#She's not letting her go without a fight <3))< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting��when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 6.)

Summary: Things between you and Melissa are working out on their own complicated way. And you start to feel comfortable with your new life while questioning if the redhead really cares about you.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Melissa’s green eyes were fixated on you, a flicker of mischief dancing behind them as she studied your every movement. The intensity of her gaze was enough to make your heart race, a rush of warmth flooding through your chest. There was a quiet power in those eyes, a hypnotic pull that made the air around you heavy. A depth you could never quite comprehend, but it made you crave her in ways you didn’t think it was possible.

She wasn’t just looking at you; she was seeing you, all the parts of you that you never let anyone else touch. And in that moment, you realized she could always read you, knew exactly what was going on inside your head without a word from you. It was both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

“You’re too quiet, baby,” the redhead murmured, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your mound before pitching gently, making you flinch and moan in response. “What’s going on? Did Mommy left you speechless?”

The way she said everything was soft, different from the teasing and raw degradation that you grow used to and learned to enjoy it. But there was an edge to it—an urgency that tugged at something deep inside you. You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. Your mouth was dry, and you couldn’t seem to form the words that were desperate to escape.

The truth was still clawing at you, fighting to be heard. It wasn’t just about the way she touched you, or how her presence made everything else fade into the background. It was bigger than that. Melissa had become everything to you. She wasn’t just your sugar mommy anymore—she was your world, anchor, everything to you. And the realization hit you like a wave again, crashing over you, pulling you under before you even knew what was happening.

But you couldn’t say it to the older woman about your true feelings, not yet. Not when you were so wrapped up in her touch, in the way her eyes held you captive, in the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. You couldn’t say it because it felt too real, too raw. Too dangerous.

You wanted to say it. God, how badly you wanted to say it. The words bubbled up in your throat, desperate to escape, to make themselves known to the one person who despite the conditions—made everything feel like it had meaning again. But every time you opened your mouth, they got stuck. You couldn’t do it. No. Not now.

Not when you were so consumed by her touch—the way her fingers brushed against your skin with a tenderness that left you breathless. The way her lips found yours moments earlier with quite intensity, her kisses both soft and demanding all at once. The way her eyes, those deep, searching eyes, seemed to hold you captive, drawing you in with every lingering glance.

The redhead had no idea of the depth of your feelings, of course. She had no idea how deeply you felt, how you burned for her in a way that scared you. She didn’t know that when she smiled at you, when she laughed, or when she looked at you with that unspoken understanding in her gaze, you were drowning in a sea of emotion you didn’t know how to navigate.

It wasn’t just the physical connection that had you tangled up. No. It was the way Melissa made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. It was the way her presence filled the space around you, making everything else fade into the background. It was the way she made you feel safe—vulnerable, even—but safe.

But how could you tell her? How could you admit to the intensity of what was growing inside of you when you weren’t even sure if she felt the same way?

Hell, you weren’t even sure if she saw you as anything more than a passing sugar baby, a warm body to fill her loneliness and blow off some steam when she needed it. The uncertainty gnawed at you like a hunger you couldn’t satisfy. You wondered—did she use you? Was this just another game to her, another brief entanglement to pass the time until she moved on to someone else? You had no way of knowing. She had never given you any reason to think otherwise, but the thought lingered, uninvited and persistent.

Sometimes you thought she might be just playing with you—testing boundaries, seeing how much you’d let her get away with. The Schemmenti woman wasn’t cruel, but she was careful, and her intentions remained shrouded in mystery. You couldn’t read her the way she seemed to read you, and that left you with an unsettling sense of insecurity. The fear that you were only a toy in her hands, a distraction when she needed one, and nothing more.

You promised to yourself that you would never ask. You would never confront her, never would ask for more that you were receiving because you were too terrified of the answer. Terrified of what it would mean if she told you that all of this—that connection, that spark, those moments that felt so real—was just something fleeting, a brief affair in the grand scheme of things.

Although, you couldn’t help but wish, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this. That Melissa Schemmenti wasn’t just using you, that you meant something to her the way she meant everything to you.

The fear of the unknown gripped you, but the desire to be with her—to be more to her than a sugar baby—was stronger than the silence that kept you from speaking your truth. So you held it in, buried it deep where it couldn’t escape. Not yet. Not until you were sure she felt the same.

Because if you said it now, if you told her how much you needed her, how much you liked her, you might just break your own heart. The thoughts raced through your mind, a jumble of confusion, fear, and longing. Could you let yourself be vulnerable like this? Could you trust her with all the pieces of your heart you were so desperate to give, but terrified to lose?

But just as the question swirled in your head, you felt her right hand—warm, sure, and gentle—glide over your back, her fingers brushing the hooks of your purple lacy bra from the lingerie she bought you with an almost practiced ease. A shiver ran down your spine as her touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, the sensation so intimate that it knocked every stray thought from your mind.

You hadn't even realized how close she’d gotten, how her arm stretched and reached towards your chest and squeezed your sensitive breasts, making your pink nipples harden at the contact.

“Fuck, Schemmenti,” you forced your eyes shut. You were suddenly hyper aware of every inch of her, of the way she touched the bud between her fingers, twisting and pinching.

There was no hiding from her. Not when Melissa was looking at you like this, her gaze stripping away every defense you’d ever built. Her other thumb from her left hand moved in lazy circles against your lower skin, her touch both teasing and commanding.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” she coaxed, leaning in closer until her lips brushed against your knee. “You know you can tell me anything. You’re mine now. I can feel it. Tell me, what’s going on?”

“I- nothing,” you stammered, breathing fast while covering your face with sweaty hands. “Just- keep going. Please, Mommy.”

Her green eyes locked onto yours, darker now, full of hunger. She moved lower again, her breath hot against your inner thighs. Then, with an ease that made your breath catch in your throat, she buried her face between your shaky legs that were already spread for the only Melissa Schemmenti, you couldn’t speak properly, couldn’t answer anything. Your heart thundered in your chest as her touch edged you closer to surrender. She tilted her head, auburn hair spilling over her shoulder like a cascade of silk, and lowered herself further between your thighs. Her swollen lips brushed your dripping folds as she parted them gently with her firm fingers.

You tried to form words, but all that came out was a broken stutter, your tone trembling. “M-Mel... I… I can’t… I c-can’t… I... oh, God.” The rest was lost in a breathless moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with the lightest touch.

“You’re drenched like a freakin’ waterfall, hun. That’s perfect ‘cause I’m ready to eat you out,” she purred, voice heavy with intent. You gasped, your body arching instinctively, craving more of her touch, craving her fingers inside you. But just as you thought you were going to lose yourself in her, just as her lips were about to press against your sweet pussy, the sound of something—or better, someone echoed through the entire room, loud and clear enough for both of you to hear.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Missy, sweetheart? It’s Pearl,” the voice of her longtime retired housekeeper and confidante echoed through the penthouse. “I need a moment of your time downstairs! It’s urgent.”

The sound reached further through the bedroom, breaking the moment entirely. You froze, heart racing in panic, your entire body tensing at the unexpected interruption. The thought of being caught in such a vulnerable position sent waves of embarrassment through you. You tried to cover yourself instinctively, pulling the blanket over your naked form as Melissa let out a frustrated curse under her breath.

The older woman gruffed, pushing herself off the messy bed with a frustrated sigh. “What the fuck,” she muttered, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She shot you an apologetic look, but it only made you feel more exposed. Your body was still trembling from the tension, and you could feel your face flushing with embarrassment.

“W-What if she comes in?” you prompted, the words slipping out with fear and vulnerability, your pulse still racing from the sudden interruption.

Melissa, still adjusting the collar of her shirt, glared toward the closed door, her brow furrowed in irritation. “She won’t,” she muttered firmly, smoothing the fabric of her trousers. She turned back toward you, and for a brief moment, her gaze softened.

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you watched her pull herself together, her every movement deliberate, trying to mask the way the tension hung in the air between you two.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice small, almost pleading.

“Yeah,” the redhead replied, her tone much steadier now. She wasn’t looking at you as she adjusted her sleeves, but you could see her lips press into a tight line, the frustration giving way to something else—a quiet possessiveness, like she was trying to calm you without admitting how much this was bothering her. She then stopped, turning to face you directly, her posture shifting.

“I’ll be right back,” she said softly, low but confident. She took a few steps toward you, pausing right in front of where you lay.

You looked up at her, the blanket still clutched to your chest, unsure of what she was going to do next. Olive eyes locked with yours, and she lowered herself just enough to be within arm’s reach. Without breaking her gaze, she cupped your chin gently, tilting your head back a little, her fingers cool against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” she commands, but it wasn’t harsh—just quiet, almost tender.

You blinked, your heart fluttering as her gaze intensified. There was something in the way she said it that made your body obey before your mind could question it. Your lips parted, and almost immediately, you felt her finger still wet with your scent slide past them, resting lightly against the inside of your mouth.

You stared up at her and whined, your wide eyes full of that familiar mix of longing and uncertainty, the sensation of her finger so close to you filling you with both warmth and vulnerability. And you couldn’t help but suck on her digits like it was your job.

“Good girl. It looks like someone has a oral fixation, good to know,” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip before she pulled away, her expression softening ever so slightly. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary, as if memorizing the feel of you under her fingertips.

You kept quiet, processing Melissa’s features aching adoration. She let out a breath, almost like she was trying to steady herself before turning toward the door, but not before casting one last look over her shoulder.

The moment the door clicked shut, you exhaled a shaky breath, your heart still racing as you tried to compose yourself. The silence that followed was deafening, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something that neither of you had fully acknowledged yet.

In the stillness of the house, you heard the faint hum of voices coming from downstairs. Melissa and Pearl. Their voices were muffled, but you could make out the tension in their tone, the words they were whispering between themselves too faint to catch, but heavy with unspoken truths. You curled further into the bed, the sheets pulling tighter around you as you pressed your face into the pillow, trying to drown out the faint sounds.

The low rumble of a car engine, starting and then fading as it pulled away from the driveway, filled the air. Your hand tightened around the blanket as reality began to settle in. Melissa was gone. She promised to you that she would be back quickly. It wasn’t just the absence of her presence in the house—it was the absence of her warmth, her voice, the life she brought.

