.

Let this be a final warning to anyone who would dare trespass in your home.

Sylus does not bargain when it comes to you.

────────────────────

You were a crybaby back then.

Your antlers were shorter before and the thin, warm glow of the light downstairs was  a yellow thread, your guide towards your father who used to stay up all night making clothes.

Unable to sleep, you were his little assistant back then, and he smiled when he saw your ears poking just above the table you could barely reach.

Your first task was to put a thread through the eye of the needle. It was difficult and you pouted when you kept failing several times.

“Now, twig, if you cry too much, you won’t be able to see the eye of the needle now.”

It was only after several tries after blinking out the tears of frustration that you were able to finally manage to get it right and you handed the needle to him that you realize that if there is a thread connecting you and your father, it would be a warm color and ever since then, you always try to imagine what color is the thread that connects you to another person.

Yellow. The color connecting between you and your father, the same color as the tulips he always brings to you for your birthday.

Pink. That is the color you see for Luke and Kieran. The same color as the strawberry macarons they always bring to you and the three of you share while they let you examine the latest plushies they made.

Green. You even put a color for Daisy’s and while it brought you various colorful gems and flowers, you will never forget the time it brought you a four-leaf clover.

Then, finally-

You gazed through the tinted windows of the car, watching Skye talk with the twins and in a few moments, the distance between you and him will grow as he makes his way inside the warehouse.

Red. The same color as his eyes, the first bouquet of roses Mr. Sylus sent over, and the red wildflowers painted in the fields of your music box.

The red thread you are afraid will be snipped off because you aren’t good enough to fight.

Why did you want to go with Skye when the sheer presence of that human alone is enough for you to cower in a corner?

Because you want another chance and this time, you will not be the deer caught in the headlights.

No, you have to come close.

The closest you can to that human.

And when you do, you will cut the black thread that ties you to him.

Your footsteps barely make a sound at the smooth pavement, your hand sweeping at the cold metal of the shipping containers while you make your way closer to the warehouse. Every now and then, an occasional light will flicker in this labyrinth of towering metal.

From a distance, you can hear the twins’ calling out your name, their tone becoming more worried and you shiver against the cold breeze, pulling the coat hanging on your shoulders tight against you.

It was almost similar to your dragon’s warm embrace.

Even when he isn’t here, the scent that clung on his coat seemed to say otherwise and a sense of security almost washed over you until you were reminded of your farewells earlier.

If you were born as a predator hybrid, would you be fighting alongside him right now?

If you were born a fighter, would your old shop still be standing today?

If you pulled the trigger just on time, would your tears stop spilling?

Your knees buckled down and you leaned against the shipping container, the gun in your hand is cold and heavy yet you wrap your fingers around the handle firmly, the muzzle touching your forehead.

Holding the gun like this is like praying.

Would a part of you that you let Skye take be enough? You prayed it would be but prayers will always be just dandelion seeds carried by the wind, wisps of fragile dreams.

A familiar weight pushed on your shoulder and you smiled, putting down the gun and glancing at your crow friend. The shadows are enough to cover the exposed metal and wiring on its wing and it gives you a soft beep.

We should leave.

It tried to pull the small braid on the side of your face gently and when it didn’t work, it went for your skirt this time, any parts of your clothes, gesturing you to go back from where you came but you only shook your head.

“I don’t want to run anymore, Daisy.”

Not running.

Mephisto’s caws are lost to you, trying to reason with you but your ears unable to understand its words and it is growing frustrated at every tug but you refuse to move, your eyes trained at the boarded up windows of the warehouse further up ahead. It is awfully quiet, the only sound you heard was the warehouse door closing a few minutes ago.

Seeing that it is taking so much to convince you, Mephisto gives you one last look before flying to where the twins are, a few shipping containers behind, both jumping from one container to another, looking for you from above.

“I can’t smell her.”

Luke complained and Kieran nodded, their eyes taking in the dark surroundings searching for your familiar form. One heart beating too fast was already nerve wracking but being able to sense his twin’s as well? Kieran doesn’t know how they are both alive with how much they are worried right now.

Hell froze over when they opened the car only to find you were not there after watching the boss go to the warehouse and they had suspicion you most likely ran off to follow the boss but the question is-

Why?

Is it innate for every prey hybrid to flee when they are backed against the corner? To blindly run until you believe you are no longer in danger?

“What, bird?”, Kieran asked, watching Mephisto perched on his shoulder and it let out a beep.

It found you.

There you are, a few meters ahead of them, the boss’ coat hanging on your shoulders and they finally understood why they can’t pick up your scent.

The boss’ scent interlaced with yours, a perfect harmony and a cover. Any predator hybrid who would want to look for you will be thrown off your tracks.

Even if the boss is not by your side, he took all the measures he could to protect you.

They both landed in front of you, their tails wagging slightly when you looked up to smile at them.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be running away like that.”

“Yeah, not a good time for pranking, you know?”

“I am sorry,” you answered, and your gaze moved to one of the doors of the warehouse. The only entrance and exit because the rest was also boarded up. “I just want to-”

What do you want to do?

See your dragon step out of the warehouse without any scratch?

Sever the thread connecting you and the human who had given himself the title of hero of this story?

End this nightmare?

“Hey, it’s okay, miss,” Kieran started, sensing you are about to cry again, reaching out to embrace you and his brother did the same, their tails wagging, “Didn’t we tell you? You already have us and the boss looking after you.”

There was a caw.

“And the bird too,” Luke added, looking up to see Mephisto perch on your antlers, “It says it cares for you so much.”

Even if you lost everything in the fire of long ago, life still continued its symphony and something beautiful has taken root in the ashes of despair, something you want to see grow until it covers the landscape.

“Can’t we wait for him?”

“The boss? No, we really need to leave, miss.”

“It’s cold, you know, he doesn’t want you to get sick especially after you have been through,” Luke added to Kieran’s statement but you shook your head and the two looked at each other.

The boss had specifically asked them to bring you far from here and that they will even when you are oddly adamant on staying on this place they are sure the boss would raze to the ground.

Kieran was about to carry you when a roar cut through the silent night, enough for the shipping containers to shake.

“What was that?”, you asked, alarmed.

“Shit, we need to move her away here,” Luke muttered, shielding you together with his brother as the surroundings continue to shake and you can hear gunfire and roars from inside the warehouse.

Roars so furious they broke all the windows of the warehouse.

Roars so loud they herald the inferno that followed after.

Roars so violent they overpowered the screams inside.

“Don’t look.”

Luke covered your eyes with his hand and Kieran covered your ears but even their attempts to shield and comfort you is not enough, your eyes widening through the gap and your ears twitching against their hold.

The roaring flare intensifies, it eats anything on its path of rampage and it will only stop once dawn arrives, once black snow falls.

“He’s still in there-”

“Boss’ fine,” Kieran replied quietly, his gaze at the flames that continue to pick up. “But the humans? Not really.”

Beneath the frenzied roars was a thin layer of anguish and despair. Whoever is making them, they are in pain.

“The boss,” Luke added slowly, “He’s still just like you and me.”

He has been called a monster many times but his true heartbreak would be if the word comes from your mouth.

“I want to wait a little longer,” you murmured softly and they slowly let go of you, listening, “He must be tired. He might take a while if he has to fly back to us.”

Underneath their masks, a sigh of relief and a smile.

You really have spent too much time with them that the fearsome faces of predator hybrids don’t bother you so much.

Kieran was about to answer when his ears perked up, his nose picking up a distinct scent over the smell of burnt meat and ash.

That human stink.

It is the same human who welcomed himself inside your home.

Their gazes immediately move to the human who staggered outside the warehouse, the flames trying to reach him but barely.

“He won’t be alive for much longer,” Kieran commented, watching the trail of blood behind the human who is trying to stop his wound.

“He left his people inside? That’s quite pathetic, don’t you think?”, Luke added and he had to stifle a chuckle when he noticed Mephisto puffing up while perched on your antlers, as if wanting to square up with the human again.

The twins kept hurling insults upon insults, observing the human in amusement who is trying to shout for help in an empty field, trying to open the nearby cars he and his men most likely brought to get here.

There is no hope for him.

You should stay put.

Yet, you are afraid that if you move your eyes away from him, he will arrive at your doorstep tomorrow morning, alive and well.

Ambush is a certain dance.

Rule number one.

Conceal.

Luke and Kieran thrived on the art of surprising their opponents but that only works if you blend yourself against the shadows.

“I want to make sure he doesn’t visit me again.”

They were taken aback when you told them your request but your conviction said otherwise and here begins your first lesson and likely the last.

You weave through the winding shipping containers, your eyes trained at that mess of black thread walking aimlessly, yelling at anyone to come to his aid. Your steps were almost quiet, the sounds you made muffled by the dark and heavy coat hanging on your shoulders.

Rule number two.

Know your enemy.

A predator can be anyone, a loose term for people who had an intent to kill but what do you call yourself now if you are now the hunter and the man who had pursued you through the winding path of your forest is now the hunted?

His dominant hand is missing, his other hand trembling as he tries to hold the gun while he makes his way to the telephone nearby, lit by a lone fluorescent light.

Rule number three.

Exploit your advantage.

“Oh, need a hand?”, Kieran asked and the human recoiled in fear, dropping the phone and immediately pulling out the gun he hastily tucked on his back.

“Y-you-”,

“Me?”, Luke and Kieran both answered and the human trembled, stepping back to put more distance between the twins who were leaning lazily at both sides of the telephone booth, the dial tone missing, tilting their heads in amusement.

He thought he had planned everything out, that Sylus would cower knowing the weight of a human’s words is heavier than the rest of the hybrids combined but they were right, that dragon hybrid is not afraid to commit atrocities.

A faint rustle and he almost blacked out when he saw a silhouette standing just outside the light of the lamp post.

That coat.

Two horns protruding from the head.

And that damn fucking bird-

He was aiming for the head but his hold was lousy and the bullet hit the other horn, shattering it immediately and instead of a deep groan of pain, he heard something else.

A soft whimper.

“What the hell-”, the human muttered and you stepped inside the light, blood pouring to the side of your face and this time, you aren’t looking down on your shoes.

Your eyes are gazing back at him.

“You really do think you are like the rest of them, huh?!”, he shouted, and he was about to take another shot when the crow flew too fast, knocking the gun out of his hand.

“I am like the rest of them,” you answered quietly and you raised the gun, aiming at him.

Breathe for me.

Your dragon’s words were louder than ever, and the weight of his coat almost close to having his presence nearby and you blinked your tears away, never removing your eyes at the mess of black threads that threatened to engulf you.

May this bullet forgive him for what your heart cannot.

God, please.

A merciless shooting star, speeding fast, and for once, the heaven had finally turned an eye and ear to your prayers, the surface of the tangled black threads erupted like the waves of a dark and deep lake.

The black thread connecting you and him had been finally severed.

────────────────────

Opening a door for Sylus meant bracing himself for impact.

Opening a door meant surprises, most of them bad ones and he was fortunate to be gifted a set of senses that can detect danger ahead.

Not all business meetings are actual talks, most are disguised as attempts to take his life and the merchandise he had brought alongside with him.

It is an irrational fear but in his line of work, it doesn’t hurt to be too vigilant.

Sylus only ceased his rampage when the fire had slowly died down, the sun slowly breaking out from the horizon and he knew he had to return soon.

Return to you.

Hearing your gentle voice through the other side of the door made him too eager to turn the handle and listen to your warm greetings.

“Welcome back, Skye.”

“Good afternoon, Skye. Have you eaten yet?”

“Hello, Skye. Slow day?”

He had always looked forward to hearing those phrases with his real name and there is a certain sentence he has yet to hear but has been praying for that day to come soon. 

In this hideous form where everyone would certainly flee when they see him open the door, he was met with an unexpected surprise.

Through the gap of the warehouse doors barely held together by its hinges was no other than-

You.

Disagreement is not a foreign thing, even if you are twins who know each other’s thoughts and emotions.

They had debated over leaving after you took out the trash, after they left the body under the flickering light of the lamp post, and helping clean up your wound, their worries overriding their instincts. 

Kieran had insisted to still follow the boss’ orders but Luke was the stubborn one this time, pointing out to might as well wait considering you aren’t budging ever since you put yourself near the warehouse doors, waiting patiently.

The screams had died down then, the gunshots gone, and all was left was the soft crackle of fire slowly dying down.

Here they are, standing near you as you sit on the ground with your beloved crow perched on your remaining antler, the good luck ribbon swaying against the wind.

“Didn’t I tell you I will fly back to you before the sun rises?”

A deep voice, familiar, coming out from inside the dark warehouse, black snow falling around you and your ears drooped.