Minutes ago. The last time you had seen her, you had been so sure that nothing would have interrupted your almost tentative of sex.

But now, it was just you. And her sudden absence felt louder than anything. Frustrating, even.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as a bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Well, this is fantastic,” you muttered sarcastically to the empty room. “Who knew it could turn into this?” You buried your face in your hands, the ache in your chest growing. Your own bitterness mixed with the hollow space she left behind, and you couldn’t tell which hurt more—the nonchalant way she left, her absence or the way the world seemed to spin on without her.

You spent the next hours wandering through the redhead’s penthouse, marveling at the sheer opulence of it all. The sleek, modern furniture, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, and the art that adorned the walls—it was all so far removed from your cramped, old dingy apartment.

Your eyes wide with awe, as your fingers brushed lightly against the polished wood and cold marble that adorned the space. The grandeur was overwhelming—a stark contrast to your own previous home, where cramped spaces and peeling wallpaper made up the bulk of your existence. The penthouse was like a dream, all glass windows that looked out over the city and surfaces that gleamed, untouched and pristine.

With a quiet sigh, you turned back to the bathroom, and that's when you noticed the tub—a massive marble thing that looked more like a small pool than anything you’d ever seen before. The sight of it made your heart flutter. You had to try it. The thought of the bubbling water pulling you in like a soothing embrace was more than enough to sway you. The whole penthouse felt like an oasis compared to the clutter and grime of your own place.

You moved closer to it, slowly running your fingers along the smooth marble edges. A bottle of champagne sat on the counter beside it, glinting in the soft light, its gold foil catching your eye like a beacon. It felt almost surreal—like something out of a movie.

You chuckled softly at yourself, half-laughing, half-giddy. The idea of indulging like this, something you’d never thought you’d do, felt like a small rebellion against everything in your life. You uncorked the champagne, the satisfying pop echoing in the bathroom. The bubbles inside danced like tiny stars, and you poured yourself a glass, the cool liquid an instant contrast to the humid heat of the water.

Slipping into the tub, the water engulfed you, its warmth wrapping around you like a blanket, relaxing every muscle in your body. You sank deeper, feeling the bubbles fizz around you, the steam rising and swirling in the air like a cloud. You took a deep breath, letting it all go, letting the warmth of the water take over and clear your mind of the mess of your life.

The glass of champagne rested comfortably in your hand as you leaned back, the tension that had built up over the past few weeks melting away. You could feel your body starting to relax—something you hadn’t been able to do for so long. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining yourself as someone new, someone who was leaving the dirty, cramped world of your apartment behind and live like this every day. The thought made you smile.

But that smell, the scent of old clothes, garbage, and the stagnant air of your apartment, still clung to you. You could almost taste it on your tongue, but it was fading away with each passing second. Here, in the luxurious warmth of the bath, you felt different. Clean. Free.

You took another sip of champagne and sighed, your thoughts drifting, your body swaying with the ripples of the water. This moment felt so far removed from the cluttered, stale reality that awaits you.

After your bath, you padded back to the main area, more specifically on the closet, wrapping yourself in one of Melissa’s robes. The fabric was luxuriously soft against your skin, and its scent—cigarettes, expensive perfume, and something distinctly her–wrapped around you like a quiet, fleeting embrace. You buried your face in the collar, inhaling deeply, feeling a pang of longing settle heavy in your chest.

You could feel the weight of the silence in the room, the penthouse too quiet without the older woman’s presence. Unable to resist, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you typed out a simple text.

Hey, are you okay? :(

It wasn’t long before the message buzzed back with a curt response.

Busy. Be home late.

You stared at the cold words for a moment, the disappointment settling in your gut, an unshakable knot of worry that twisted tighter with each passing second. You set the phone down, heading to her bedroom to lay on her expensive bed—not caring about going to the spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling as the hours dragged on.

Finally, the front door creaked open well after nightfall. You heard the soft thud of her heels against the marble floor and got up, the sound stopping abruptly at the doorway. The rhythm of her footsteps—always so sure, so in control—was different tonight. More tired.

When she appeared in the doorway, she looked… broken. Her green eyes were red, streaked with the traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something unspoken. Melissa Schemmenti’s usually perfect, poised demeanor was replaced with something that felt more fragile, more human. She didn’t say a word, just kicked off her heels with a quiet sigh and padded into the room.

Her movements were slow, almost languid, as she stripped off her clothes, shedding her ‘armor’ piece by piece until she was left in nothing but a simple white shirt, the fabric loose against her skin. She didn’t even bother to look at you as or question about you being there without permission as she climbed into the bed.

The moment her cigarette touched her red lips and the first drag of smoke slid from between them, you could feel the tension in the air. It was as though she was trying to calm something inside her, and yet, it only made her seem more distant.

Still, the urge to be near Melissa was undeniable. You crossed the room with quiet steps, your heart racing, and sat beside her on the bed. You didn’t speak, unsure what to say, what to do. The silence between you was thick, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt… like a shared space of unvoiced understanding.

Melissa didn’t look at you, but after a long moment, her hand reached out—her fingers brushing against your wrist before wrapping gently around it. The gesture was so tender, so soft, that it sent a shiver down your soul.

Without saying anything, she pulled you down, guiding you to rest your head against her chest, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. You could hear her heartbeat, erratic at first, but gradually steadying as you settled into the crook of her shoulder. The heat of her skin, the softness of her shirt against your cheek—it was like being wrapped in a sanctuary.

The Italian redhead still didn’t speak, but her other hand came up to cradle your head, her fingers threading gently through your hair. You pressed a kiss to the side of her chest, right over her heart. The cigarette smoke lingered in the air, but it was no longer the thing that filled your senses. It was the warmth of her, the rise and fall of her breath, and the quiet, steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“Stay with me tonight. We talk more in the morning,” she whispered, barely above a breath. The words held so much weight, an invitation wrapped in vulnerability, as though she needed you more than she was willing to admit.

“Okay,” you nodded without hesitation, your lips brushing against her skin, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke all the things you couldn’t put into words.

Her arms tightened around you then, pulling you closer, her body against yours, as if she feared you might slip away if she let go. There was a tension in her, something coiled tight beneath the surface, but the longer you stayed there, the more it unraveled. She breathed in, deeply, and then out again, and you felt her begin to relax. The weight of her exhaustion settled deeper, her movements slowing until they stilled entirely.

You pressed another kiss to Melissa’s chest, lingering there, your lips warm against her skin, feeling the subtle shift of her breath as she started to drift. Her body melted into the bed, her grip on you loosening, and the space between you felt infinite—no longer heavy with the unspoken words of the night, but soft with the weight of shared silence.

Her breathing became slower, more even, and you knew that she was falling asleep, her body surrendering to the warmth and comfort of your touch.

You stayed there for a while, watching the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the steady rhythm that grounded you both. Your fingers lightly traced the outline of her shirt, brushing against her skin where it peeked out from the collar. Your lips found her chest again, a soft kiss that promised to stay as long as she needed.

And as she slept, curled around you, her warmth and presence surrounding you like a quiet haven, you knew you’d stay with her. No matter what happens.

[lavenlady]

Hai hello!

I really like your work and the way you present the characters ^^

Would you be interested in writing megatron or Optimus prime (whichever you prefer :3) x Organic/cybertronian reader? Maybe she was previously Sentinel's partner who he got as a gift for killing the rest of the primes? Maybe they knew her earlier as Orion pax or D-16?

I really like your work

I am happy that you liked it! I have decided to do both but more on D-16 side.

The reader will be a minicon - small but powerful!

Enjoy :3

✿Special Gift✿

D16/Megatron and Orion Pax/Optimus Prime

➤ You were 'taken in' by Sentinel Prime

➤ Forged a little after the betrayal so you do not know the truth, but found the perfect Prime suspicious - he was just too perfect

➤ You were a minicon and minicons posses the ability to power up cybertronians, so Sentinel saw usefulness in you and decided to let you keep your cog, even then you only reached the hip of a miner bot

➤ It was a win-win for Sentinel, he just kept getting more and more powerful after his successful 'promotion' - a special gift that made him more of an Icon in Iacon

➤ Oh how many times he showed off with your help and called you his partner

➤ You were usually by Sentinels side in Iacon but were always left behind when the Prime went searching for the Matrix of Leadership

➤ You couldn't really go anywhere, but after the Iacon 5000 race you were intrigued by those two miners - Orion Pax and D-16

➤ You probably saw how Darkwing threw them into Sub-level 50 and decided to follow them

" So you are the miners that took part in the race. I never knew I would see this in my entire onlining! "

➤ You accompanied them to the surface and finally got to know everyone better, mainly D-16 and Orion Pax

" You sneaked into the archives, nearly got beaten and was close to fall into the void?! On a daily basis?! And I thought I had an exciting life! "

" You are on top of the sector and use a steel bag to train?! You are so strong! I bet you could snap someone in half! "

➤ Then finally finding out the truth...

" Ha! I knew it! There was something fishy about him! "

➤ And others finally got their cogs and you got an upgrade, but couldn't really check as you had to run away

➤ Others had quite a difficulty in transforming and thus you decided in the end to cling to D-16

➤ Then High Guard takes you hostage and D-16 takes on Starscream, but you couldn't just sit there and watch

➤ So you jumped to help D-16, transforming into his fusion cannon, but quite more upgraded

➤ Now you can imagine how easier it was to find them when D-16 fired into the sky

➤ Then Sentinel's pawns capture you and you finally met Sentinel again

➤ All is the same, but as D-16 is about to be branded, you finally transform and jump at Sentinels face trying to buy others time

➤ In the end Sentinel breaks your knee joints to keep you in place and that fuels even more D-16's rage - or rather said fury

➤ His new friend used and forced to do as the false Prime says? Not gonna happen again

➤ Then the branding, the fight that you decided to take part in only wishing for the treachery of Sentinel to end, not expecting Orion's actions

➤ And finally Orion gets shot

➤ You and D-16 didn't want that to happen and especially didn't plan on killing their friend

➤ It was D-16 decision to drop down Orion into the void, but you couldn't really find the reason to leave him - you have to get rid of the false prime still, it was his fault after all

➤ You and now Megatron, after getting the Megatronus Prime's cog and a power up, plan to fix Iacon all together

➤ Then Optimus Prime comes and the battle followed by banishment

➤ You didn't know who to choose, you really liked both of your friends

➤ But at the same time....