“Then we still have time,” you smiled and with outstretched hands you continued, “Fly to me then.”

He should be angry.

He should be angry that you chose to be stubborn at this time.

He should be angry that the twins listened to you.

Yet, he can’t find the heart to do so, not right now, when the ash is slowly settling and all he wants is to indeed, return to your side.

He was about to step out and it will just take him five more strides to get to you but he hesitated when he get a glimpse of what he looked like right now through the metallic door.

He really does look hideous.

Will you still look at him the same if he wears this shape?

“The sun is rising,” you gently said, coaxing him.

His sweetheart, so naive.

“Close your eyes for me,” he answered and you did as you were told.

Earnest.

Sweet.

Precious.

He rested his snout on your hands and he watched your reaction, your fingers mapping out the scales, occasionally grazing the exposed teeth.

“When did you become so rough, Mister Dragon?”

“All so I can defend myself, Miss Deer.”

You hummed, pulling him close with your face leaning against his snout. 

“When did you become so warm, Mister Dragon?”

“All so I can hold you closer, Miss Deer.”

He laughed softly, pushing his forehead against yours, and oddly enough, he found himself purring in delight that you have always managed to surprise him.

“When did you become so large, Mister Dragon?”

“All so I can protect you, Miss Deer.”

You never opened your eyes once, and slowly the scales you were touching were replaced by warm skin, his forehead against yours and he leaned down to rub his remaining horn against your sole antler.

Both of you, a mirror image of each other but not quite.

“Of all the creatures I have held, you are the warmest.”

“And you are the kindest.”

This time, he leaned down and kissed both of your eyelids and he wanted to keep his eyes at you longer, to see the morning light on your face but his eyes are becoming heavier.

How long was it since he slept on a hard surface? To sleep unguarded?

Exhaustion never crept in so fast before but here he is, already making himself comfortable on your lap and you didn’t stop him, your hand trying to look for his hair and he gently held your wrist to guide you.

“You know, boss, you have a bed back at the base.”

“Never thought I would see you sleeping in a place like this.”

You chuckled softly and Sylus did too, barely audible, a small huff, as he leaned further against your touch and with sleep finally creeping in, the night slowly becoming day, the radio left on in the guardhouse played from a distance and a brief smile cross his face, recognizing the last lines of the song. It was, afterall, the famous aria played in the opera where he first laid eyes on you for the first time.

Who would have thought using that form would tire him out?

Maybe you did the right call staying within the edges of this already burnt warehouse because he might fall asleep on his way back and he knows you wouldn’t be too happy if he come in a little later.

You and your adorable pout and drooping deer ears.

He would really hate to disappoint you.

“Let sleeping dragons lie.”

It was a quiet answer, your fingers on your lips and the twins laughed with his mechanical crow letting out a small beep. His eyes are closing, watching the morning rays overwhelm the brilliant stars and the skies have never felt nearer with him on lying on your lap.

Night is coming to an end, the fateful day that you will finally say his real name, he hopes, has arrived and one by one, each of your voice faded in the background until the last thing he heard was the last line of the song, and he mumbled along with it, a faint smile on his lips.

"All'alba, vincerò!

Vincerò! Vincerò!"

.

.

.

Victory tastes like white rabbit milk candy.

────────────────────

Author's Note: I think I used a lot of symbolism and references in this part but my favorite is the white rabbit milk candy and (the last lines from the opera Turandot). I got that after listening to Mili's Iron Lotus (Yes, I had second hand suffering watching people's playthrough getting their asses burn by Xiao from Library of Ruina). I think I would have finished writing this earlier but I live in a place where public spaces like libraries is a foreign concept and walking around is like Subway Surfers here.

I might make a playlist of all songs I made references to in the future after I am done with this. This chapter mentally exhausted me tbh I think I need to rewatch Delicious in Dungeon for the nth time again this weekend.

Four more chapters (Already including the epilogue)! See you next update!

[noorpersona]

Rivalry: Oikawa

Oikawa Tooru was used to attention.

From the moment he stepped onto the court, eyes followed. Girls sighed when he passed by in the hallways, classmates lit up when he so much as looked in their direction. He had charm, he had skill, and he had a smile that could make anyone—anyone—melt.

Except for the manager.

And it drove him insane.

When she became Seijoh’s team manager, Oikawa expected the usual routine. A few flustered glances, maybe a nervous stammer or two when he spoke to her. Instead? She barely gave him the time of day. Her eyes never lingered, her voice stayed firm, and when he flashed one of his award-winning smiles, she only responded with a flat, unimpressed stare.

At first, it was amusing. A fun little challenge. But as weeks passed, that amusement turned to frustration. Why wasn’t she falling for him like everyone else? Why did it feel like the harder he tried, the more indifferent she became? It was unnatural—Oikawa had spent years perfecting the art of attention, the delicate balance of charm and arrogance that made people gravitate toward him. And yet, she stood there, unmoved, like he was just another player on the team.

It gnawed at him. It wasn’t just that she ignored his flirtation—it was that she treated him exactly the same as she treated everyone else. It made him feel… ordinary.

Oikawa made it a point to test her patience.

“Manager-chan, be honest,” Oikawa mused lazily, twirling a volleyball between his fingers, his tone laced with smug amusement. "Do you ever get tired of pretending you’re immune to my charm?"

She didn’t even look up from her clipboard, her fingers flying across the page as she made notes. "Do you ever get tired of being a desperate attention-seeker?"

Iwaizumi choked on his water, while Hanamaki and Matsukawa outright cackled, exchanging wide-eyed looks of glee. Even Kyōtani, who usually ignored their antics, raised an eyebrow, glancing up from his shoe-lacing. Oikawa, however, was left standing there, momentarily stunned by the sheer disrespect.

“That was uncalled for,” he gasped, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded.

She finally spared him a glance, her gaze flat and unimpressed. "So is your existence, and yet, here we are."

The team erupted. Hanamaki practically slid to the floor from laughing too hard, Matsukawa was bent over the bench wheezing, and even Iwaizumi wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, though."

Oikawa scowled, gripping the volleyball just a little too tight. "Unbelievable. I slave away on the court, leading this team, and this is the gratitude I get? A cruel, heartless manager who refuses to appreciate my many, many talents."

"Oh, I appreciate your talents," she responded coolly, flipping to another page in her notebook. "Just not the ones you want me to."

His mouth opened, then closed, irritation flickering behind his eyes. She had played him—so effortlessly, so ruthlessly, and in front of the whole team, no less. He hated how easily she dismissed him, like he was some annoying background noise. It wasn’t just about her brushing off his flirting anymore—he wanted to rattle her, to break through that ridiculous indifference she seemed to have toward him.

And for the first time in a long while, Oikawa didn’t know how to win.

And that was how it started.

Oikawa made it his personal mission to get a reaction out of her. He turned up the charm, exaggerating his requests, leaving his jersey in the most inconvenient places just to force her to interact with him. And through it all, she remained perfectly unbothered.

Which only made things worse.

During practice, Oikawa's patience had started to fray. What once had been playful teasing was now laced with something sharper, something almost mean. He leaned in too close, his voice lower, more clipped. "You work so hard, manager-chan. Doesn’t it ever get exhausting pretending I don’t bother you?"

She barely spared him a glance. "Not nearly as exhausting as listening to you grasp at straws for my attention."

His fingers twitched at his sides, irritation flaring. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the one getting under her skin—not the other way around.. Whenever she’d pass by with the clipboard, he’d throw an arm over her shoulder, lean in just a little too close, and sigh dramatically. "You work so hard, manager-chan. Doesn’t it ever get tiring, pretending you don’t like me?"

"Not as tiring as listening to you talk," she quipped back, shaking him off effortlessly.

That made the rest of the team howl with laughter, much to Oikawa’s dismay.

But the more she dismissed him, the more he found himself noticing her.

How she always had a spare towel ready for anyone who needed it, how her lips twitched when she held back a smile, how she somehow always knew exactly where to be, exactly what needed to be done. The way she’d mutter under her breath when the gym got too chaotic, how she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows when she was in full focus mode.

Even worse, he noticed that she laughed at other people’s jokes. Not his.

It was infuriating.

The way she treated him—like he was just another player, no more important than anyone else—made something coil tight in his chest. It was wrong. He should matter.

As the season went on, their dynamic became something of a spectacle. Matsukawa and Hanamaki kept a running tally on how many times Oikawa failed to get a reaction from her. Even Kyōtani, normally disinterested in team antics, had muttered once, "Why does he even care?"

Practice was no different.

One day, he strolled in late, expecting to slide by unnoticed. Instead, the manager barely glanced up from her clipboard before sighing dramatically.

"And the king has graced us with his presence," she drawled, flipping a page without looking up. "Should we all kneel? Maybe throw some rose petals while we're at it?"

Oikawa's expression twitched. His fingers flexed around the strap of his bag before he forced a scoff. "You wound me, manager-chan. I’d expect at least a little appreciation for my presence."

She finally looked at him, unimpressed. "I’d appreciate it more if you actually showed up on time."

The snickers from the team were immediate. Matsukawa nudged Hanamaki, both grinning like they had front-row seats to the best show in town. Iwaizumi just shook his head, barely hiding his smirk.

Oikawa exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching slightly before he tilted his head, voice dropping just a fraction. "Careful, manager-chan. One of these days, someone’s going to mistake that attitude of yours for something else."

She arched a brow. "Oh? And what’s that?"

"Repressed admiration." His smirk was sharp, eyes locked on hers like he was waiting—daring her to react.

She let a slow smirk creep onto her face. "That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you."

Oikawa stiffened for a half-second. It was barely noticeable, but she caught it. And it infuriated him.

Hanamaki snorted. Matsukawa muttered a quiet "brutal" under his breath, and Iwaizumi, ever the opportunist, smirked as he crossed his arms. "Yeah, Oikawa. You expecting a parade or something?"

Oikawa rolled his eyes, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I was—"

"Stretching starts now," she cut him off smoothly, pointing at the mats without even sparing him a second look. "If Iwaizumi yells at you for skipping, I’m certainly not covering for you."

Iwaizumi clapped a hand on Oikawa’s back, grinning. "Yeah, Shittykawa, stretching starts now."

Oikawa groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. "You just like bossing me around."

"Someone has to." She finally looked at him, gaze neutral, unimpressed. Then, before he could respond, she turned and walked off, already shifting her attention to something else, like he wasn’t even worth her time.

He scowled. Why did it feel like he lost that exchange?

The next few weeks were much of the same. The team noticed, amused by the ongoing battle. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore.

"Oikawa, just accept defeat," Matsukawa teased one afternoon, leaning against the gym wall as he watched her deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, clipboard in hand, discussing strategy. She was nodding at something Iwaizumi said, her brow furrowed in concentration, flipping a page in her notes. Oikawa barely heard the words being exchanged, too focused on the way she looked—completely absorbed in the discussion, giving Iwaizumi the full weight of her attention. It was so effortless for her, this back-and-forth, the way she actually cared about his vice-captain’s input, about the game.

His grip on the volleyball tightened. Why did it feel like she never talked to him like that? "She’s immune. It’s kind of inspiring."

Oikawa scoffed, crossing his arms. "I will win. Just wait."

But the truth was, it wasn’t about winning anymore. It wasn’t about charming her or getting a reaction—Oikawa realized, somewhere between watching her scribble notes on the clipboard and catching glimpses of her tying her hair back, that he wanted her attention. He wanted her to look at him the way she looked at the others, wanted to hear her laugh because of him.

And that was unacceptable.

The breaking point finally came after a game.

The team had secured another victory, but the entire time, Oikawa’s mind wasn’t on the match. It wasn’t on his perfectly placed serves, on the points he racked up, or even on the cheers from the crowd.

It was on her.

She had celebrated, high-fiving Kyōtani, clapping Iwaizumi on the back, beaming as she praised the team for their effort. The smile she wore was bright, uninhibited, the kind of happiness he had never seen from her before. She was laughing—actually laughing—carefree and glowing as if this win meant the world to her.

And she hadn’t looked at him once.

He hated it.

Hated how effortless it was for her to shower attention on everyone else, how easily she smiled at them, joked with them, treated them as if they were worth her time. But him? She barely acknowledged his existence, acting as if he was nothing more than a passing nuisance.

His grip on his jersey tightened. Something inside him burned, sharp and unsettled, curling hot in his chest like an ember waiting to catch fire. It wasn’t fair. He had worked harder than anyone for this win, pushed himself beyond exhaustion to make sure they came out on top. And yet, when she smiled, when she laughed—it wasn’t because of him.