➤ Not everything can be solved without violence, it was needed to be done and you will - for now - stand by it

➤ Feeling sad that you have lost some of your friends, but at least you still have D- Megatron left

➤ He promised a new, better future and you are going to help in achieving it, even if it ment to offline in process

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

(anyway here is the height I imagine the reader having

The cybertronians in Tf One are huge so minicons have to be quite bigger to fit with proportions - at least i think)

[srslylini]

ok I'm gonna try deconstructing this Vander/Jinx/Vi scene now because it's driving me nuts.

Jinx fights Warwick in the prison. Warwick recognizes her and the episode ends. Alright. Nothing really to criticize here. Yet.

Then the next episode starts with Vi throughout the months between episode 3 and 4 and then also throughout episode 4. Jinx suddenly appears and tells her Vander is back.

1. How did she know where to find her sister?

We could assume well the pit fight advertised it, right? But then there is the problem: With how the writers said it, Jinx was hiding away. Even if there were advertisements she wouldn't have seen it soon enough. This option is pretty much out and not working except if you take the weirdest leaps and make up stuff the writers never gave us.

The next one is she simply knew the entire time and that one is just vile and I refuse to believe it.

The other option I can give is that it actually took Jinx a while to find her and she didn't just immediately get to her.

2. Well Why did Warwick just run into the mines?

That also comes with huge problems that contradict the points I talked about with how Jinx could have found her sister, all but one by the way.

We could assume Warwick just immediately ran into the Mines and okay that is insanely lazy and convenient. Like okay plot mover. That rises the issue that if Jinx didn't immediately know where to find Vi, he either just sat there and waited for the plot to move OR he ran from place to place and, conveniently exactly when Jinx found Vi, he stopped at the Mines.

That just leaves the option that Jinx knew of Vi's whereabouts the entire time.

3 Why when Vi and Jinx found him in the Mines and he regained consciousness did he just stay that way?

this is now the problem I have with "after the prison escape".

so here: Warwick recognizes Jinx as Powder. Cut. Now what happened? Did he immediately turn back from Vander to Warwick and ran? All the enforcers were either knocked out or dead. There was nothing to trigger anything in him.

You could say well maybe he is just too much Warwick and I wish that would work but then why was the Gang just able to walk him to Viktor without him just running off? I fear the Undercity would very much be triggering for him, with what they showed us how he works. Especially if we are to assume he just turned back after finding Jinx in the prison and then ran.

even IF we said; well maybe Jinx just brought him to the Mines, okay still convenient. They weren't ever at the Mines before so why would this be her first place to go? How I know they never were at the Mines? The letter. So even if we just let it slide that she walked him there it still comes with so many problems. That would also imply he just waited there for the Plot to come if Jinx had to search for Vi. Or even if she just knew (which again do NOT like this option).

The more I think about this-

[kirkwall-tourism-department]

Extra Reading, Ch.3

the amount of effort it takes me to not let stuff that's supposed to be fluffy and happy slip into angst and sadness is crazy

i would not say i was totally successful this time

Her eyes burned from strain, a pounding headache resonated inside her skull, and her body had a heavy weight of exhaustion pressing down on it. While it was impossible to tell the time of day from her windowless room in the Lighthouse, she could tell from her physical state that she had gone a night without sleep, but it was worth it. She had done it. 

She read a book.

An achievement that long seemed impossible, reserved for those with better upbringings and more intelligence than her. But thanks to the professor, she did it. And she knew the first person to tell the news to.

Bolting up from her bed, she ran to Emmrich’s door, lights already peering out from his door. Walking up to it, she lightly knocked against it. As time passed without her question being answered, doubt started to creep into her mind, a sensation that had been forgotten to her until a few weeks ago. Would he be annoyed by her bothering him this early? It was hard to imagine him irritated at somebody, but maybe this would be what did it. Maybe he slept with his lights on and she was waking him up. What if-

Light filled the hallway, banishing the gloom that lingered in the hallways of the lighthouse. Emmrich stood in the open doorway with a drowsy smile on his face. ���Good morning, Rook. I must admit my surprise at your presence- I don’t think I’ve ever seen you awake at this hour.” 

“I sort of forgot to sleep last night… but I finished it! I finished the book!” she exclaimed, smiling so wide her cheeks started to ache. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt like this.  Normally, her happiness felt like a shallow puddle, based on nothing but an indifference to the troubles surrounding her. This time, it was an endless ocean, rooted in a sense of accomplishment she hadn't felt since her first battle as a Warden.

“Rook, that’s wonderful!” he congratulated her, stepping aside and motioning her into the room. Crossing the threshold, the familiar sights of the room greeted her. The comforting glow and crackle of the fireplace, the subtle whispers of incense that hung in the air after his rituals, and the chair she had claimed as her own, draped in a blanket Emmrich had found for her when she had appeared cold. In the past week, she spent more of her waking hours here with Emmrich than in her own room. “Would you like to discuss it?”

“Yes! I have a lot of thoughts, professor. I love that I get to say that.” she responded, sitting down in her chair, wrapping herself in the plush blanket. Emmrich sat at his desk, and gave her a look of pride that made her heart skip a beat. “Given the Warden’s love of secrecy, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about how much of this I didn’t know but… the whole thing with the Commander of Soldier’s Peak going crazy and needing to be forced to go on his Calling made me think a lot about how long the First Warden has been doing his job. And if what happened then might be happening now.”

“And that is precisely why we must study history!” Emmrich exclaimed, beaming at her with satisfaction, jewelry singing as he gesticulated with his hands. “To understand the past is to understand the present. I can’t tell you the joy it brings me to see you find those connections. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been a Warden?”

“Seven years.”

“I suppose that would explain your skill on the battlefield.”

Rook tried to fight away the blush rising on her face, giving a small shrug, unsure of how to respond to so much praise.  “One thing I wondered about- the only names he mentions are commanders. It makes it sound like they did everything. Obviously, they do a lot, but in my experience, they wouldn’t be able to get anything done if they didn’t have soldiers underneath them helping. Just makes me think of how many things are being credited to the commander’s whose names actually got written down somewhere when it may have been their subordinate actually getting the work done.”

“I… you’re absolutely correct.” Emmrich responded, a faraway look in his eyes. “I think you may have just changed how I interpret historical texts. This is one of the things I was hoping to gain from leaving the Necropolis- different perspectives. We tend to be such an insular community, we forget about the diversity of experiences in the world above us.” Emmrich spoke like he was conducting an orchestra, hands moving alongside his voice to help punctuate his sentences. It was difficult not to get distracted by all the golden jewelry adorning his arms when he gestured like that. Her fascination with everything that seemed expensive was the origin of her nickname after joining the Wardens- after growing up in the squalor of the alienage, seeing the ostentatious livery some of the senior Wardens wore distracted her with thoughts of envy and awe. Once it had happened enough times, the other recruits started calling her Rook- like she would try and steal the shining ornaments of her superiors to bring back to her nest. Despite the implications of the name, she had been welcoming of a new identity, hoping her old name would simply wash away with time. “Rook?”

“Sorry, what?” she apologized, snapping out of her thoughts. Emmrich stared at her, clearly expecting a response to a question she hadn’t heard.

“You seemed to be distracted.”

“Sorry again, it’s just… the jewelry on your arms. It’s really pretty.” she explained, somewhat embarrassed to have to admit how easy it was to draw her mind away from the topic at hand. 

“You think so?” Emmrich questioned, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Is that surprising?”

“I’ve just never seen you wear anything like it.”

“There’s no way I could afford something like that!” she laughed, imagining the absurdity in stretching the pittance she got as a Warden enough to afford golden jewelry. Emmrich’s eyes fell from her face in embarrassment at her retort, and the easy cadence of their conversation ground to a halt.

“My apologies for bringing up the matter.”

“It’s really not an problem.” she reassured him, the absence of his standard calm affability making her feel uneasy. She wanted to get him back as fast as she could. “What’s your next assignment for me?”

“I found a history of the Wardens in the Free Marches, like you asked.” he prefaced, clearly thankful Rook moved them though their conversational hiccup so quickly. “But the language is a bit… verbose. I apologize if this appears condescending, but I fear you may have trouble reading it without assistance.”

“That’s fine. It’ll be a good excuse to spend more time around you.” she smiled at him. For the first time since meeting him, Emmrich looked flustered. His eyes went wide, slight color appeared in his cheeks, and his mouth opened slightly in surprise. Satisfaction rose in her chest at her ability to make someone as dignified as him blush. As much as she hated to admit it, she had been hoping to break his composure like this since they first met at the Necropolis. She wasn’t sure where her innate desire to ruin beautiful things came from, but it certainly extended to Emmrich. After a few moments, he regained his typical poise before giving her a slight smile.

“You never have to find excuses, Rook. I’ll always welcome your company.”

—

This was a poor decision.

Emmrich paced his room, turning a small jewelry box over in his hands. It contained a small silver bracelet with a single blue gemstone inlaid between the delicate metal chainlinks. He had picked it up in Nevarra City earlier in the day, his conversation with Rook from the previous morning lingering in his mind long after she left him. He had been telling himself it had no deeper meaning than a kind gift to a colleague. After all, he had been in her position once- unable to afford all the luxuries he saw others indulging in. It didn’t have to have a deeper meaning than simple empathy.

But he knew he was lying to himself. On some level, he wanted to impress the beautiful woman who had been spending her evenings with him. He knew his desire for her companionship was improper- she couldn’t have been older than her late twenties. However, knowing something illicit rarely did anything to calm one’s heart.

Or other body parts.

So he walked circles in his room, trying to make the decision before she came by later for their standing appointment. Would she appreciate the gift as a simple, thoughtful gesture? Would she read into his implicit intentions? Would she be repulsed by them, or would she-

“Hi Emmrich!” Rook cheerily greeted him as the door opened without warning, Manfred holding it open for her. “I ran into Manfred on the way over. What’s that?” She questioned as she walked to meet him in the center of the room. Emmrich cursed his anxiety, the decision having been taken out of his hands. 

“I was thinking of our conversation yesterday, and I thought you might appreciate this.” Emmrich explained, trying to mimic Rook’s matter-of-fact manner of speaking to prevent any potential miscommunication. He handed the box to her, and she took it curiously, examining the fine velvet exterior. He held his breath as she slowly opened it, and her smile fell. 

“Emmrich, this…” she whispered, shock and confusion intermingling on her face. She stared at it silently for what felt like an eternity, her face frozen in the inscrutable expression. The anxiety that had been nipping at his heels before her entrance overwhelmed him, tearing open his chest with its vicious claws. 

“Rook…” he began, unsure how to correct his error. What had he done? He had let his romantic imagination get away from him, a relic from a time long past. And now he risked not only a professional relationship, but a friendship he had come to cherish. 

“Why are you so kind to me?” She interrupted him before he could further embarrass himself. She turned her gaze to him, tears starting to well in her eyes. The anxiety that had been mauling him since the exchange started disappeared, replaced by a yawning void of sorrow. She didn’t understand why she would be given a gift like this. This woman, a shining beacon of joy who fought against the tide of Blight that threatened to swallow the world, couldn’t comprehend why someone cared for her.

“It’s nothing less than what you deserve.” he assured her, tucking a strand of red hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. She wiped away the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes, blinking away any more that threatened to appear. Lifting the bracelet from its resting place, she delicately placed it on her wrist, taking a deep breath and studying it for a few moments once it was where it belonged. Raising her gaze back up to him, her typical smile had reappeared, any vulnerability she had let escape tightly leashed back. “Are you ready to start the next book?”

She nodded, clearly relieved to be able to move past her emotional display. Taking her seat, she grabbed the book from his desk, and opened it to the first page. The rest of their evening proceeded like the rest, a constant rhythm of silence and questions, all pertaining to the text, save for one.

“Emmrich?”

“Yes?”

“Is the blue stone to match my eyes?”

[eelclaw]

i read a light in the mist, so here are my chapter summaries. i included what-the-fuck moments, denoted (?), as well as irritating moments from the text. my final thoughts are at the bottom.

part 1: the chapter summaries

prologue: while he watches snowtuft and rootspring fight, ashfur reflects on how we got here.

chapter 1: rootspring tries to defend himself from snowtuft without hurting him. ashfur gets frustrated and sets his army on rootspring. bristlefrost jumps in, giving rootspring hope.

chapter 2: shadowsight watches bristlefrost run away to help rootspring. he sees ashfur, then shouts hurtful things at him to break his concentration over the spirit cats. the spirit cats run away, but the dark forest cats chase after them and bring them back. bristlefrost and rootspring run away, and shadowsight is attacked by ashfur.

chapter 3: while rootspring saves shadowsight from ashfur, bristlefrost saves stemleaf from mapleshade. ashfur appears and takes control of the spirit cats, but snowtuft attacks ashfur, breaking his concentration, and the spirit cats run away. bristlefrost, rootspring, and shadowsight also run away. they are joined by stemleaf and spiresight, and then by willowshine, who leads them to the barrier to starclan, where they speak to leafpool. it seems like hope can break the barrier down, but they need more cats (?). the spirit cats sense ashfur coming, so they run away. shadowsight heads for the moonpool, while bristlefrost and rootspring split up to lose ashfur.

chapter 4: rootspring is chased a little bit, then decides to find and watch ashfur (?). he finds ashfur, dark forest cats, and spirit cats at the lake. then he decides to go to the moonpool, but mapleshade intercepts him.

chapter 5: shadowsight makes it to and through the moonpool. the leaders are there, arguing over whether bramblestar is still under ashfur's influence. shadowsight lets them exposit for a while before letting them know he's standing there. he tells them what's happened, then tries persuading them to send a patrol to the dark forest.

irritating moments:

squirrelflight whirled on the skyclan leader. "you should be glad to have [bramblestar] back!" (comment: i'm not)

shadowsight blinked in surprise. how could the skyclan leader believe that bramblestar could be anything but brave and honorable?

"but i am myself now, not ashfur!" [bramblestar] exclaimed. "i've never been anything like him!"

chapter 6: bristlefrost stumbles across redwillow, maggottail, and sparrowfeather. she eavesdrops on them, but they realize she's there, chase her down, and catch her. she tries persuading them to fight ashfur.

irritating moments:

[bristlefrost] had to persuade [redwillow, maggottail, and sparrowfeather]. puffing out her fur, she tried to imagine what bramblestar would say.

chapter 7: rootspring is imprisoned by mapleshade and houndleap, and ashfur checks on him. the voice in rootspring's head tells him to say something spooky (?). ashfur is freaked out, and he leaves to check the barrier.

chapter 8: shadowsight is still arguing with the leaders. they finally agree to send a patrol, and to meet at the moonpool before dawn. the shadowclan cats go home, and lightleap is picked for the patrol.

irritating moments:

[tree] paused, his eyes traveling over the group. "what i'm asking you now is, if you don't have starclan, what are you?"

shadowsight's paws tingled. this great warrior was volunteering to risk his life for his clan. he felt a new rush of affection for [graystripe]. thunderclan was lucky to have him.

"cloverfoot can't go," [lightleap] mewed earnestly. "she's our deputy. we can't manage without her. snowbird is a great warrior, but she's nearly an elder." (comment: but graystripe is an elder)

chapter 9: bristlefrost goes to the barrier with maggottail, redwillow, and sparrowfeather. needletail is on the other side and tells them that starclan is collapsing. they make an opening big enough for needletail to get through. bristlefrost suddenly feels dizzy, and rootspring's face appears to her, telling her that ashfur is coming (?). ashfur comes to them, with the spirit cats, including stemleaf, willowshine, and spiresight, under his control.

chapter 10: rootspring is still imprisoned. the voice in rootspring's head tells him to say more spooky shit, which freaks out darkstripe. the voice reveals itself to be firestar and asks to take over rootspring's body (?). rootspring lets him, and firestar kills darkstripe, scaring off all of rootspring's guards, except silverhawk. rootspring comes back to hismelf, and he and silverhawk go to find bristlefrost.

chapter 11: ashfur makes the spirit cats attack needletail. bristlefrost attacks ashfur to break his concentration. maggottail, sparrowfeather, and redwillow join bristlefrost, but ashfur takes control of the spirit cats, so they have to run away. redwillow falls in some water and dies, then needletail calls them up into a tree. they capture berrynose, stemleaf, and willowshine, holding them in place until ashfur is out of range, freeing them. they climb out of the tree, and rootspring and silverhawk join them.

irritating moments:

"firestar's with us?" needletail was pawing the ground. "i think so," rootspring told her. needletail whisked her tail happiily. "then we've got nothing to worry about."

chapter 12: shadowsight escorts lightleap to the moonpool, but she can't let the sisters' singing into her thoughts, so shadowsight takes her place in the patrol, and they go to the dark forest.

irritating moments:

"every one of us is risking our lives," [mistystar] told them. "and our future in starclan. but if we fail, our clans will lose more. that's why they are sending us on this mission. why else would thunderclan even think of risking an elder as loved and valued as graystripe?" she dipped her head respectfully to the gray tom, and he dipped his in return. then she turned her gaze to crowfeather. "as deputy of windclan, you've proved your worth over and over again."

"you're the youngest volunteer," [mistystar] mewed. lightleap glanced at her paws self-consciously. "which means you're risking more than any of us. you have many moons as a warrior ahead of you. you may yet decide to take a mate and have kits. it isn't just your future in starclan that you are risking, but your future beside the lake."

squirrelflight lifted her muzzle. "i'll go." "no." tree lifted his muzzle. "bramblestar will never forgive us if we let you go." (comment: i do actually agree with keeping squirrelflight safe once she's escaped ashfur, but this sentence made me cringe)

chapter 13: bristlefrost, rootspring, needletail, maggottail, sparrowfeather, silverhawk, berrynose, stemleaf, and willowshine go to the starclan barrier. many starclan cats as well as juniperclaw join them. the spirit cats sense ashfur coming, but they decide to stay and just resist ashfur's control (?). someone approaches, and firestar attacks them.

chapter 14: graystripe is attacked by firestar, but each realizes who the other is, and the two patrols merge. shadowsight tries to use his connection to reach out to ashfur, but sees himself, and something in his vision attacks him.

chapter 15: bristlefrost sees shadowsight cry out and fall unconscious, but he wakes up, so the patrol keeps going. they come across a river, and bristlefrost pulls down a tree so they can cross. they stumble across ashfur talking to himself in a clearing, and darktail emerges with a horde of rogues, who attack the patrol (?).

irritating moments:

[firestar] seemed so certain and unafraid. how could [bristlefrost] give up hope when firestar was with them?

chapter 16: rootspring tells shadowsight to climb a tree and focues on the fight. he throws a rogue into the water, which is eating up the battlefield. eventually needletail and violetshine kill darktail, and the rogues flee.

chapter 17: shadowsight feels useless up in a tree, but at least the rogues are gone! the rogues are herded back into the fight by mapleshade and thistleclaw. shadowsight falls out of the tree, and a rogue attacks him, but bristlefrost saves him and tells him to run. he passes out. ashfur comes to him in his mind and tells him he's dying, and asks him to join him. shadowsight refuses, so ashfur tells him he's pathetic and nobody likes him.

chapter 18: bristlefrost sees that ashfur is about to throw shadowsight in the water. she knocks ashfur into the water and falls in with him. in her last moments, she imagines a future with rootspring.

chapter 19: with ashfur dead, the battle breaks up and the water recedes. rootspring mourns bristlefrost.

chapter 20: shadowsight wakes up from his ashfur-vision and realizes bristlefrost is missing. as the patrol heads to starclan, shadowsight spirals, but juniperclaw grounds him. leafpool tells shadowsight that his connection with starclan is gone.

irritating moments:

"do you think i'm disloyal after i've fought so hard to save the clans?" [rootspring] asked. violetshine bristled. "of course not! no one does!" murmurs of agreement spread among the others. "and yet i loved bristlefrost. rootspring's through tightened, his voice growing husky as he went on. "i tried not to love her. i knew i'd be betraying my clan. i tried reasoning with myself, but it was impossible. when we got home, i was going to join thunderclan to be with her." …mistystar looked at rootspring, her eyes glistening. "i know how much it hurts to lose a cat you love," she mewed softly. "and i would never accuse you of disloyalty. but if we allow cats from different clans to become mates and have kits, it'll undermine every clan."

chapter 21: the patrol enters starclan, and rootspring watches the patrol reunite with lost loved ones. there is an argument over who deserves to be let into starclan, and whether someone deserves a second chance if they break the warrior code, and whether the code should be changed. graystripe reveals that he was mortally wounded in the battle.

chapter 22: the patrol goes through the moonpool, reentering the living world, and tell the others what happened. graystripe finally dies.

chapter 23: the next day, shadowsight and the healers meet at the moonpool. shadowsight tells the others that he can't share with starclan, and everyone apologizes to him, even though there was no buildup to it at all.