And that was the moment Oikawa snapped.

So when he saw her alone in the hallway after the match, clipboard in hand, he didn’t think.

"Why do you act like that?" His voice was tight, laced with frustration that he couldn't contain anymore.

She glanced up, brow raised. "Act like what?"

Oikawa stepped closer, his jaw clenching, heat simmering beneath his skin. "Like I’m nothing. Like I don’t exist. You joke with them, you celebrate with them, but with me? It’s like I could disappear and you wouldn’t even notice."

Her smirk was slow, taunting. "Oh, is that what this is about? You need me to fawn over you like everyone else? Poor Oikawa. Is it finally sinking in that I don’t care about stroking your over-inflated ego?"

His eyes darkened. "That’s not—"

She cut him off, stepping forward so the space between them all but disappeared. "You think I didn't know about you before I joined the team? You think I didn't know you'd try with me? I will not swoon and kiss your feet, Tooru."

Oikawa opened his mouth, but the words tangled. He wanted to refute it, to tell her it wasn’t about that, but the way she was looking at him—bold, unshaken, challenging—knocked the thoughts from his head.

He groaned in frustration, fingers twitching at his sides before he finally gave up fighting it. Before she could say another word, his hands shot up, gripping her waist as he yanked her toward him, lips crashing into hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was messy, desperate, filled with months—years—of unresolved tension. His fingers curled against her hips, pulling her closer, his kiss carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say. It was a demand, a declaration, a fight in its own right.

And the worst part? She kissed him back.

Her fingers curled into his jersey, yanking him closer as if daring him to take it further. He could feel her heartbeat, hammering against his own, and suddenly, nothing else mattered—not the game, not the team, not the rivalry that had defined them for so long.

Just him.

Just her.

When he finally pulled away, both of them breathless, Oikawa rested his forehead against hers, his hands still gripping her waist. He exhaled sharply, lips curving into something between a smirk and disbelief.

"You looked at me just now," he murmured, voice rough.

She huffed a laugh, fingers still tangled in his jersey. "Shut up," she whispered, then pulled him down and kissed him again.

It was just as desperate as before, just as fevered, but this time, there was something else—acceptance. She wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t stopping to argue. She was right there with him, matching his intensity, giving as much as she took. It was infuriating. It was exhilarating. It was everything.

And then—

Footsteps.

A sharp intake of breath.

Both of them froze just as Iwaizumi and Matsukawa turned the corner.

Iwaizumi stopped mid-step. Matsukawa, wide-eyed, blinked once, then twice. The hallway fell into a suffocating silence.

Then, slowly, in perfect synchronization, both of them took a single step backward.

Another.

Without a word, they turned around and walked the other way, as if they had just stumbled into something forbidden.

Matsukawa exhaled as they rounded the corner. "Damn. He really did get her."

Iwaizumi nodded. "Yeah."

A beat of silence.

"I hate him," Iwaizumi muttered.

Matsukawa sighed. "Me too."

[movingmusically]

Good Girl

Synopsis:

A teasing comment in an interview changes everything. The internet notices. Austin notices. And when he offers to take control, to take care of you—you realise you want him to.

Word Count: 11.4k

Masterlist

The press tour had been a whirlwind—early mornings, long flights, endless interviews with the same handful of questions, just worded differently each time. But honestly? You didn’t mind.

For one, you were ridiculously proud of the movie. It had been the kind of project actors dream about—the perfect mix of challenge and chemistry, the kind of story that stuck with people.

And two, it had given you Austin. You’d spent months circling each other on set, tension building until pretending wasn’t an option anymore. By the time filming wrapped, you were his, and he was yours. Eight months later, nothing had changed.

The world had caught on quickly. You weren’t exactly hiding, but you weren’t shouting from the rooftops either. Still, between red carpet glances, the way Austin never quite kept his hands off you, and the way you smiled at him like he’d hung the damn moon—people knew.

Which was why, when the two of you sat down for another round of press, it was business as usual. You sat next to him, legs crossed, holding your microphone loosely while Austin lounged in his chair, one ankle resting over his knee, his arm draped casually over the backrest as he leaned in to speak. Across from you, the interviewer, Josh, was flipping through his notes, clearly enjoying himself.

“So, were you guys rebels growing up? Did you ever get into trouble? Or were you good kids?”

Austin let out a small chuckle, tilting his head as he thought about it. “I feel like I was a fairly obedient, good boy, yeah.”

Josh’s brows lifted in amusement. “Really? You never got into trouble?”

Austin shook his head, shrugging. “Not really. My biggest thing was that as soon as somebody told me to do something, I wanted to do the opposite. Like, I liked cleaning my room, but the second my parents told me to do it? Didn’t wanna do it anymore.”

Josh nodded. “Ah, classic.”

“But I never snuck out or anything. I also didn’t have to because my parents were really cool. My mom always said if I told her everything, she’d support me, give me her opinion, but she never ruled with an iron fist.”

Josh hummed in approval before turning to you. “And you, Y/N? Would your parents say the same?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said without hesitation, smiling. “I was the goodest girl. Never in trouble, always doing what I was told. If someone gave me instructions, I followed them exactly.”

Josh chuckled, nodding along. Beside you, Austin shifted in his seat, his hand flexing where it rested on his knee, but you barely noticed.

“I mean, I never tested boundaries,” you continued. “If you told me to sit somewhere and not move, I’d stay there until you came back. Even if it was hours later. I was just like that—I listened, I followed directions, I never needed to be told twice.”

Josh let out a slightly strangled laugh. Austin coughed into his fist.

You frowned at their reactions but kept going.

“I always liked knowing what I was supposed to do. Like, rules? Loved them. Structure? The best. I never questioned authority, I just wanted to please people. Like, making my parents proud? That was the best feeling in the world. I thrived off it. Just tell me what you expect, and I’ll do my absolute best to be perfect.”

Josh made a weird noise that sounded like half a laugh, half a choke. Austin pressed his lips together, eyes slightly wider than before.

“…What?” you asked, blinking between them.

Josh coughed. “No, nothing, that’s, uh—very… admirable.”

Austin nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Very admirable.”

The conversation moved on, the interview wrapped up. That night, you and Austin didn’t think much about it. It had been just another stop on the press tour, blending into the dozens of others you’d done over the past few weeks.

It wasn’t until the following week that everything changed.

You were in the middle of a quiet morning—coffee, a slow start, a rare moment of peace before another packed day—when your phone buzzed.

Emma: LMFAOOOOO

You frowned at the screen, confused.

You: What??

Emma: Sis. You broke the internet and I don’t think you even know why.

A pit of mild concern settled in your stomach. You glanced up from your phone. “Babe?”

Austin hummed, flipping a page in the book he was reading. “Yeah?”

“Emma’s saying I broke the internet.”

Austin’s eyes flicked up, brow furrowing slightly. “Why?”

Your stomach tightened slightly, but before you could respond, another message popped up.

Emma: Check Twitter. Actually, no. Here. Let me do the work for you.

A flood of links followed.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over your phone before clicking the first one. The moment the words registered, your stomach dropped.

@randomuser1: THE INTERVIEW JUST AIRED AND I SWEAR TO GOD Y/N DOESN’T KNOW. AUSTIN KNEW. JOSH KNEW. THE INTERNET KNOWS. BUT SHE DOESN’T KNOW.

@subtextqueen: Y/N: “I was the goodest girl, I’d sit still for hours if you told me to.” Austin, gripping the armrest of his chair: deep breath. Josh, short-circuiting: nervous laughter. THE WORLD: screaming into the void

@smutficreader69: NO BECAUSE THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. SHE JUST OUTED HERSELF AS THE MOST SUBBY SUB EVER WITHOUT EVEN REALISING IT AND AUSTIN IS TRYING SO HARD NOT TO LOSE HIS MIND ON CAMERA

You froze, eyes locked on the screen. “Oh my God.”

Austin, finally curious, set his book down and leaned over your shoulder. “…What?”

You whipped around to look at him, wide-eyed. “The internet thinks I—” You stopped, pressing your lips together, then groaned. “Oh my God.”

Austin squinted at the screen, scanning the tweets. It took him all of two seconds before he burst out laughing.

Like, actual, full-body laughter.

You smacked his arm. “Austin!”

He barely even registered it, leaning back, wheezing. “Baby…” he managed between laughs. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know!” you insisted, heat creeping up your neck.

“I know,” he said, grinning. “That’s what makes it so good.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t believe I said all of that on camera.”

Austin wrapped an arm around you, still chuckling. “Hey,” he murmured, voice softer now. “It’s not a bad thing.”

You exhaled, peeking at him. “I just didn’t realise.”

His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, his expression still amused but softer now, more thoughtful. “Have you ever thought about it?”

You frowned, still feeling the heat in your face from the absolute chaos happening online. “About what?”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “About… what they’re saying.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “No. Not like that. I mean, I knew I was a rule-follower, but I never thought—” You gestured vaguely at your phone, which was still lighting up with notifications. “I never thought it meant anything.”

Austin hummed, his fingers still gently stroking the back of your hand. “It makes sense, though.”

You gave him a look. “Does it?”

He chuckled. “Baby, you do like rules. You like knowing what’s expected. You like making people happy.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back against the couch. “I mean… yeah. That’s just how I’ve always been.”

He smiled, his fingers tracing higher, skimming your wrist. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your stomach fluttered at the way his voice dropped slightly, just enough to make you aware of it.

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You’ve never brought this up before.”

“I didn’t wanna assume,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think it really mattered. But… watching you say all that? Baby, I was losing my mind.”

You flushed. “Austin.”

“What?” His grin was boyish, teasing, but his fingers on your wrist were not. “You have no idea how much I wanted to take you out of that interview and—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, your whole body going warm. “Oh my God.”

His laughter rumbled against your palm before you let him go, sinking further into the couch. He watched you for a moment, his teasing expression shifting into something more serious, more curious.

“Have you ever wanted that?” he asked, voice lower now, like he was testing the waters.

You thought about it. Really thought about it.

Had you ever wanted to let go like that? To hand over control, to not have to think, just follow? You weren’t sure you’d ever considered it before, not in so many words, but the way your body reacted to Austin’s touch, to his voice—

Your stomach flipped. The thought should’ve felt ridiculous, but it didn’t. It made sense. It wasn’t just about liking the praise—it was something deeper.

You liked knowing what to do. You liked when things were clear, when you didn’t have to guess or hesitate. And when Austin took control—when he guided you, when he told you exactly what he wanted—it felt... right.

Had it always been like that? Had you always liked that feeling?

Your stomach tightened.

“…Maybe,” you admitted softly.

Austin studied you, his fingers now barely ghosting over your pulse point. “We don’t have to,” he murmured. “If you’re not into it, if it’s not something you want—”

“I do,” you cut in, surprising yourself. Your throat felt dry, your pulse kicking a little harder. “I think… I do.”

Something flickered in his gaze—something thoughtful, something knowing. His thumb brushed over your wrist, slow and deliberate.

“We’ve got a packed day,” he murmured, voice lower now, curiosity still dancing in his eyes. “But… we can talk more about it later.”

The implication sent heat curling in your stomach. You swallowed, nodding.

“Yeah.” Your voice came out softer than you expected. “Later.”

Austin smirked, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting go. “Looking forward to it.”

And just like that, the moment shifted back to normal—except now, there was something else there, lingering beneath the surface.

The press tour was over.

No more early morning flights, no more crammed schedules, no more sitting under hot lights while answering the same five questions in slightly different ways. After weeks of moving from one city to the next, you were finally home.

And yet—

You still couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About him.

Austin had been completely normal for the rest of the press tour. That was the problem.

He hadn’t brought up the conversation again—not once. Not a single teasing remark, not a knowing smirk, not even a look that suggested he was thinking about it. He’d just carried on as if nothing had changed.

Except it had.

It was in the way your stomach flipped when his voice dropped just a little lower than usual. The way your skin tingled when he touched the small of your back.

The way you caught yourself watching him more than usual—wondering what was going on inside his head.

Austin wasn’t the type to jump into something without thinking it through. If he hadn’t mentioned it, there had to be a reason. Maybe he was just waiting for you to bring it up. You swallowed, curling deeper into the couch.

It had been hours since you’d gotten home, but you still felt unsettled. Like something was waiting just beneath the surface, hovering in the quiet between you and Austin.

Speak of the devil—

You glanced up as he walked in from the kitchen, two glasses of whiskey in hand. He wore an old, well-worn t-shirt and sweatpants, a stark contrast from the designer suits he’d practically lived in for the past few weeks.

You accepted the glass as he sat down beside you, tucking one leg under the other, settling in like this was the first time he could breathe in weeks.