[shadowsight] blinked at her. "but you were so angry with me for bringing ashfur back." mothwing sniffed. "i had to be angry with some cat," she mewed. "i'm sorry i was so hard on you. i was grieving for my place in riverclan and needed some cat to blame. and i suppose, in some way, you represented my worst fear- that living cats would go against their own instincts to follow the dangerous instructions of some long-dead cat."

"mothwing gets along fine without sharing with starclan." [jayfeather] turned his blind gaze on mothwing, with just a touch of apology in his expression. i suppose he's sorry for revealing her secret to a whole gathering, shadowsight mused as the thunderclan cat went on. (comment: jayfeather's relationship with mothwing changes as the plot requires, but i choose to believe that they settled their differences in oots)

chapter 24: the clans have a gathering, and bramblestar summarizes the events of the arc. there is an argument about cats from different clans becoming mates, but rootspring speaks out. many cats stay after the gathering for a vigil. spotfur, ivypool, and fernsong ask rootspring to make their lost loved ones appear. he can't, but he realizes that bristlefrost will always be with him.

had [the clans] forgotten how easily they'd turned on each other and how far they'd gone in driving out codebreakers under ashfur's command? not to mention the warriors who'd insisted that the real bramblestar was gone and that they should kill ashfur even though it risked leaving bramblestar's spirit with no body to return to. bramblestar must know this. he'd watched the clans as a ghost. rootspring felt a new rush of respect for the thunderclan leader. he was being generous with his speech.

[rootspring] forced himself to go on. "would any of you question my loyalty?" kitescratch blinked at him. "of course not." "you're one of the lights in the mist," shimmerpelt called. "and yet i was willing to leave my clan for a cat i'd fallen deeply in love with," he mewed. kitescratch stiffened, surprise rippling through his fur. around the clearing, rootspring heard gasps. "leave his clan?" "who was he in love with?" (comment: who the fuck do they think he was in a half-clan relationship with? surely not that thunderclan girl who all of the clans have teased him about liking since he was a new apprentice)

part 2: my thoughts

verdict: i hate this book

to nobody's surprise, the theme of redemption was handled poorly

most of the book consists of characters telling each other to run and running away and splitting up and being recaptured and jumping in to distract ashfur and running away again

there's the way starclan and the dark forest and the spirit world work, and how none of it is explained, but at the same time all of it is overexplained, if that make sense. the worldbuilding is just incredibly unsatisfying, like the authors pulled it out of their ass

small pet peeve, but the dark forest intensifies the cats' feelings of fear and anger, and every time they realize it and they think, "oh no... the dark forest is getting to me... but i won't let it change who i am!" and it's kind of annoying

i hate that the barrier can be broken down by thinking positively, and i hate that a patrol is sent to the dark forest, and i hate the cats that were chosen for the patrol

what does the patrol actually accomplish? i just read the book and i can't remember

lightleap's rejection is a very transparent attempt to add tension and still get our third pov character in the dark forest, but this adds nothing to lightleap's character since her plot gets dropped in asc, so this scene is stupid

speaking of putting shadowsight in the dark forest, why is he there? when ivypool, tigerheartstar, et al talked about the dark forest, shadowsight argues that the dark forest has changed since they trained there, and he should join the patrol because he is the most familiar with the dark forest in its present state

but everything he knows about the dark forest, the others can quickly figure out

instead, shadowsight spends his time in the dark forest feeling useless, since he's injured and lacks battle training, and the worst part is he's right, because he's just constantly in danger and the others keep having to protect or rescue him

also, shadowsight and ashfur have a mental connection, but it's never used in an interesting or meaningful way

and i can't take the connection seriously, because the explanation for it is basically "we're not so different, you and i", except ashfur is cartoonishly evil, and little has been done to establish their similarities

but it's not just shadowsight! none of the characters do anything! if bristlefrost had drowned herself and ashfur at the end of the last book, we wouldn't be missing out on anything. in fact, she would've saved me from 200 pages of this nonsense

tldr: sure, this book was built on shaky foundations (the abysmal pacing of the previous four books), but it didn't even try.

part 2.5: my ending

i have an alternative end in mind, but i need to establish some things first:

antagonists: ashfur doesn't have some grand scheme, he's much more of an opportunist. bramblestar is controlling and manipulative in his own right.

the connection: shadowkit has a strong connection to starclan, as shown by his prophetic dreams (which are implied to have been ashfur? we're getting rid of that). when shadowpaw is an apprenticed, ashfur co-opts this connection for his own use.

rootspring's powers: keep his ability to see ghosts, since him seeing bramblestar's ghost is pretty important to the plot. but we're getting rid of his ability to feel things through the land, since he uses it like three times, and it's not worth the bullshittery.

bristlefrost: she starts off similar to ashfur. self-absorbed, broody, obsessed with someone who doesn't return her feelings. like shadowsight, she was manipulated by ashfur, but i want her to be messy. perhaps, unlike shadowsight, she enacted ashfur's will voluntarily. enthusiastically. she was loyal to the imposter because she believed what he preached, and she didn't care who it hurt... until it hurt her family. her arc could be about learning to care about issues that don't affect her, because they affect other people.

shadowsight's warrior training: there's a few scenes where shadowsight, feeling lonely and ostracized, joins his sisters on warrior patrols. this subplot doesn't go anywhere, but i'm making full use of it. shadowsight actually learns from these excursions, and develops stronger fighting skills, which he'll use to defend himself in the dark forest.

bramblestar and squirrelflight: it feels like squirrelflight is robbed of a climactic ending. again, i agree that sending squirrelflight back into the dark forest after she escapes is a stupid risk, but since bramblestar and squirrelflight escape in book 5, we lose those stakes in book 6. so i would keep them in the dark forest for longer, they don't get to escape until the final battle.

okay! we have the ingredients, so here's how i would end tbc:

i think the final battle in the dark forest should have been shadowsight, bristlefrost, and rootspring. just the three of them, no stupid patrol. they swear to end this.

shadowsight wants to save bramblestar, since he feels guilty for killing him. what kind of healer kills? bristlefrost wants to take ashfur down for encouraging her flaws and leading her down the wrong path. i think rootspring would compliment them nicely as a neutral force. it would be nice to rescue that ghost that pestered him for a few months, but it's more important to save themselves.

so they travel through the dark forest, searching for ashfur, and i would give all three of them get moments to shine, moments to show off their skills and growth. i'm running out of steam again so i'm not going to come up with specific examples. maybe shadowsight uses his connection to track ashfur and his new training to protect his friends. rootspring's power could actually be relevant, maybe he can do something with the spirit cats in the dark forest. maybe he can free them from ashfur's control. idk. bristlefrost is shown in the books to be impulsive but quick-witted under pressure. the point is, there's potential here.

the three find ashfur and his prisoners. after a long battle, they free squirrelflight and bramblestar, and to not deviate too far from canon, bristlefrost dies killing ashfur. he tries the "we're not so different" spiel first, appealing to the character she starts off as, but she's learned and grown and she won't let him get to her. in his last moment, ashfur severs his connection, shadowsight's connection, with starclan.

rootspring and shadowsight converse with starclan before they return to the living world, and i want this to be the first hint of discontent. after everything, the starclan cats are more concerned with their precious code than with pardoning the dark forest cats who helped save them. rootspring and shadowsight argue with them, and manage to convince them that the code should be changed, and they return to the living world feeling faintly disappointed. after all, these three young adults had their lives fundamentally changed after being caught up in grudges far older than and completely unrelated to themselves.

i want an epilogue where rootspring and shadowsight sit together during a gathering, quietly watching bramblestar. they were kids the last time they saw the thunderclan leader in this place, but they're adults now. old enough to know that leaders make mistakes, like all other cats. experienced enough to recognize bramblestar's controlling tactics, to notice when he subtly demeans squirrelflight.

rootspring remembers how bramblestar's ghost followed him, demanding his help. how he couldn't sleep, eat, or train without bramblestar's voice snarling in his ear. shadowsight wonders how it took so long for thunderclan to realize there was something wrong with their leader.

now that it's over, they doubt if it was worth the price. would bristlefrost have sacrificed herself if she knew who it was for?

part 4: extra

bonus thing that pissed me off! here's every time someone mentioned being a "true warrior":

a true warrior accepted defeat and moved on. protecting their clan was more important. but ashfur had let his bitterness grow until it tainted his whole life.

how could a warrior like squirrelflight ever love a warrior like you? no wonder she chose bramblestar. he's everything you're not. he's brave and loyal. he's a true warrior in a way you could never be."

"if [snowtuft] is dead, he died a true warrior's death," [bristlefrost] murmured.

"i was with them," [shadowsight] called out as he limped from the edge of the moonpool. "i know what happened there. bramblestar and squirrelflight were true warriors! they couldn't change even if they wanted to. they would die for their clan and for each other and you know it."

"you have a chance to do something you never did in the living forest," bristlefrost pressed. "you have a chance to fight on the side of goodness and courage and loyalty. you have a last chance to be true warriors."

"if we betray starclan, we give up what it means to be true warriors." bramblestar swished his tail.

there was only one way to end this fight. the thought of it made [firestar] shudder. but he would do what he had to do. a true warrior always did- and he had never stopped being a warrior.

"don't rely on us," willowshine warned. "why not?" needletail blinked at her. "have you forgotten ashfur can control us?" willowshine mewed. berrynose's pelt ruffled self-consciously. "we'll try to fight it, but ashfur's power is strong here." "but you're true warriors," needletail insisted. "that's not enough." berrynose told her darkly.

maggottail narrowed his eyes. "why risk your place in starclan?" he mewed sourly. "i'd risk anything to save my clan," stemleaf retorted. as berrynose whisked his tail in agreement, firestar looked at maggottail. "for true warriors, the clans' future is more important than our own," he mewed.

"if you're looking for a way out of the dark forest, forget it," needletail snapped. "you won't be forgiven for what you did." "i'm not!" juniperclaw mewed quickly. "and i know. i just want to prove that i'm a true warrior despite everything. to myself and to my clan."

"i've made nothing but bad decisions. but now-" he glanced at rootspring and then bristlefrost- "i've seen what it is to be a true warrior and risk everything for others."

rootspring remembered snowtuft. the dark forest warrior had given up any future he could have in order to save living cats. didn't any cat who finally became a true warrior, no matter how long it took, deserve to be accepted?

needletail's eyes widened. "did you name her after me?" "of course after you." violetshine nudged her old friend with her nose. "my kit deserves a true warrior's name."

"we discussed with firestar and leafpool how to make the warrior code more relevant to our lives beside the lake. you will know now that starclan agreed to reorder the rules so that we know which parts of the code they value most. loyalty is at the heart of every true warrior, and a willingness to protect those weaker than themselves."

"i thought starclan believed loyalty is at the heart of a true warrior," [shimmerpelt] grunted. "what's loyal about choosing a mate from another clan?"

dovewing's tail quivered angrily. "no true warrior would even think about switching clans for a crush!"

[trailblczed]

Program Overdrive's Team Chase - Final Moments

Roll: 1d4-1 || Result: 2 - 1 ( 1 Space Available To Move ) Runner Ability Used- Sacrifice 1 Space to block Guard's Movement for 1 turn ( 0 Spaces Moved - Current Space: 10 )

His pace slows, barely coming to a jog before Caelus can't help but look behind him- only with the intent to see if he himself was still being pursued by the robotic guards. Unsurprisingly, the Nameless is still being chased. He's so tired, please.. just let it end. T̷h̵e̸ ̴t̷i̴m̶e̴ ̴i̶s̵ ̵n̴o̸w̸,̷ ̵b̶o̶y̶!̴ ̶S̶e̷t̴ ̷i̷t̷ ̴a̶b̴l̵a̸z̴e̴!̶ An uncomfortable groan, and the silver manages to summon his Flame Lance, setting the ground on fire to at least give him some more distance between him and the guards. It works, as it does stop all of the pursuers- but only for a few moments.

Roll: 1d4-1 || Result: 3 - 1 ( 2 Spaces Moved - Current Space: 12 )

A raspy cough, and Caelus gets his feet moving again, managing to get a couple yards along before the guards start chasing after him again. How is someone can be so exhausted while high on adrenaline? B̴o̸o̴ ̶t̶h̸i̸s̸ ̷i̶s̷ ̶n̷o̵ ̴f̴u̴n̵ ̶a̶t̸ ̴a̴l̷l̵!̴ ̵W̵h̸y̴ ̵d̶o̴n̷'̸t̶ ̵w̸e̴ ̸s̶p̷i̴c̵e̵ ̸t̴h̴i̴n̴g̶s̶ ̶u̷p̸ ̷a̷ ̴b̷i̶t̴?̷ A faint beeping in the back of his head, a noise Caelus registers as as his body telling him that his power is almost depleted, and the panic returns under his skin.

Roll: 1d4-1 || Result: 2 - 1 ( 1 Spaces Moved - Current Space: 13 )

Feet start to drag, nearly tripping himself as he does his best to push through the way his body gets heavier with each rushed step. The beeping gets more frequent, the edges of his vision getting blurred and darker as the seconds tick on. If he was able to take more than a few seconds to think on how his energy had drained so rapidly, he might question as to whether the malfunction had a part in it. Likely, but it's not as if he'll get to know the answer. Lad comes to a slow stop, the beeping in his ears just barely unable to drown out the rapid footsteps approaching him, legs giving out as he crumples to the ground, arms played out to catch himself last second from colliding with the ground. He still makes a pathetic sight, limbs splayed out with no sense of grace or practicality.

A pitiful, guilty upturn of the ends of his lips as he gives their ally one last glance. She likely wouldn't be able to hear him from this range even if he could talk at a louder volume, as she's some eight yards away from him- but even if he speaks to himself, that's alright. Caelus is only able to get his voice barely above a whisper, but again- that's just fine.

❛ I'm sorry.. it looks.. like you will.. have to.. to go the safehouse without us. ❜

The Nameless is barely able to keep himself up, arms shaking with the strain of the effort. A few more wispy wheezing and the boy ends up flat onto the ground, face in the dirt with arms awkwardly folded against him. There's a vague feeling of cold hands grabbing at him, pulling his limbs to get him restrained ( as if he were even able to put up a fight at this point ), but he can't focus on them at all. I̵ ̶a̸m̶ ̵s̸o̸r̴r̷y̴ ̶f̸o̵r̷ ̵y̶o̷u̷r̴ ̵s̶u̴f̸f̸e̶r̶i̴n̵g̴,̴ ̴d̶e̵a̸r̴ ̸o̸n̸e̴.̵ Caelus is only just able to make out the shape of Gail- looking as if she had turned around, possibly trying to check on him ( he can dream can't he? ) or simply respond to him- then he scans that two guards had rushed past him before he collapsed and now have Gail in their custody as well.

There's nothing that he can do for her- that he could do for any of them - as bright amber eyes dim to a pale yellow, the beeping transforming into one long note before going completely silent, Caelus has finally run his reserve power dry. Time has run out.. for him, and for their group.

Loading..... Loading........... Connecting.. Connecting.... Connected. Sending message...... Sending message.......... Message to Team Program Overdrive sent. Message failed to send to Ripper. Message failed to send to Shadow K. Message sent to Shadow W successfully. Message to Angel sent successfully. Message to Whisper sent successfully. Unit Caelus, Code Name "The Runner", has gone offline. Unit has been captured by the enemy. Unit is unresponsive. S.O.S.

☆ who needs combat when I got legs that can run

【 program overdrive ── team chase ; week 3 】

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[sunny12th]

everyone wants aegon versus dany but what about aegon AND dany exact righteous vengeance together while also trauma bonding

[hannieehaee]

BOY WITH LUV

18+ / mdi

summary: a new job as a barista should be easy enough, right? except it gets a whole lot more complicated when the coffee shop's most loved client just decides he has to have you OR richboy!jk falls for barista!reader and refuses to give up.

content: richboy!jk, downbad!jk, barista!reader, sub-ish!jk, reader plays hard to get just for plot purposes, jk is down horribly bad for reader, afab reader, smut, dry humping, jk's the embodiment of needy, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 8.8k

a/n: another silly and unserious jungkook fanfic<3

masterlist | patreon

"Anyways just be careful with how many pumps you add to drinks. Customers can be extremely sensitive about that kind of stuff. Trust me," rambled on your new trainer, Jen? Jess? Something like that.

You watched disinterested, already having had a menial barista job in the past and being well aware of the high expectations of disgruntled customers. You, too, had been verbally harassed by one too many people in dire need of a drink far too specific for the average person to memorize. It was still appreciated, though, the effort she took in walking you through every step to ensure you did good at your new position.

Despite your focus on the task being demonstrated to you not being at its best, you did take notice when Jean(?) stopped her mentoring and instead spilled some of the drink she was currently making, clearly now equally as distracted as you. Her focus was no longer on the counter you were practicing drinks on, but instead looking past you and towards the counter a few steps behind you.

You meant to call out her name to question her, but without an angle on her name tag or any confidence in actually remembering the correct name, you simply grabbed at a nearby towel and cleaned off the mess, not bothering to look at whatever was distracting her. It was too early for you to bother.

Snapping out of her trance mere seconds later, she tapped at your shoulder urgently, her voice now a whisper as she leaned close for you to hear what she was about to say.

"Oh my God, don't look, but that's Jungkook," she whispered excitedly, as if letting you in on information you had any context about — hint: you had no idea who nor what she was referring to.

Turning around, you eyed another one of your new coworkers tending to the line at the counter, but more specifically helping out some guy. Focusing your eyes on him, you could now understand why his presence had caused a short-circuit in Jane (?) and why she felt the need to announce his presence to you.

The distraction in question presented itself in the form of a very tall and fit guy, one with a fully tattooed sleeve and dreamy black curls. Other outstanding attributes were the very obvious muscles encompassing his entire body and the shine that came from the various piercings on his face. In short, the man was nothing short of a dream straight from a Pinterest board — and the charisma radiating from his mere presence did not help matters.

"He's a regular. No one really knows much about him other than he's rich. He tips like 200% above his total," continued June, still leaning in your direction to whisper.

You felt bad at how obvious you were whilst staring at the boy, but he was likely the prettiest one you'd seen in a while. The blank expression in your stare did not tell on you, but it did not deny the fact that you were staring.

"We take turns serving him," your coworker informed you, "Sometimes we fight over it. He's a natural flirt, but he does it with everyone, so we're not sure if he's taken or not," she proceeded to tell you benign details about him that had you nodding along as you continued to stare at him.

The usually fast-paced place seemed to slow down when he entered the coffee shop, with most baristas' attentions going to him rather than their jobs. If he was aware of it, he was good at ignoring it, instead giving a flashy smile to the lucky barista currently tending to him. From the short distance between you, you were unable to hear his conversation, but you still had a perfect view of him as he simply existed. He could easily see you, as there was nothing in his way, but he hadn't yet, somehow oblivious to the attention he was receiving from all other baristas in the house.