“Feels weird being home, huh?” he mused, taking a slow sip.

You hummed in agreement. “Like I forgot how to just… sit still.”

His lips twitched. “You? Miss ‘I follow instructions perfectly’? I don’t believe it.”

Your stomach flipped.

You shot him a look, heat creeping up your neck. “I knew you were thinking about it.”

Austin smirked against the rim of his glass. “I never said I wasn’t.”

Your heart stuttered. You set your drink down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you.

Austin exhaled, setting his own glass down before shifting closer, his arm resting along the back of the couch.

When he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, it was slow. Unhurried.

You sighed against him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone, tilting your head slightly.

And just like that, you followed.

You let him adjust the angle, let him take control of the kiss exactly how he wanted—and you liked it.

Austin hummed, breaking away just enough to let his breath ghost over your lips. His fingers traced down, skimming your wrist—just like he had that morning in the hotel.

He tilted his head, studying you, and then—

“You like that, don’t you?”

You froze.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Austin’s eyes stayed on yours, patient, waiting—not pushing, just watching.

Your breath was shaky when you finally answered.

“…Yeah.”

His lips twitched, something warm flickering in his gaze. His fingers squeezed lightly around your wrist, not tight, not forceful—just present.

“Good.” His voice was soft, smooth, edged with something deeper. “Because if we’re gonna do this, I wanna do it right.”

You swallowed hard. “Right?”

Austin nodded, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “I’ve been doing some research.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow, amused. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Heat bloomed in your chest. “I—I just…” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You researched?”

His lips twitched. “Of course I did. You really think I’d jump into something like this without making sure I know how to take care of you?”

Something about the way he said it—take care of you—made your stomach clench.

You swallowed. “What did you find?”

Austin smirked. “You really wanna get into that now, sweetheart?”

Your face burned. “I mean—I should know, right?”

His smirk softened, turning into something more sincere. “You should. And we will talk about it. But before anything else, I wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”

You nodded quickly. “I am.”

Austin gave you a look. “No, I mean really comfortable. This only works if you feel safe, if you know you can always stop things if you want to.”

You bit your lip. “Okay.”

His fingers traced the inside of your wrist again, grounding you.

“There’s something called the colour system,” he murmured. “It’s simple—green, yellow, red. Green means you’re good, you’re enjoying it. Yellow means slow down, maybe check in. Red means stop—no questions asked.”

You stared at him, your heart thudding against your ribs.

He was serious.

Not just about doing this—but about doing it right.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, curling around your ribs.

“You really thought about this,” you murmured.

Austin smiled. “Of course I did.”

And that was the moment you knew.

This wasn’t just some passing curiosity, some fleeting experiment.

Austin wanted to take care of you.

And you wanted to let him.

A slow exhale left your lips, your body settling into the realisation, letting it sink into your bones.

Austin’s thumb traced over your wrist again, his touch light, thoughtful. Still watching you. Still waiting.

That same familiar warmth curled in your stomach—the same pull that had been there from the moment this conversation started.

You looked up at him, and he must have seen it in your eyes.

Because the next thing you knew, he was kissing you.

The movie had long since become background noise. You weren’t sure what was happening on the screen anymore—not when Austin was kissing you like this.

You were curled into his side, legs tangled, fingers slipping into the fabric of his t-shirt as his lips moved against yours, slow and deep. It had started soft, unhurried, but now there was something heavier beneath it.

His hands skimmed over your waist, his thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your top before his fingers flexed, gripping you just enough to make your breath hitch.

Austin noticed.

Of course he did.

He pulled back just enough to let his nose brush against yours, his fingers still resting warm and firm on your skin.

“You still good?” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t move in again. Instead, he waited—watching you, giving you the space to process.

You knew what this was.

This was the moment—the point where you could still pull back, still pretend like none of this had changed between you.

But you didn’t want to.

You wanted this. You wanted him.

Austin exhaled, dragging his fingers higher, slow, deliberate. “I need you to remember something for me, sweetheart.”

You shivered. “Okay.”

His thumb traced circles over your ribs, grounding. “I’m taking the lead here. But you?” His eyes stayed locked on yours. “You’re in control.”

Your breath caught. “I—”

“You say red, I stop.” His voice was smooth, but firm. “You say yellow, I slow down. Green means you’re good.”

You nodded quickly, pulse kicking. “Got it.”

Austin gave you a look.

“Say it back to me, baby.”

You licked your lips, heart pounding. “Green means I’m good, yellow means slow down, red means stop.”

Austin’s fingers squeezed at your side, approving. “Good girl.”

Heat flared through you at the praise.

He noticed.

His lips twitched like he was fighting a smirk, but he let it slide for now. Instead, his fingers traced slow lines up your back, settling at the nape of your neck.

You hesitated for a moment before grinning, trying to lighten the moment.

“So… do I need to call you sir or something?”

Austin let out a low chuckle, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin. “Only if you want to, baby.”

You swallowed hard, but your grin didn’t fade. “You have a preference?”

His fingers tightened, just slightly. “I like hearing you say my name when you’re like this.”

Your breath hitched.

His name. Not sir, not anything else—just Austin.

Something about that made warmth curl through your chest. Like it was intimate, just between you and him.

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Austin smiled, kissing you again—slower this time, like he was savoring the way you were melting against him. His hands mapped your waist, your back, his lips pressing firmer, deeper.

Everything was so much more intense now, knowing where this was headed.

Then, he pulled back.

You blinked, dazed. “What—?”

Austin smirked, his hands dropping to your thighs as he leaned back against the couch.

���Go to the bedroom,” he said, voice slow and deliberate.

Your stomach flipped.

“Take off your clothes.”

Your breath caught.

Then—

“Sit on the edge of the bed and wait for me.”

Heat rushed through you.

Austin let the words settle between you, his expression calm, patient, but expectant.

He was watching you so closely, waiting for any hesitation.

But you didn’t hesitate.

You hovered for a second, your lips brushing his, breathing in the heat between you. Your fingers curled at the hem of his shirt, like maybe—just maybe—you’d stay a little longer.

Austin’s hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip, his voice a warm hum against your mouth.

“Go on, baby,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed, then slowly pulled back. His gaze followed you as you stood.

And then—

His hand smacked your ass, light but undeniable.

You gasped—not in shock, but in pure, giddy surprise. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

Austin grinned, tilting his head at you, pleased.

“There she is,” he murmured.

Your heart hammered.

His smile only widened as you turned and ran off to the bedroom.

He didn’t follow immediately.

You could feel him waiting—making you anticipate, making you think about what was coming.

And God, it was so much worse than if he had just followed you right away.

The bedroom felt different like this.

It wasn’t like before—when you’d stumble in together, tangled up in laughter and kisses, pulling at each other’s clothes in a rush to get to the bed.

Now?

Now, you were waiting for him.

You sat at the edge of the bed, exactly how he’d told you to. The air felt warmer against your skin, every inch of you aware of the anticipation curling in your stomach.

He hadn’t followed you immediately.

It had only been a minute or two—long enough for your breath to steady, for your skin to prickle with awareness. You weren’t nervous, not really. Mostly, you just wanted.

The sound of the door creaking open pulled your focus.

Your eyes were already on the doorway when Austin stepped inside, his movements slow, unrushed.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just stood there.

Watching.

The flickering light from the hallway cast shadows over his face, but you could still see the way his gaze dragged over you, taking his time, letting the moment settle between you.

He exhaled slowly, voice smooth, assessing.

“…Look at you.”

Your stomach tightened.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he stepped further inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Austin took his time crossing the room, his steps slow and measured. Not hesitant—never hesitant. Just deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel every second of the space closing between you.

Your pulse kicked hard as he came closer, your eyes locked onto his, unable to look away.

He was still in the same sweatpants and t-shirt he’d been wearing on the couch, but there was something different now. Something in the way his body moved—loose, controlled, completely in command of the moment.

By the time he reached you, the anticipation curled so tight in your stomach you thought you might tremble.

Austin stopped just in front of you.

He didn’t touch you immediately. Instead, he just stood there, looking at you. Letting you feel the weight of his presence, his focus.

Your breathing shallowed out, but you didn’t move—not because you weren’t allowed to, but because you didn’t want to. Because you wanted to be right here, locked in this moment, waiting for him to take that last step.

And then, he did.

One hand lifted, fingers skimming so lightly along your jaw before settling firmly at your chin.

A controlled touch.

Not rough, but deliberate.

His thumb traced a slow path across your cheekbone before tilting your chin up, guiding your gaze back to his.

Your breath caught.

Austin hummed, almost like he was committing this moment to memory.

“…Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, thumb pressing just slightly against your skin.

The words sent a hot, unshakable pull straight through your core.

You weren’t even sure you breathed before he leaned down, his mouth brushing against yours, so soft you barely felt it—

A tease.

A test.

Like he wanted to see if you’d chase him.

Your fingers curled at your sides. You wanted to.

Austin chuckled, the sound warm, knowing.

His grip tightened just slightly, his free hand skimming over your knee, tracing.

“Tell me how you feel,” he murmured.

A deliberate check-in. Not because he thought you’d hesitate—but because he needed to hear you say it.

Your pulse pounded. “I feel good.”

Austin’s lips quirked. “Yeah?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

His thumb stroked over your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours.

“Good.”

His hand drifted lower, fingertips ghosting over your collarbone, slow and unrushed.

“You’re doing so well for me already,” he said softly.

You shivered.

His knees bent slightly, his posture relaxed but controlled as he brought himself closer, lower. Enough that you didn’t have to crane your neck too much, just enough to keep you looking up at him.

You weren’t sure who exhaled first before his lips were on yours again—firmer this time, undeniably leading.

Guiding you into exactly what he wanted.

And you?

You followed.

Austin’s lips moved slow and sure against yours, deepening the kiss just enough to pull you further under.

His thumb traced lazy circles against your cheek, a gentle contrast to the firm grip still holding your chin in place.

Leading.

Guiding.

Watching how you responded.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t sudden. He let it linger, breathing against your lips for a second before his fingers tilted your face just slightly to the side, exposing more of your neck.

You let him.

He hummed lowly, dragging the back of his fingers down the column of your throat, following their path with his eyes, like he was memorising you in real time.

His free hand, the one still resting lightly on your knee, squeezed.

A reminder.

“Keep your hands where they are,” he murmured.

A soft instruction.

Not forceful, not a warning—just a quiet expectation.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate. You stayed still, fingers curled into the blanket beneath you, even as his hands continued their slow, teasing path over your skin.

Austin smiled.

“Good girl.”

The words sent a hot, shivering pulse through you.

His lips pressed against the corner of your jaw, not quite kissing—just lingering there, close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Your stomach fluttered.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His teeth grazed the spot just below your ear.

“That’s my girl.”

A thrill shot through you, unexpected and overwhelming, curling in your stomach so fast you barely had time to register it.

Austin chuckled against your skin, feeling the way you reacted before you even had the chance to process it yourself.

He always noticed.

The hand on your knee moved higher, fingers trailing up your thigh, featherlight but deliberate.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and controlled.

“I think you’re ready for the next instruction, sweetheart.”

Your breath shuddered. “Tell me.”

Austin smirked, pulling back just enough to look at you again, his thumb skimming one last time over your cheek.

“Lay back for me.”

Your pulse jumped.

Not out of nerves, but out of anticipation.

Austin didn’t rush you. He never did. He just waited, watching you carefully as you shifted, leaning back until your spine met the mattress.

His gaze dragged down the length of you, slow and approving.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, every inch of your skin flushed, exposed, waiting.

Austin hummed, low and thoughtful.

“Hands above your head.”

Heat curled low in your stomach.

Slowly, deliberately, you did as he asked, letting your arms stretch above you, settling against the sheets.

Austin’s lips quirked.

“See? You’re a natural at this.”

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment.

Austin’s hands trailed over you, fingertips grazing down your stomach, tracing over the curves of your hips, mapping his way down with infuriating patience.

His mouth followed, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, your ribs—each one slower, more deliberate than the last.

His pace never changed.

No rush. No urgency.

Just complete control.

And you?

You could barely breathe.

Austin’s voice came, a warm murmur against your skin.

“You still good, baby?”

Your breath hitched.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Austin hummed in approval, his lips grazing the dip between your ribs before he lifted his head, letting his gaze roam over you.

“Now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands tracing slow, idle circles over your hips, “I want you to do something else for me.”

Your pulse jumped, anticipation curling low in your stomach.

“Spread your legs.”

Heat flooded through you at the quiet authority in his voice.