As time stood still for everyone else, it continued normally for him. He paid for his drink, having it quickly bypass all other prior orders and made immediately by one of the many girls fawning at him. God, even the two baristas working the drive-thru had taken a short break from it go gawk.

It wasn't until moments later that Jungkook seemed to get a taste of his own medicine, with his own time suddenly coming to a halt. As he turned around to leave, sweet drink now in hand, his eyes incidentally met yours, causing him to pause mid turn and do a double take in order to catch your eyes again.

It was ridiculous, really. Almost too identical to those moments you'd see in those dumb romcoms you used to enjoy as a teenager. Except this was actually happening. And it was happening to you. As all your new coworkers watched his every move with extreme attention.

His eyes widened a bit. It was something the naked eye might've missed, but not you (nor the other five girls watching). His head tilted a bit to the side — maybe in curiosity due to not having seen you there before (Joanne did mention he was a regular). A ghost of a smirk took over the natural smile that had been on his lips since arrival. And lastly, a nod was sent your way — a nod in acknowledgment to your presence, but also with a flirtatious hint to it. It was hard to describe. You simply had to be there.

You remained watching him with a poker face throughout. The same poker face you'd had since clocking in to work that morning. It wasn't that you were mean or not a people person, you simply hated work. You'd been told you had a bit of a resting bitch face and gave a mean impression to those who didn't know you, but that was beside the point. The pretty boy whose attention you'd caught had gotten lucky, though, as he at least received the ghost of a smile from you before he left.

The first thing to occur upon his departure was a squeal from your left. The perpetrator? Julie (or whatever her name was).

"Oh my god!," she let out, grabbing onto your shoulder so you'd face her, "Did you see that?"

"See what?", you asked, not 100% sure of what had just happened.

"He totally checked you out . He's never done that before. Maybe he likes you? God, don't let Lila find out, she's got a huge crush on him," she informed you, once again assuming you knew who the hell Lila was.

"Hah, I think he might've just been surprised to see a new face," you downplayed, "What were you explaining before he got here? The thing with the pumps and the-"

"He comes here every morning at 8 or so. How about you take his order tomorrow? Y'know, just to test my theory," she suggested, disregarding your question.

"Orders? It's my first day here. Isn't training like two weeks lon-"

"It's fine! I'll be shadowing you. You'll do great! Now let's get back to your training-"

"Jane! I need more change at drive thru!", called one of the drive thru girls, interrupting your conversation.

"Coming, Lila!", she responded, giving you a polite smile before handing you the shaker she had just been holding, "Just practice some drinks how I taught you. I'll be right back to show you how to work the register."

So her name was Jane. And that was Lila.

At least you learned something today.

The subject of Jungkook stayed for a while after he left.

As you got to know a few of your other coworkers during your shift, you came to learn more useless details about him. Useless due to the fact that none of your coworkers had ever actually had a real conversation with him. It appeared as if he was always in a rush any time he stopped by. This bit of knowledge made it even more scandalous among your coworkers that Jungkook had stopped to blatantly check you out before continuing with his busy day.

And so the next day, you were admittedly a bit nervous when they'd suddenly prepped you for cashier duties only one day on the job. You'd done this before, but it was always slightly nerve wracking working a new cash register system and dealing with an entirely different hurdle of customers. That and the fact that you knew all your coworkers were awaiting the moment in which Jungkook came back, only this time he'd get a one-on-one with you.

For one, you didn't believe the suspicion that he liked you.

It was impossible to assert that from the simple one-over he'd given you. But then again, you didn't know the guy as well as your coworkers claimed to.

It was at 8:17AM that the theory was finally tested, when a certain heartthrob walked through the glass doors with all the charismatic energy a person could possibly carry.

He looked as handsome as he did the day prior, especially because now you had a beeline view of him, simply waiting for his arrival on the other side of the counter. His hair was wavier today somehow, and he donned a tight short-sleeve that gave you the perfect view of a sleeve full of colorful tattoos — fuck. His jeans were loose but still gave you a nice view of his physique. It was easy to tell the man was ripped to hell, yet another probable reason as to why your coworkers were all in love with him. Chunky shoes and shiny piercings accessorized his outfit, bringing an edge of grunginess you typically enjoyed in guys.

All things considered, he seemed just like your type.

However, the concept of even crushing on a guy that had every other girl at his feet sounded far too exhausting. You were just not into the idea of chasing after a guy who had a line of women waiting for their turn (or just chasing any guy in general). Today you'd simply serve his drink to prove a point and put an end to any possibility of even a mere flirtation with Jungkook before it even began.

Somehow, he hadn't taken note of you until reaching the cash register, too distracted by his phone as he made what was likely a familiar path for him — he was a regular, after all.

When he reached you, finally putting his phone away, he reacted similarly to last time, doing a double take before letting his eyes land on you for a more permanent stay. His mouth opened and closed a few times, hands reaching up as if undecided on what to entertain themselves with and remaining awkwardly on the air. A gulp took over his voice before he shook his head slightly to clear his head.

"Hi," he began, "You're new."

"Hi, yeah. What can I get for you today?," you got straight to the point.

As flattering as his reaction to you was, a line would probably form any minute now, and you'd already been thrown to the wolves, so you needed to move things along. There's never any time to waste in customer service.

"Oh, uh, the other baristas know my usual — but, uh you're new, like you just said, so, it's uhm just an americano. Medium, please," he rambled, not smooth like you'd expected someone as handsome and put together to be.

Your chuckle couldn't be helped, but at least it wasn't the girlish giggle you truly felt like letting out in the presence of such a man, "Yeah, okay. That'll be $4.95. Anything else?"

He stared at you blankly for a few moments, two silent blinks trapping his large eyes before clearing his throat, causing you to look up from the cash register to give him a curious look, hoping that was enough of a silent indicator at him to speak up.

"Your number, maybe?"

Admittedly, this caught you off guard.

You were surprised at the swift shift in confidence in Jungkook. Literal moments ago he was stammering his way through a sentence, yet the second time you looked up from the cash register he began to sport a cocky smile, confidently leaning against the counter separating you.

"God, you're gorgeous," he then added, eyes moony as he stared at you. It was said with a clear lack of thoughts in his brain, though also with an air of confidence, almost as if he were stating an irrefutable fact.

"Uhm, thanks," you mumbled, taking the money he was currently handing you with an awkward smile, "Okay, got a $5," you recited the usual cashier dialogue as you dug into the register for his change, "Here's your change. Your drink will be ready in a few minutes."

He took it, eyes still glued to yours with a dreamy smile on his face. Tilting his head to the side, his smile widened, "So, no number?", he asked with a teasing tone.

"Sorry, not allowed to give it to customers," you lied, "What's your name? Need it for the order," you asked despite already knowing his name. Disclosing this information would've only made him more adamant in asking for your information.

"That's a lie. Most of your coworkers have slipped me their numbers before," he called you out nonchalantly before giving you his name without any further argument, "What's your name? You don't have a name tag on," he seemed very okay with continuing with the small talk as much as possible, ignoring how your eyes looked past him to eye the line that had began forming.

You sighed, noting how settled he was on his spot, with his arms now leaning comfortably on the counter. He was clearly not going to leave with at least something from you.

You gave him your name, adding reluctance to your tone, attempting to send a message of disinterest.

Lifting his hand, he reached to yours which was currently lying on top of the screen of the cash register, softly grabbing its limp form to offer you a handshake. You did not grasp his hand in yours in return, making the handshake one-sided.

"Very nice meeting you. You'll be seeing me very often, gorgeous," he winked, dropping a bill way too high for a $4.99 order into the small tips cup on the counter and finally walking away as suave as humanly possible.

Internally, you groaned, knowing this was going to be the topic of conversation as soon as you clocked out for your break.

As expected, a few of your coworkers squealed at you immediately after Jungkook's departure, rambling about how clear it was that he was into you. And yes, that much was obvious — especially considering the large $20 tip he'd left you for merely taking his order. It was difficult to not give into their encouragement to ask him out or to at least respond to his advancements next time.

Most of your coworkers expressed happiness for you, simply enjoying the sight of the pretty boy coming around on a daily basis, while one or two seemed to grow an immediate dislike for you upon his sudden interest in you. Regardless, you wished to steer clear of any emotions his crush on you could bring. All you wanted out of this job was to clock in and clock out and call it a day.

The next time you saw him was two days later when you were finally scheduled to work again. Once more, you found yourself at the cashier once again. Despite it being your first week, your trainer had decided that you seemed apt for the task after the test trial with Jungkook a few days prior, so cashier duties were now assigned to you.

You didn't mind this. It was a straight forward task and far more preferable to drive-thru or clean up duty. However, you couldn't lie in saying you weren't a little on edge at the thought of interacting with Jungkook again. So maybe you spent an extra five minutes this morning on your makeup, so what?

You spent most of your morning taking orders for the early risers that frequented the store. They were all pretty nice, likely too tired at such an early hour to trouble the baristas in charge of their morning dosage of caffeine.

"Hey, gorgeous," were the words that took you out of your thoughts, calling your attention to the boy you'd been subconsciously thinking about all morning.

"Hello, Jungkook. What can I help you with?", you readied yourself to enter his drink on the register.

"What, don't remember my order? Missed you the past few days, by the way. Where'd you go?", he pouted.

"Sorry, not good at memorizing customers' orders, you're going to have to remind me. And I was off this weekend," you were straight forward in your responses.

Similarly to last time, he leaned on the counter, diminishing the distance between you as much as possible before speaking again, a smirk still present on his face.

"That's no problem, gorgeous, I'll remind you every day. Any chance you're nearing your break any time soon?", he questioned with confidence, repeating his order afterwards for you to type into the system.

You sighed, interrupting your work to respond, "No, I-"

"Actually, yes!", interrupted a sudden third voice.

You turned your head to the side to look at the intruder. It was Jane, of course.

"She's been working all morning. She's due for her 15," she let out, pushing you away from the cash register to take your place, "I'll work your order for her," she insisted.

"Great," Jungkook smiled at you in triumph, "In that case, throw in some cake pops in for my new friend," he went to take out some cash, handing what was likely too much to Jane and insisting she keep the change.