You hesitated for just a second—not out of reluctance, but because you wanted to savor the moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, you did as he asked. Slowly, deliberately, you parted your thighs, feeling the cool air graze over your already overheated skin.

Austin’s breath hitched.

It was subtle, barely there, but you caught it. And that was the moment you knew—he was just as affected by this as you were.

His hands smoothed down your thighs, fingers pressing just firmly enough to keep you exactly as he wanted. His control was unwavering. He wasn’t just touching you—he was positioning you.

And then—His grip tightened. “Don’t move.”

Your breath stalled in your throat. Austin’s voice was still smooth, steady, but now there was an edge to it, something undeniable, commanding.

Your pulse thrummed against your ribs. Austin watched you, waiting, searching for any hesitation—but there was none.

So, when his fingers finally drifted lower, his touch was so unhurried, so deliberate, you thought you might lose your mind before he even started.

You wanted to shift, wanted to press up into his touch, but his words still echoed in your head.

Don’t move.

You clenched your hands into the sheets above you, breathing hard as he finally—finally—gave you what you’d been waiting for.

The first stroke of his fingers was agonizingly slow, a teasing drag through your slickness, spreading the wetness he found there.

Austin let out a low, satisfied hum.

“So good for me,” he murmured. “Already so wet, baby.”

Your whole body tensed, your thighs threatening to tremble against his hold.

He felt it. And he didn’t allow it. His grip tightened just slightly, a reminder.

Your breath came out shaky. “Austin—”

A sharp squeeze to your thigh. “Careful.”

The warning was gentle but firm, the kind that made heat rush straight to your core. You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay still.

Austin rewarded you immediately.

His fingers circled your clit with slow, devastating precision, never too much, never too little—just enough to have your stomach twisting with need.

Your fingers dug into the sheets, desperate to ground yourself.

Austin noticed.

His lips curved into a pleased smirk, his other hand dragging over your stomach, soothing you as his fingers kept their slow, ruthless pace.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “You’re taking it so well.”

You whined, your head tipping back.

Austin chuckled against your skin, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against your hip, his breath warm and steady, his grip still firm on your thigh—keeping you exactly where he wanted. But then, as his fingers circled with devastating precision, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you, and before you could stop yourself, your back arched.

It was instinct, reflex—your body responding to him before your mind could catch up.

Austin’s fingers stilled instantly.

The shift was so subtle, so controlled, that at first, you barely registered what had happened. But then he pulled away. Not roughly, not as a punishment, but with calm, deliberate intent. His fingers left your skin, retreating, while his grip on your thigh remained firm—a quiet reminder that he was still in control.

Your breath hitched, heat flashing through you, not just from frustration but from the sharp, sudden awareness that you’d broken the rule.

Austin exhaled, his smirk edging into something deeper, something knowing. He dragged his thumb in slow, lazy circles over your thigh—not to soothe, but to make you wait. To let the loss of his touch sink in.

“What did I tell you, sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, even, but there was a quiet weight behind it, something unmistakably firm.

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding. “…Not to move.”

Austin hummed, pleased you remembered, but he didn’t give you what you wanted—not yet. Instead, his free hand traced idle patterns along your stomach, fingers dragging over your heated skin, but never quite where you needed him most. He was making you feel it, making you sit in the tension of the moment, fully aware of what had happened and what it meant.

“And what did you do?”

Your fingers clenched against the sheets above you, heat crawling up your neck. “I—I moved.”

“Mmm.” His fingers trailed lower, teasing, but never quite touching, his breath ghosting against your thigh. “You did, didn’t you?”

The teasing lilt in his voice sent a fresh rush of heat through you. You wanted to squirm, to press your thighs together, to do anything to relieve the aching need he’d built up in you. But you knew better now.

Austin let the silence stretch, letting the moment settle between you. And then, just when you thought you might break from the waiting—

“Let’s try that again.”

And this time, when he touched you again, it was worse.

Slower.

More controlled.

Every movement designed to push you to the edge, to test how well you could follow.

And now?

Now, you didn’t move.

Not until he let you.

Austin’s touch was back, but this time, he wasn’t just touching you.

He was testing you.

His fingers teased right along the edge of where you needed him, the pressure just light enough to make your thighs tremble with restraint. The worst part? You knew he was doing it on purpose. You could see it in the way his lips curled at the edges, that slow, knowing smirk that told you he was watching, waiting to see if you’d break again.

But you didn’t.

Not this time.

You kept your arms where they belonged, stretched above your head, fingers curling against the sheets, muscles tight with effort. Your thighs stayed parted, exactly how he told you to keep them, your body held in perfect, obedient stillness.

Austin exhaled a quiet hum, his fingers tracing slow, measured circles over your clit. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.”

The praise sent a pulse of heat straight through your core, but you held firm.

Austin’s hand drifted lower, teasing through your slickness before pressing two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, filling you with an unhurried precision that had your whole body tightening around him.

You gasped, your nails digging into the sheets. Your hips twitched—small, barely perceptible, but enough.

Austin’s movements didn’t stop immediately, but his rhythm shifted—not easing up, not punishing, just letting you feel the change. A silent reminder.

A pleased sound rumbled low in his chest, and he tilted his head slightly, observing you with that same sharp, calculated focus. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

The weight of his attention made your breath catch. He was always so attuned to you, always catching the smallest shifts in your body.

You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.

Austin’s fingers curled just right, pressing into a spot that sent a sharp, pleasure-laced shock up your spine.

Your breath hitched.

His voice dipped lower. “You’re taking me so well.”

The words only made the heat in your stomach coil tighter, hotter. The pressure was building too fast, too intense, too much.

Your thighs tensed, your stomach quivered, your whole body on the verge of something devastating.

Austin felt it. He always did.

“Almost there, baby?” His lips brushed against your inner thigh, teasing, coaxing, but still in control.

You let out a breathy whimper, barely able to form words. “Y-Yes.”

His fingers didn’t slow. Didn’t ease up.

But he wasn’t letting you go just yet.

“Hold it for me.”

Your body shook.

Austin’s fingers kept pressing, circling, building, but the one thing you needed most—the release, the permission—he wasn’t giving it to you.

Not yet.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, his voice like silk over gravel. “Don’t come until I tell you.”

Your entire body locked up, trapped on the razor-thin edge of pleasure, every nerve burning with the effort of holding it back.

But you did it.

You held it.

Because he told you to.

Austin’s free hand slid up your stomach, his touch light, reassuring. “So good for me, sweetheart.”

His thumb pressed down harder, his fingers curling deep—

The world tilted.

You were unraveling, the pleasure cresting so violently your body nearly betrayed you—nearly—but you clung to his words, to the last thread of restraint, waiting, waiting—

And then—

Austin exhaled, his lips grazing your thigh as he finally, finally gave you what you needed.

“Come for me.”

The command sent you spiraling.

Pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your body shaking as you let go, every inch of you surrendering completely to the force of it. Your breath came shaky, uneven, gasping, your thighs threatening to close around his hand, but Austin didn’t let you.

He held you open, held you through it, his fingers never stopping until he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure from you.

When it finally, finally subsided, you felt boneless, your limbs heavy, your skin flushed and buzzing.

Austin pressed a slow, lingering kiss against your stomach, soothing, grounding.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmured.

You did.

A slow inhale, your chest rising, falling, settling.

Austin watched you carefully, his hands still warm against your thighs, his eyes dark but undeniably soft. “You okay?”

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath.

And then, a small, blissed-out laugh slipped from your lips. “Yeah.”

Austin grinned, leaning up until he was hovering over you, his lips just barely brushing yours.

“You did so well for me.”

Heat bloomed low in your stomach again, but this time, it was softer—a slow, warm glow rather than a burning need.

He lifted one of your wrists gently, running his thumb over the crease of your palm before guiding it down, down, down—

Letting you feel the way he wanted to bring you back.

His other hand followed, his touch warm, steady, easing the tension from your arms as he finally, finally let you move again.

Only then did you reach for him, instinctively pulling him closer.

Austin let you, pressing himself against you, covering you with his warmth.

And when he kissed you, it was unhurried, lingering, full of quiet satisfaction.

Your breath was still uneven, your pulse a slow, deep thrum in your ears, your body heavy with the aftershocks of pleasure. But Austin?

Austin wasn’t done.

You knew it before he even said a word. You could feel it. In the way his body still hovered over yours, the way his fingers still moved—never idle, never aimless. Just deliberate. Deciding.

You swallowed hard, already feeling the warmth start to build again, even though you’d barely recovered.

Austin hummed low in his throat, his fingers traced lower, skimming over your ribs, dragging over the curve of your breast before cupping you firmly, fully.

Your breath hitched.

Austin smiled, slow and satisfied. Like he was testing how sensitive you still were.

And when his thumb brushed over your nipple—you shuddered.

Austin didn’t rush. His hands moved with the same measured, deliberate control he’d kept all night—mapping you, exploring you, playing with you like he had all the time in the world. Then, his lips were on your breast.

Your breath stuttered.

He started slow, dragging his lips over the curve, breath warm, fingers still teasing and tracing, never quite giving you enough. Then, he licked—a slow, deliberate stroke over your nipple, wet and warm, so careful, like he wanted to see exactly how you’d react before doing it again.

Your body betrayed you instantly. Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching, heat bolting straight between your legs like a live wire. Austin smirked. He felt it. Of course he did.

He wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your back arching slightly as his hand squeezed your other breast, his thumb rolling your nipple between his fingers, keeping you trapped between two perfect sensations. He sucked, licked, flicked, each movement precise, calculated, like he was testing just how much he could unravel you with his mouth alone.

His breath was warm against your damp skin when he pulled off, lips twitching with quiet amusement as he took in the way you trembled beneath him.

Austin shifted, his fingers dragging down your ribs, your waist, your hips, like he was testing how sensitive you’d become. Your whole body shivered at his touch. His voice dropped lower, smoother. “Tell me your colour, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, barely able to think past the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Green.”

Austin hummed, pleased. “Good girl.”

Then, without warning, he pulled back.

Your breath caught as you watched him lean back onto his knees, reaching for the hem of his shirt. And then—he pulled it over his head.

Fuck.

The sight of him—bare, toned, gorgeous, every inch of him flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat on his chest—made your stomach tighten, fluttering, wanting. Your thighs shifted.

His smirk deepened as he stood and kicked off his sweatpants, leaving him completely bare. You couldn’t breathe. Your eyes dropped—

And your stomach flipped.

Austin was hard.

Painfully, devastatingly hard.

For you.

And when his fingers wrapped around himself, a soft, helpless sound slipped from your throat.

Austin groaned, slow and low, stroking himself, taking his time, letting you watch. “See what you do to me?”

Your whole body flushed, the heat crawling down your chest, your stomach, settling low, low, low. You could barely think past it, past the way his hand moved, past the way his muscles tensed, past the way he let you take in every inch of him, knowing exactly what it was doing to you.

Austin exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he was just as wrecked as you were. “You like watching, don’t you?”

You barely had it in you to answer. “…Yes.”

Austin’s grin deepened. He leaned in again, one hand still lazily stroking himself, the other trailing up your stomach, between your breasts, wrapping gently around your throat. Not squeezing. Not holding. Just resting there. Letting you feel the warmth of his palm, the weight of his touch, the control of it. His lips hovered over yours, so close you could taste his breath.

“You ready for your next instruction, baby?”

Your pulse pounded, heat curling tighter in your stomach, everything in you locked onto him, onto the moment, onto the way his fingers flexed lightly around your throat. You swallowed, shivering beneath his touch.

“Yes.”

Austin’s thumb dragged over your pulse point, slow, approving. His voice came low, dark, commanding.

“Tell me what you want.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know—God, you knew. But saying it out loud, admitting it, asking for it—that was part of the game, wasn’t it?

Austin’s lips quirked, like he could see your hesitation, like he knew exactly what was happening in your head.

His grip stayed firm around himself as he watched you, his strokes slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. “Come on, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, coaxing, but edged with quiet authority. “Use your words.”

His other hand shifted, fingers sliding lower, tracing over your collarbone, then lower still, skimming the valley between your breasts, dragging the moment out.

Your whole body tensed, trembling. Your nails curled into the sheets, your thighs twitching as you sucked in a sharp breath.

“…I want you to touch me.”

Austin’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed locked onto yours, steady, dark, unwavering. “Where?”

Your face flushed hot. “You know where.”

Austin tutted, shaking his head, clearly enjoying every second of this. His fingers traced over your stomach, light and teasing, never quite dipping lower. “I do,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “But I wanna hear you say it.”

Your stomach tightened. He was dragging it out, keeping you hovering right on the edge of desperation, making you admit exactly what you needed.

You swallowed hard. Then—

“My pussy,” you breathed. “I want your mouth on me.”

Austin groaned, his jaw tightening. His fingers flexed around his cock, the slow pull of his strokes matching the way his eyes raked over you, hungry, dark, full of nothing but want.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. “Look at you.”

Your breath caught, your body thrumming at the way he was looking at you—like you were something to be devoured.

Then—without breaking eye contact—Austin slid further down, shifting between your legs.

You barely had time to process it before his hands were on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly how he wanted.

He was so close.

His breath ghosted over your already aching, throbbing heat, teasing, lingering, letting you feel just how close he was to giving you exactly what you needed.

You whimpered, breath shuddering.

Austin smirked. “You’re already shaking, sweetheart.”

Then—he licked.

A slow, wet, devastating drag of his tongue, pressing just enough to make your whole body jolt.

Your thighs tensed, threatening to close around him, but Austin’s grip tightened instantly, keeping you open, keeping you where he wanted.

“Ah-ah,” he murmured, his voice rough, dark, indulgent. “Stay still for me.”

Your breath hitched.

He did it again, a slow, torturous flick of his tongue, followed by the softest, teasing suction around your clit.

Your whole body arched, a desperate, broken sound slipping from your lips.

Austin groaned, sucking harder, his grip tightening, keeping you locked in place as his mouth worked you over with calculated precision.

Your fingers clenched the sheets, your stomach tightening, the pleasure coiling low, deep, unbearable.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t going fast.

Austin was taking his time, savoring the way your body tensed, trembled, begged for more.

Your head dropped back against the pillows, a wrecked whimper spilling from your lips.

Austin chuckled against you, sending vibrations straight through your core. “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You gasped, your hands twitching, aching to reach for him, to grab his hair, to pull him closer—

But you didn’t.

You remembered the rules.

You stayed still.

Austin noticed.

And he rewarded you.

His tongue flicked faster, the pressure increasing, circling, sucking, stroking—

You gasped, thighs trembling, vision hazy.

Austin groaned against you, his hands digging into your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you his.

Then—he pulled back.

A strangled, desperate whimper tore from your throat.

Austin grinned, his lips slick, his breath heavy. “You wanna come, baby?”

You were shaking. “Yes,” you choked out.

Austin tilted his head, dragging his thumb through the mess he’d made of you, barely applying pressure, just enough to drive you insane.

“Then beg for it.”

“Please, Austin.”

The words slipped from your lips, barely more than a whimper.

Austin grinned against your skin. “You can do better than that, baby.”

His fingers flexed over your thighs, keeping them spread, keeping you open. “Tell me exactly what you need.”

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, voice shaking.

“Please, I—I want to come.”

Austin hummed, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, teasing, slow. “Where?”

Heat rushed through your chest, down your stomach, pooling between your legs. You could barely breathe past it. You whimpered, your fingers twisting into the sheets. “I want to come on your mouth.”

A groan rumbled in Austin’s chest, deep, wrecked, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”

Then—he gave you exactly what you begged for.

His mouth was back on you in an instant, hot, wet, relentless.

His tongue flicked over your clit, faster now, harder, a devastating contrast to the slow, torturous teasing from before.

Your back arched off the bed, a wrecked moan ripping from your throat.

Austin held you down, kept you right where he wanted, kept you pinned beneath the weight of his control.

His tongue moved in perfect, ruthless strokes, sucking, circling, flicking, dragging you closer and closer to the edge—

You gasped, whimpered, your thighs trembling violently.

Austin could feel it.

His grip tightened, his tongue working you over with precise, practiced pressure, his groan vibrating against you.

You were so fucking close, dangling over the edge, the pleasure spiraling, cresting, blinding.

Your body locked up, your breath catching—

Austin felt the shift immediately.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t ease up.

Didn’t let up until—

Pleasure slammed through you, sharp and overwhelming, ripping you apart at the seams.

Your whole body shook, wrecked, trembling, your pulse thundering, your thighs squeezing against Austin’s grip.

Austin didn’t let go.

He held you down, held you through it, his mouth still moving, still licking, still pushing you through every last wave of it.

You let out a helpless sob, your vision white-hot, your body pulsing.

Austin groaned against you, licking you through every last tremor, refusing to let you come down easily.

You were panting, gasping, wrecked, every nerve still tingling, your body limp against the sheets.

Finally, finally, Austin pulled back.

His lips were slick, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He watched you carefully, his hands still warm on your thighs, grounding you.

His gaze dragged up your body, dark and heated, but laced with something softer, more thoughtful.

“You still with me, baby?” His voice was low, warm, edged with something indulgent but unmistakably careful.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah.”

Austin smirked, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over your hip. “Good.”

His hands skimmed up your body, slow, deliberate, savoring every inch of your skin as he moved.

“Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath shuddered, your pulse still pounding, your body still buzzing from the last orgasm he’d pulled from you.

The thought sent a ripple of heat through your core—because you wanted more. You knew you did. But your muscles were already trembling, every inch of you sensitive, flushed, wrecked.

Could you handle it?

Austin must have seen the flicker of hesitation on your face, because his touch softened, his gaze sharpening in that way it always did when he was reading you.

His fingers traced over your hip, soothing, grounding.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was warm, patient, steady.

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.”

Austin hummed, shifting his weight, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the center of your stomach. “Talk to me.”

You breathed, trying to gather your thoughts past the haze of lingering pleasure.

“I want to.” Your voice was soft, hoarse. Shaky, but sure.

Austin’s lips quirked into something softer, something knowing. “But?”

You exhaled, flushing. “I don’t know if I can.”

Austin smiled, dragging his lips up your ribs, your sternum, working his way higher.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby.” His voice was like silk, smooth and firm all at once. “You just have to let me take care of you.”

A slow exhale left your lips, your body instinctively relaxing beneath him.

You trusted him.

You wanted this.

Austin’s hand slid over your thigh, coaxing, encouraging, wordlessly reassuring.

“Just tell me,” he murmured against your jaw, his voice low, patient. “Green or yellow?”

Your stomach flipped.

You knew what he was asking.

You swallowed, exhaled.

“Green.”

A slow, approving hum rumbled from Austin’s chest. His lips brushed against yours—light, teasing.

“Good girl.”

Then—he kissed you.

Not gentle.

Not careful.

Deep. Consuming. Possessive.

Your body arched beneath him, your legs parting, welcoming him in.

Austin’s hand gripped your thigh, hooking it higher over his hip, adjusting you exactly how he wanted.

Your breath hitched as he rocked forward, teasing you with the thick, aching length of him, sliding through your slickness, pressing just enough—just barely—without giving you what you needed.

You whimpered, hips shifting, chasing him.

Austin smirked against your lips, his grip tightening, keeping you still.

“Uh-uh.” His voice was low, commanding. “You wait for me.”

Your pulse pounded, every muscle locking up with restraint.

Austin groaned quietly, adjusting his angle, his teasing measured, deliberate. Then—he pressed in.

A slow, steady push, stretching you, filling you, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

You gasped, your fingers clawing at his back, your legs trembling around him.

Austin let out a deep, ragged moan, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath uneven, his muscles tense.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

You weren’t sure if it was for you or for himself.

Maybe both.

His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you open for him, anchoring you beneath him.

You felt every inch of him, every slow pulse, every deep throb.

Austin’s lips brushed against your temple, down to your jaw, his breath hot, measured, steady even as his muscles trembled with restraint.

“You still doing okay, baby?” His voice was rough now, strained.

You nodded quickly, desperately. “Yes.”

Austin groaned, gripping your hip before drawing back—just enough—before thrusting forward, pushing deeper, pulling another gasping moan from your lips.

The rhythm was slow at first, controlled, dragging the pleasure out until you were whimpering beneath him, until your nails dug into his shoulders.

Then—he picked up the pace.

Deeper.

Harder.

Austin set the rhythm, and you followed.

Your body clung to him, heat tightening, winding, pressing, overwhelming.

The pleasure was almost too much, too sharp, too good.

Austin felt it.

He let out a low, strangled moan, his lips parting, his brows furrowing as he watched you, felt you, attuned to every tiny shift, every helpless gasp, every flutter around him.

“You close, baby?” His voice was lower now, breathless, edged with pure need.

You barely had it in you to speak. “Yes—”

Austin smirked, tilting your chin up, kissing you through it, swallowing your gasps as he drove into you harder, faster, deeper.

Your body shook beneath him, already sensitive, already teetering on the edge again.

Austin’s hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, pressing, circling—

Your whole body locked up, the pleasure ripping through you again, sharper, hotter.

“Austin—”

His pace faltered, his grip tightened, his body pressed deeper.

The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, consuming, wrecking, tearing through every last nerve.

But Austin didn’t stop.

He groaned low in his throat, his grip on your hip tightening, holding you in place as he kept moving—deep, steady thrusts that sent aftershocks rolling through you, making you gasp, making your thighs shake.

You whimpered, still pulsing around him, still too sensitive, too wrecked—but Austin wasn’t done.

Not yet.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing against yours. His pace didn’t slow—if anything, it got rougher, more desperate, like he was chasing the high he’d been holding back all night.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, slipping from his shoulders to his biceps, feeling them tense beneath your fingers. Every muscle in his body was tight with restraint, trembling with the effort of keeping himself from losing control completely.

But he was slipping.

You could hear it in his breath, feel it in the way his rhythm stuttered, in the way his hips snapped against yours harder, deeper, a low, wrecked moan spilling from his lips when you clenched around him again.

Your body tried to shy away, the oversensitivity sending sharp, electric jolts through you—but Austin’s hands were there, steady, grounding.

His hand gripped your thigh, pinning you open, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Stay with me,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, rough, barely more than a growl. “I know, sweetheart. You can take it. Just a little more.”

You whined, barely able to breathe past the overstimulation, your body helpless against the way he was still driving into you, chasing his own release now, his self-control unraveling thread by thread.

He buried his face against your neck, his breath coming hot and heavy, his groans turning into something almost desperate.

“Fuck—fuck—”

His hips slammed into yours once, twice, and then—

Austin broke.

A deep, wrecked moan tore from his throat as he drove himself deep, his body locking up, his grip on you tightening as he finally, finally let go.

You felt the heat of him spill inside you, felt the way his whole body shuddered with the force of it, how his arms trembled as they held you close.

Your body felt boneless, spent, trembling, your breath uneven, your mind lost in the haze.

Austin stayed inside you, anchoring you, grounding you.

His breath was still heavy, his hands slow as they traced over your skin, soothing you, easing you through it.

But even as the last tremors faded, you could still feel the heat lingering, still burning just beneath the surface.

Austin felt it, too.

He smirked, pressing slow kisses along your jaw, down your throat, his fingers still stroking your skin.

“You did so good for me,” he murmured against your collarbone.

Your body shuddered.

Austin exhaled slowly, letting himself rest against you for a moment, his body warm and heavy, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder. His touch was different now—gentle, reverent, like he was giving you a moment to settle, to breathe.

Carefully, he eased out of you, a quiet groan catching in his throat at the loss of warmth. His hands smoothed down your sides, grounding you, reassuring, as your body gave a soft, involuntary shudder.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

Your limbs felt loose, your mind still floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion, the aftershocks still buzzing faintly beneath your skin.

Austin pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your ribs. He wasn’t in a rush, wasn’t pushing. He was just here, watching you, waiting.

Then, his lips brushed over your cheek, his voice low, coaxing.

“Talk to me, baby. How do you feel?”

You inhaled shakily, still catching your breath, still feeling the warmth of his body, the press of his hands. You swallowed, licking your lips, trying to find the words.

“…Good,” you murmured, your voice soft, slightly hoarse. “Really good.”

Austin hummed, his lips curving against your skin. “Yeah?”

You nodded, shifting just slightly, rolling your shoulders, feeling the way your body still trembled, still hummed with lingering heat.

Austin let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb stroking slow circles against your hip. “Think you can take one more?”

Your stomach flipped, your pulse jumping, your body already stirring with something darker, hotter, more desperate.

You hesitated for just a second, just long enough to feel the weight of the moment, the anticipation curling in your stomach. Your body was spent, sensitive, wrecked—but you wanted it. Wanted him.

You exhaled sharply, your voice shaky, but certain.

“Yes.”

Austin’s smirk widened.

“Good girl.”

Austin pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his breath still hot against your skin. His hands trailed slowly down your sides, grounding you, even as the heat still burned just beneath the surface.

You exhaled shakily, your body still trembling from the last orgasm.

Austin hummed, satisfied, pressing a kiss to your other shoulder before murmuring against your skin—

“Turn over for me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You were already sensitive—wrecked, overstimulated, every nerve raw and frayed—but the way he said it, low and sure, made your body move before your brain could even catch up.

Slowly, you shifted, rolling onto your stomach, the sheets cool against your heated skin. Your breath shuddered as Austin’s hands immediately found your hips, guiding you, adjusting you exactly how he wanted.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers stroking over the curve of your waist, your lower back, down to your thighs. “Just like that.”

Then, softer—“Colour?”

You swallowed, heat coiling in your stomach, your body still thrumming from everything he’d already given you.

“…Green.”

Austin’s lips quirked, his touch growing bolder. “That’s my girl.”

You buried your face in the pillow, trying to steady your breathing, but then—

His fingers trailed lower.

A slow, teasing drag between your thighs, over the soaked mess of you, still throbbing from the last orgasm.

You jolted. “Austin—”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, soothing, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t pull back. His touch remained slow, steady, deliberate. “You can take it.”

Your body trembled beneath him, already teetering on the edge of too much, but it felt so good. The angle, the way you were stretched beneath him, every nerve ending focused solely on the way his fingers teased, traced, pressed—

Then—he pushed inside.

A slow, deep thrust of his fingers, curling downward, pressing against that devastating spot with unrelenting precision.

Your whole body jerked.

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp, your thighs twitching as the pressure built too fast, too sharp, too much.

Austin groaned softly, his free hand smoothing over the small of your back, keeping you right where he wanted. “That’s it,” he murmured, stroking deep, coaxing, pushing you higher, higher, higher.

You whimpered, your body writhing, pressing into the mattress, your hips shifting involuntarily, chasing the pressure, the friction, the overwhelming sensation.

Austin’s pace stayed slow, unyielding, making you feel every stroke, every deep curl of his fingers.

A tight, relentless pressure coiled low in your stomach, sharp and insistent, an unfamiliar urgency creeping in, almost too much.

“I—” You gasped, a broken sound slipping from your lips. “I feel like—I need to—”

A flicker of panic shot through your chest. It was too much, too overwhelming, too unfamiliar. The pressure in your stomach coiled tight—

“Yellow.” The word left your lips on a breath, instinctual, unstoppable.

Austin reacted instantly. His fingers slowed, his free hand smoothing over your lower back, grounding you. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice steady, reassuring. “You’re safe. Talk to me.”

You shuddered beneath him, breath shaky. “It’s just—” You swallowed hard. “It feels like—I need to—pee.”

Austin paused—just for a second—but there was no hesitation in the way his fingers smoothed over your skin, keeping you grounded. “I know, baby.” His voice was warm, patient, laced with quiet encouragement. “You don’t have to fight it. Just let go.”

Your body trembled beneath him, caught between tension and release.

“You trust me?” Austin murmured, his fingers stroking over your hip, grounding.

“Yes.”

“Then let me take care of you.”

His hand resumed its slow, coaxing rhythm, gentler this time, guiding you back toward the edge. His voice stayed low, soothing, wrapping around you like silk.

“You’re doing so well for me.” A kiss to the back of your neck. “Just let it happen, sweetheart.”

Your whole body tensed, locked, trapped in the overwhelming crest of it, hovering right on the edge of something devastating.

Austin didn’t let up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his tone smooth but firm, his fingers pressing deeper, faster, until—

It broke.

The orgasm tore through you, white-hot and all-consuming, pulling a sob from your lips as your body surrendered completely. The release hit so hard your vision blurred, and then—

A rush of liquid warmth spilled from you, drenching his hand, soaking into the sheets beneath you, making you gasp at the sensation.

Austin’s breath hitched.

“Fuck—”

He groaned softly, working you through it, his other hand smoothing up your back, whispering soft praises as you trembled beneath him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with awe. “So fucking beautiful.”

Tears leaked from your eyes, your body sagged, completely wrecked, completely spent. Your breath came in uneven gasps, your limbs heavy, your skin damp with sweat and pleasure.

Austin held you, soothed you, his voice low, grounding. “You’re okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You barely registered the way he eased his fingers from you, barely noticed the warmth of his hands smoothing over your back, coaxing you down from the high.

Everything felt distant. Warm. Floating.

Austin didn’t move away—not yet. He just held you, breathing slow and steady against your skin, letting you feel the warmth of him. His fingers smoothed through your hair, his lips brushing soft, lingering kisses along your spine, whispering quiet praises.

A deep, shuddering exhale left your lips as you slowly blinked back into the present, still feeling the aftershocks rolling through you.

Austin’s arms wrapped around you, his chest warm against your back, his lips brushing over your shoulder, still holding you, still anchoring you.

And when you finally, finally turned your head to look at him, his expression was pure awe.

“Baby,” he murmured, reaching up to gently brush a tear from your cheek. “That was—”

You swallowed, your throat tight, emotions swelling thick in your chest. “I…” You let out a breathless, dazed laugh. “I think you broke me.”

Austin chuckled softly, nuzzling against your temple. “Never, sweetheart.”

Then, softer—

“You are so fucking perfect.”

Austin stayed close, his body pressed warm and solid against your back, his arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. His lips traced slow, lazy kisses along your shoulder, up to the curve of your neck, his breath still a little uneven, but steadying.

His hands moved over you in slow strokes, smoothing down your arms, your back, your waist—grounding, reassuring. Not because you seemed unsteady, but because he wanted to. Because he needed to.

“You did so fucking good for me, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and warm, full of something deeper than satisfaction.

Your chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths, your limbs still heavy, still tingling with the aftershocks of everything he’d pulled from you. But there was something else now—a deep, settled warmth, a sense of being completely held, completely seen.

Austin shifted, slipping one arm beneath you, the other wrapping tighter around your waist as he turned you in his arms, rolling you onto your side so you were facing him. His blue eyes searched yours, checking, reading, waiting.

“How are you feeling?”

You exhaled a slow breath, your lips parting, your voice barely above a whisper.

“…Floaty.”

Austin smiled, his fingers brushing over your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle now. “Yeah?”

You nodded, sinking further into his warmth, his presence, his care.

Austin studied you for a moment, then pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.”

A sleepy hum left your lips as he carefully pulled back, shifting off the bed. You barely had time to miss the warmth of him before he was back, gently rolling you onto your back, pressing one more kiss to your stomach before grabbing a warm cloth to clean you up.

His touch was careful, slow, reverent.

And when he was done, he pulled the covers up over you, making sure you were comfortable before slipping back in beside you.

Immediately, you curled into him, your head pressing against his chest, your fingers lightly gripping at his side, as if holding onto the steady, grounding weight of him.

Austin exhaled softly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.

“You still floaty?” he asked after a moment, amusement threading through the warmth of his voice.

You let out a small, contented sigh. “Mhm.”

Austin chuckled, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles over your back.

For a while, there was only silence—the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the feeling of his fingers smoothing over your skin, the warmth of his body keeping you cocooned in a soft, safe haze.

Then, his voice came, low and quiet.

“You know how proud I am of you, right?”

Your stomach fluttered.

Austin’s fingers found your chin, gently tilting your face up until your eyes met his.

“You trusted me,” he murmured, his gaze deep, his thumb brushing slow, thoughtful circles over your jaw. “And you let go. You let me take care of you.”

Your chest tightened—not with nerves, not with uncertainty, but with something softer, warmer, deeper.

“I liked it,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Austin’s expression softened into something almost unreadable—something that looked a lot like pure, unfiltered adoration.

His lips brushed against yours, a featherlight, lingering kiss. “I know, baby.”

And then, with quiet certainty—

“We’ll do it again.”

Your stomach flipped, excitement curling low in your belly, but for now, you were content to just be here, wrapped up in him, letting the warmth of his words settle deep into your bones.

Austin shifted, tucking you closer, pressing another kiss to your temple.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his arms tightening just a little more. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, when your eyes fluttered shut, there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

Because you knew—

He did.

Taglist:

@thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @butlerrizz @myradiaz @chocolatetree222

[zeroseuniverse]

Devoted

Word Count: 589 Summary:“Sometimes I think you don’t even know,” he murmured once, his voice warm and low in the space between you. “How much I love you. How much you deserve to be loved.” Pairing: Jaehyun X reader

Taglist: @sh0dor1

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Jaehyun had always been the quiet kind of intense — the kind that didn’t need grand gestures to prove his devotion, because it was written in the way he looked at you. And God, did he look at you.

It was in his eyes when you walked into the room, like you’d pulled all the air out of it and left him breathless. It was in the way his hands found yours without thinking, lacing his fingers with yours like it was instinct — like the spaces between your fingers were made just for him.

He worshiped you in the softness of his voice when he said your name, as if it were something sacred. In the way he memorized every little detail — the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, the way your lips twisted when you were thinking, the exact pitch of your voice when you were excited.

Jaehyun was never obvious about it, but his love was overwhelming in its quietness. The way he always made sure you had the first bite of his food, the way he’d tug your chair closer when you sat next to him so your knees touched, the way his eyes softened even when you were mid-ramble about something ridiculous.

And when he held you — oh, when he held you — it was as if the whole world had narrowed down to you. His hands would splay wide across your back, drawing you in so close you could feel his heartbeat steadying against yours. His lips would brush against your temple, your forehead, your cheeks — everywhere but your lips — like he was offering reverence.

“Sometimes I think you don’t even know,” he murmured once, his voice warm and low in the space between you. “How much I love you. How much you deserve to be loved.”

You’d teased him for being dramatic, but the way he looked at you right then — like you hung the stars and he was just lucky enough to bask in their light — made your heart stumble.

Jaehyun didn’t need words to tell you he worshiped you. It was there in every touch, every glance, every quiet act of love that said, without a doubt, you were his everything.

One evening, after a long day, you found him waiting for you in your shared apartment. The lights were dim, the soft hum of music filling the air. He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, preparing your favorite meal. The scent of it wrapped around you like comfort.

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly, slipping your arms around his waist from behind.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply, his hands pausing just long enough to cover yours where they rested on his stomach.

Later, when you were both curled up on the couch, his fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin. You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch.

“You make everything better,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your forehead. “Even when I didn’t know I needed you… you were there.”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you tried to turn away, but his hand cradled your face gently.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “Let me love you. Let me show you every day how much you mean to me.”

And he did. In every kiss pressed to your skin, in every whispered word of adoration, in every moment he looked at you like you were his entire universe.

Jaehyun didn’t just love you. He worshiped you.

[dammit-tazmuir]

YEAH. Every time I see people talking like she struggles with being in Corona's shadow, I'm like??? Guys, she made the shadow.

She never wanted to be Crown Princess. She may say "Ultimate power—and posters of my face," but that doesn't mean she wants fame from just anywhere. And honestly, the emdash there could well indicate that the latter was not just an afterthought but a straight up lie. The whole answer could be a lie, even, but either way she wants eyes off of her. Perhaps long enough to achieve true ultimate power, and then eyes on her would be good, but for now she needs stealth. Perhaps she's only saying what she thinks people will believe.

In GtN when asked which twin to fear, Harrow initially thinks Corona, because she says "I" and Ianthe says "we". Harrow takes this at first as Corona being more independent and dominant, while Ianthe sees herself as part of a unit. Later information makes it much clearer that Corona only speaks for herself and doesn't really have the power or sway to speak for Ianthe, while Ianthe very much does have the ability and inclination to speak for both of them. (Possibly also "royal we" but lol.)

This isn't to say I think Corona is an innocent victim or harmless. She is a bleeding heart and a diplomat first and in many ways wonderful, but threatening herself to force Ianthe to do something wasn't a new occurrence, and it's made a point she does similar types of flattery and ingratiation that Ianthe does with people. (Paraphrasing, "You look at We Suffer like you want her to think you're into her, but you're not.") And "what throne will I mount if you don't bind me down?" to Judith, with true fear, is... Baby what tendencies do you have that you don't trust yourself with...? Regardless, it certainly wasn't a one-sided deal. Just, IF one side has distinctly more power in their dynamic and the con they pulled off, at least by any metric other than how far the other would go for them, it's easily Ianthe.

There is also! The very high likelihood that Ianthe is why Coronabeth is as unnaturally gorgeous as she is. Like. "Nobody who's seen [her] in the flesh wastes time with an adjective." Corona has been barred entry to places because she's TOO pretty. Her beauty is written about in Cohort files, including one that says Ianthe's appearance next to Corona's suggests Ianthe may not be as good at animaphilia as Corona. We ofc know Corona isn't a necro. Animaphilia is never clearly explained, and when Pal says he thought it was her specialty her response is "that's just for show", which, knowing Tamsyn's love for layers... (Also Mercymorn, whose eyes show no signs of age in sgarp contrast to her peers, accuses Ianthe of being "one of those animaphiliacs" and let's be real she's a hypocrite lmao.) We know Ianthe can do body modifying stuff because of what she easily did to Harrow's hair, and when she's reunited with Corona she starts fussing over her looks and talking about how to fix her up.

Everything suggests that animaphilia involves altering the body and appearance, and that Ianthe has gone out of her way to use it on Corona to make her as radiant as humanly possible and then some, to ensure all eyes stay on her.

Also in the aforementioned Mercy bit, "[She said] I wasn't as pretty as someone called Cyrus. It was like being back with mummy." And yeah that's ouch to read, but Ianthe says it "with a touch of fond nostalgia". She's not bitter. She thinks it's funny. (Her sense of humor is ridiculous at all times and that's not un-related but like. Not the important detail here lol.)

The issue is people take her words at face value (she lies frequently) and/or project how they would feel in what they can see of her shoes. And it's entirely possible her feelings are ultimately mixed. It's possible she's doing a balancing act between a desire for recognition and immediate gratification versus sticking to her longterm goals that she wants even more. It's also possible that any hint of "oh woe is me, Corona always got all the attention" is fully her doing a bit, fishing for sympathy for something that doesn't actually remotely bother her. It's fully possible her only real issue with "they turned our birthday into a memorial" was being pissed people chose to believe Corona was dead. There are a lot of possibilities, but all of them involve her life in the shadows being entirely by her own design.

OF COURSE there's also just The Unwanted Guest (and anyone who hasn't read it should immediately). So like...

Whatever part of her might be genuine about craving recognition and praise could, you know, be pretty new actually. Or she could have been a little before but gotten a big boost lately. Imagine feeling a sudden need for things you didn't think you cared about, and those feelings aren't even yours, except they are, and it's entirely your own fault...

Whatever the case, we may not know any of her plans exactly, but so far, she's always been at least pretty adjacent to, if not exactly, wherever she wants to be.

The inherent misunderstanding of Ianthe's character as the constant second fiddle.

I see many posts about how Ianthe must be oh so devastated to always be number two. I also see so many posts calling Ianthe pathetic and a lot of them don't sound ironic about it.

Did anyone else here notice how every single character in the books who thought Ianthe was pathetic at some point has either converted to thinking she's probably one of the most dangerous lyctors to have ever existed or is just straight up dead now? What a coincidence. Or maybe, just maybe, having the common sense to survive until the end of Nona and realising Ianthe is to be handled with caution go hand in hand.

Even Pyrrha Dve says that Ianthe freaks her out.

Ianthe could have ended the jig with Corona at any point, proven the world that she is the golden child, not her sister. But why would she? She would have given up a good portion of her control over Corona for a little appreciation from people she doesn't care about. She would become the "crown princess of Ida as she never wanted". Having Corona see her as the only reason she ever manages anything is simply so much more valuable to her.

Harrow called Ianthe a boot licker and asked her how she isn't ashamed of groveling to Augustine like that. The woman straight up told her she simply understands that "being ashamed is a privilege". A couple hundred pages later Augustine dies by Ianthe's choice and Ianthe takes his place at God's side. Weird. Another funny coincidence. Or maybe Ianthe just understood that sticking close to Augustine no matter the cost would open a gate to promotion eventually?

Asides Alecto waking up, this Woman has thus far achieved every single one of her goals or is still on her way to doing so. She did not suffer a single major setback. The only people who ever managed to give her minor setbacks were people who understood exactly how dangerous she is and how serious she is to be taken as an adversary, people who understood that her main if not only weaknesses are a) that she cares too much about the people she loves and that the gaslighting is simply a desperate attempt to make sure they never leave her. (see Coronabeth and the gun) b) she has no patience and gets bored easily, thus will take short cuts whenever she can rather than doing a job correctly from the start.

I firmly believe she'll either suffer a terrible fait in Alecto or take god's place. Or both.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Lazard is put in charge of the Infantry for a few months, causing him to gain a new cult following in the Inafantry due to being shown respect and care for their wellbeing for the first time in their careers. Teamwork and comraderie between them and SOLDIER are at a chart topping high. At the same time, respect for Heidagger has plummeted further than anyone thought possible. There are several pending assassination attempts and revolutions in the works for when he gets back, from both the Infantry and their newfound SOLDIER friends they have confided in.

Of course, best of all, Zack and Cloud are put on more missions with each other. Zack is stoked. They have failed every mission because they were goofing off too much.

Lazard had no idea what he was getting into when they threw him into the Infantry's mess. But a few weeks in, it's hard not to notice the change. The grumbling and the half-hearted loyalty has been replaced with genuine respect. The Infantry—those forgotten cogs in Shinra's machine—are finally treated like actual people, and it makes him feel good about himself. If only his SOLDIERs weren't a bunch of jealous children.

*Sephiroth stiffly drops off some reports at Lazard's desk and then just... stands there, radiating pure, undiluted displeasure*

Lazard: Thank you.

Sephiroth: …

Lazard: Do you need something?

Sephiroth: I needed a new elemental materia two months ago. You know, back when I put in the requisition form. The one you conveniently ignored while lavishing resources upon the infantry like some benevolent war god.

Lazard: Sephiroth, I can't believe I'm hearing a jealous comment from you of all people.

Sephiroth: Who says I'm jealous? Just because the one higher-up who's ever treated me with a shred of basic dignity has apparently decided to start distributing that respect freely to any random recruit who wanders in off the street? Haha. No. I'm just making an observation.

*Genesis storms into Lazard's office with a coffee cup in hand*

Genesis: Your coffee, Director.

Lazard: Thank you, Genesis.

Genesis: I hope my saliva gives it an added texture.

Lazard: For Gaia's sake.

*Angeal walks in*

Lazard: Angeal, would you please knock some sense into Sephiroth and Genesis? They seem to think that my management of the infantry somehow diminishes the respect I have for SOLDIER as a whole. Please, explain to them how ridiculous that is.

Angeal: Come on, guys. This is petty. We are professionals, and as professionals, we should understand that leadership means making tough choices for the good of all. It doesn't mean favoritism. Lazard has always had our backs—like that time he personally arranged for our ration packs to include bread rolls instead of those stale bread slices.

*Zack pokes his head into the room*

Zack: Hey, Lazard! Cloud and the guys from the infantry say thanks for the fresh-baked artisan sourdough in their ration packs! The rosemary sea salt crust was a really nice touch!

*Angeal lets out a guttural war cry and lunges. Lazard barely dodges as Sephiroth and Genesis scramble to restrain him*

[writememysticfalls]

Bite Me | Kol Mikaelson

Summary: You demand that Kol turn you into a vampire. He agrees to help you... with one naughty condition.

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Reader

Genre: Suggestive

Word count: <1k

“Well, well, well,” Kol said, leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need you to turn me,” you said.

Kol said, “You're not even going to wine me and dine me before asking me for a favour?”

You rolled your eyes and began to march into the house. “Don't be difficult, Kol.”

Your breath stopped short when Kol grabbed the doorframe with one arm, stopping you from entering.

“I'll do this for you, L/n - but we're going to do it my way,” Kol said.

“Fine,” you agreed, following Kol inside.

When you were sat down in the living room, Kol rolled up one of his black shirt sleeves, revealing his pale skin, which rippled with a network of veins.

“You have to feed me your blood, right?” you asked.

“Not so easy,” Kol said. “If you want to become a vampire, you have to bite me yourself.”

“What?” you said. “That's not fair. ”

Kol shrugged. “Oh, come on, sweetie. You'll be doing it all the time when you're immortal.”

You shook your head. “For a vampire, it's normal. For a human, it's sick.”

Kol shook his head, smiling. “No, darling. Vampirism is always sick. Being a vampire is a hell of a lot of fun. But it also means becoming a bloodthirsty monster. If you can't take that, you're not ready.”

You fought the tears of disgust pricking your eyes. “You're a sadistic asshole, Kol,” you snapped.

He leaned in, placing a finger on your chin and staring into your eyes. “And you will become a sadistic asshole too, if you become a vampire. You don't have to turn, you know. I think your evil side is sexy, but… you could just stay human, Kol.”

You pulled your face free from his hand. “I'm not giving up, Kol. You can't make me.”

Kol eyed you up and down with a half smile. He held out his wrist. “As you wish, love.”

You wrenched his hand to your mouth. You contemplated biting into the smooth skin, your teeth tearing it till they broke through - but felt acid rise up your throat. “I'll do it, Kol,” you warned, but your voice was shaking.

He rolled his eyes. “You won't, Kol. You'll stay little miss perfect human, and run off into the sunset with my brother.”

“I'm not as weak as you think,” you said.

“Vampires are dead, Kol. You can't handle that,” Kol replied.

You felt a flash of anger. Kol was talking to you like you were a child, like you hadn't been through hell and back. “I watched my parents die, Kol! I know the cost of death. You can talk to me like a child, you can set me as many ridiculous challenges as you want, but you can't stop me from protecting the people I love.”

Fuelled by your rage, you held your breath and bit down on Kol's wrist as hard as you could. You heard him let out a sharp curse. You were overwhelmed with the saltiness of his skin on your tongue, then, finally, the metallic ring of blood. Fighting the urge to close your throat, you sucked down as much blood as you could handle.

Kol moved over you in a blur. He smoothed your hair out of your face and ran his eyes anxiously over your face. “Are you okay? I didn't think you would -”

“Water,” you croaked.

Kol brought you some, and you sipped it cautiously. Finally, you said, “I'm fine, Kol. Chill.”

Kol sat, his eyes wide. “You're doing this. You're going to be a vampire.” He rubbed his wrist, staring at it intently.

“Got a problem with that?” you teased.

Kol slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. “I think I underestimated you, Y/n. God, you'll make a hot immortal.”

_

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[exploring-the-cosmos]

Okay so I'll just say it because I've been thinking it for a while, but the weird dislike or sometimes even hatred for Eddie Diaz (and Ryan Guzman) that is present in this fandom feels (at times) incredibly forced at best and downright racist at worst. And he's already a pretty white-washed character as it is. This is not in any way meant as a call-out to any one person in particular, and certainly not me saying he's a perfect character above critique, but my god, I need people to inject a little bit of nuance into their views of these characters. I love Buck as much as the next 9-1-1 fan, but he is not this perfect angel who can do no wrong like some people act like he is. Likewise, Eddie has made a lot of mistakes and done a lot of shitty things (some of which Buck himself has done, too). But at the end of the day, I think he is a very complex character who is doing the best he can with what he has and means well. I don't know why some of you are in this fandom if you dislike these characters as much as it appears you do.

And the SHIPPING WARS MY GOD STOP IT. I usually stay out of shipping discourse because I think it's ridiculous and unnecessary most of the time. Ship and let ship is always an option, and I think most people would benefit from choosing it. And listen, I will admit my bias and say I am primarily a Buddie shipper. But I have no issue with Bucktommy shippers as a whole nor the ship itself being popular. Do I ship it? No. I don't even particularly like Tommy as a character, but I don't care if other people like him and the ship. What I do have an issue with, however, is the way some of y'all act with such vitriol towards Buddie shippers, Buddie as a ship, and, specifically, Eddie Diaz as a potential love interest for Buck. This is where I think some people's underlying racial bias really becomes apparent, and no, I'm not talking about all BuckTommy shippers, only those that are explicitly anti-Buddie because they don't like Eddie. Because why, WHY are you so insistent on seeing these two white men together, who have had so little time together on screen and, in my opinion, have been shown to have very little in common with each other other than the fact that they care about and are interested in each other romantically, but so against Buck potentially being in a relationship with a different man who he has been best friends with for the better part of a decade, who wrote him into his will, cares deeply about him and who he cares about just as much, spends a lot of his free time with, and who also happens to not be white? Look, I'm not gonna sit here and say every single one of you is a raging racist or anything. I don't know you. But I think a lot of y'all would benefit from a little bit of introspection as to why you feel the way that you do about some of these characters and ships. Also, yes, Buddie shippers can be toxic and racist, too. I am not saying Buddie shippers are above those behaviors as well, only making an observation specific to some people's anti-Buddie and anti-Eddie sentiment.

Also, this is an aside, but the way fandom and shipping culture in general has gravitated towards strict adherence to canon content is.... weird. Like, why are some of y'all so allergic to engaging with or creating content outside of the confines of what the canon material has offered you? Have fun, be creative, go wild, and also be respectful to the folks around you who see things differently. We all share this space, and we should all care about making it as positive and welcoming of an experience as possible.