Turning his eyes back for you, he nodded in his direction as a silent request that you round the counter and head over to his side. Jane somehow completed his order in artful speed and handed it over to you with a wink before nudging you to encourage you to go. With a slight scowl, you did as suggested, handing Jungkook his drink and cake pops before he gave one back for you.

He began walking over to an empty counter, leaning against it and inviting you to do the same. Very casually, he drank from his drink and took a bite from his cake pop as he offered the other one out to you, chuckling when you grabbed it with reluctance.

"C'mon don't act like I got you hostage."

"You kinda do. My break wasn't until another twenty minutes. This just means I'll have to stay another half an hour," you quipped, more contrarian than anything.

He liked this, it seemed, indicating his amusement with another chuckle. It was probably not usual for him be met with much resistance to his flirting. And it wasn't as if it didn't work on you (it did). You were just not very willing to focus on it over your job — as menial as it was.

"I'll cover your overtime, gorgeous, don't worry about that," he smirked, "What time does your shift end anyway?"

"Hah, wouldn't you like to know?", you laughed antagonistically, continuing to nab at the sweet treat he'd given you.

Taking a step forward, he got up in your personal space. It wasn't an intimate type of closeness, but rather a standoffish one. He was challenging your own defiance against his flirting.

"You are aware I'm flirting with you, right?"

"Very."

Another amused chuckle left him, "How many visits is it gonna take me for you to reciprocate?", he asked, "Fine, maybe being so forward after my second visit was a bit too much, but I'm willing to play the long game if you are."

You listened to him with the ghost of a pleased smile on your face. Fine, maybe he was attractive and likable too. You weren't about to shut him down so easily. Maybe the long game sounded good to you too.

Taking the rest of your cake pop into your mouth with one swoop, you gnawed at the leftover candy on the stick, sucking at it with a pop before eyeing him again and nodding at him.

"You're more than welcome to, Jungkook."

He nodded back, "Them I guess I'll be seeing you here tomorrow ..." he paused with a lift of his eyebrow, a silent question for your name and groaning when you continued to grin silently, "Come on! At least give me your name!"

The giggle left you before you could stop it, continuing to sound out your name to him as a sign of peace.

"Pretty name," he murmured to himself, "Same time tomorrow?", he asked before turning to leave.

"I'll be waiting."

In the following two weeks of working as many hours as possible at your new job, you were finally no longer in your training period. You were now considered as useful an employee as Jane and Lila, meaning you got your name tag and could now comfortably settle into your cashier position.

In these two weeks, you also saw Jungkook almost every day (sans those in which you were off).

It got to a point in which Jungkook would occasionally stop by a second time in the afternoon in search of a peek of you, usually proving unsuccessful, but still trying anyways.

As summer time ended, the mornings became more packed, meaning yours and Jungkook's encounters diminished in time due to the peak of clients in the mornings. Jungkook was not shy in expressing his disappointment at this, always giving you eyes to attempt to get you to stall on his orders so he could spend a little extra time at the counter with you, or even attempting to bribe you with tips so you'd give him your number (something which had almost worked a few times).

Now, an entire month into your job, it was safe to say that Jungkook's crush was more than mutual by this point (though it really always was).

Unfortunately, your back and forth was so limited that you were yet to really find out anything about the guy other than his first name. Apart from having a vague idea of his wealth, you didn't know any basic details such as his age, profession or even his last name.

To be fair, you had never attempted to learn more about him, but this was partially due to your belief that he must've just enjoyed your casual flirtation. Likely, he liked your hard-to-get personality and enjoyed attempting to break you down. He had never actually asked you out past that first time he invaded your break, after all.

Up until today, that is.

"Please let me steal you away for your break," were the first words the boy had spoken to you when he'd finally caught you at the cash register after days of missing you altogether, "Or! I can wait until you get off. I'm finally off work for a few days. Please don't make me beg. I will do it, but it won't be pretty for anyone."

You sighed, fake annoyed at the gigantic pout on his face, "You've seen me almost every other day," you started, only to be interrupted by him.

"But you're always busy! God, why do so many people need coffee anyways?"

"Ask yourself. You're a frequent client here."

"Yeah, but that's different! I don't even come here for the coffee anymore. It's too packed," he continued, peeking behind him for a moment to make sure he wasn't holding up a line.

"Really?", you decided to play with him, "Why do you come, then?"

He leaned in closer to the counter separating you, grin copying your own satisfied one, "You know, the least you could do is acknowledge my flirting. It'd be really mean if you didn't."

"Fine," you gave in, "I work a full day today, but my lunch is in twenty minutes. Now order before my manager scolds me for letting you loiter."

He scoffed, "All your coworkers love me, that could never happen. But fine. I'll have my usual," he conceded, "I'll be waiting for you over at a table outside. If you don't come, I'll become even more of a nuance," he threatened jokingly as you processed his order, taking his payment and handing him a receipt with a reluctant nod in agreement.

"Okay, leave!", you couldn't help but berate him as you handed him his drink — which, hard to admit, you knew by heart.

With another chuckle in your direction, he made a face at you and made his way out, making sure to leave a far too large tip before exiting.

The twenty minutes before your lunch were spent boringly to say the least. Not many customers were around at that time of day, so you spent most of your time lounging around the small bar and restocking any lids or cups you felt were low enough to be refurbished. Contrary to how you'd previously expressed yourself, you were actually looking forward to getting to hang with Jungkook.

He was fun, what could you say?

Just a few minutes before your lunch break actually began, a subtle knocking sound caught your attention, causing you to focus your view on one of the many windows in the shop. Looking in that direction, you caught a smiley Jungkook attempting to grab your attention, waving cutely when you finally noticed him.

"Are you done?", he mouthed through the window, hands making a 'come hither' motion to entice you into coming out, eyebrows lifted in anticipation.

It got increasingly difficult to hold back a smile any time Jungkook would do something unknowingly cute, but you still managed.

You looked at the clock hanging on the wall, noting you had two minutes until your break. Looking back and forth between the empty coffee shop and Jungkook fawning at you from the window, you made a decision. What were two minutes, anyways?

Shrugging, you gave him a small smile, you began heading outside after clocking out of your register, having to force back a giggle at how much bigger his own smile got at your reciprocation.

"Was that a smile I saw?", he grinned when you finally made it outside.

You rolled your eyes, though the ghost of a smile didn't leave you.

"Shut up. You got me for thirty minutes, don't waste it."

You walked side by side up until the table Jungkook had been sitting at, not taking a seat but standing next to it.

"Do I have permission to take you out?", he tried, biting his lip in hopeful anticipation.

Pretending to mull over it for a moment, you crossed your arms and pursed your lips, hmm'ing at the proposal.

"C'mon! You know I like you. All your coworkers know I like you. And, y'know what? I think you like me back- Okay, wait, don't give me that look. Fine, you at least tolerate me."

"And?"

"See! You didn't deny it. That's a step in the right direction. Let me take you out. Please? I'm not in this just for the chase, if that's what you're thinking," he practically pleaded, looking down at you with those gigantic eyes you were unsure if you were truly immune to.

"Then why me?", you asked, truly unsure.

"I don't know," he began, "Call it love at first sight, I guess? Do I need a reason to like you? There's too many. I like everything I've known about you," he finished with sincerity in his eyes.

But you couldn't really buy it so easily.

"Jungkook, you don't even know me."

"But I want to! That's the whole point of dating. C'mon, I won't get in the way of your job. I'll even take you out somewhere fancy. I know you like pastries, I always see you go for the sweet drinks rather than the coffees, and you always pair them with a cake pop. See? I know as much about you as you've allowed me to know," he braved it and stepped closer, grabbing onto your hand tentatively, "So, please?"

You huffed, looking down before looking back at him, attempting to force the endeared smile out of your face.

"Fine. You can take me out. But not right now. If you want to take me out, you have to wow me. A measly thirty minutes in my work apron is not enough."

He took a few moments to wipe the huge smile off his face before responding, clearing his throat before doing so.

"Completely valid. Give me your number so you can text me your address and any time you'll be free for me to wow you," he handed you his phone, taking yours in exchange.

"Really? Any time?", you asked as you absentmindedly added your contact info to his phone, "Don't you have a job or something?"

"Huh, now who's the one who wants to get to know me?", he smirked lightheartedly, "That's for you to find out at our date," he went to hand your phone back, "Now, if I'm not mistaken, I still have an allotted seventeen minutes to spend with you."

In usual Jungkook fashion, he insisted on buying you something to eat from your own establishment, huffing at any suggestion for you to use your employee benefits and leaving a large tip as per usual. Whatever was his job, it must've left him more than satisfied. It made you curious, though his personality was even more intriguing. Against how you may have presented your lack of enthusiasm, you were quite excited for your upcoming date.

The next time you saw Jungkook, you got a very clear idea of what his job must be. Or at least of which tax bracket he sat comfortably at.

You weren't sure what model of car sat in front of your apartment at this moment, but you were sure it was worth beyond the money you'd see in this lifetime. There was also no doubt it belonged to Jungkook. The personalized JK1997 license plate was good enough indicator of its owner.

After giving Jungkook your number, you became victim to a myriad of messages from him from that moment on. Not only did he make plans for your date, but he also took advantage of how easily reachable you had become and chose to display his affection for you in the form of endless messages.

You couldn't lie to yourself, it was fun to have a guy so deeply interested despite your constant indifference towards him, specially if it was a guy that looked like Jungkook.

His messages varied from flirtatious to friendly to downright thirsty — there had been an instance of him sending you a picture of him at the gym, one which you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. You'd tease him about sending pictures back, but the most you ever gave him were selfies (to which he responded with threads of heart eyes).

Your date had been planned almost immediately. Jungkook, claiming himself a romantic, insisted on not telling you his plans, but did recommend you wear a pretty dress and some cute heels. He ached to see you all dolled up for him (his exact words).

Part of you wanted to be a brat (as he seemed to enjoy) and deny him of this pleasure. But a bigger part of you as tired of rejecting him and wanted to break him in different ways. And so you dressed up. You pulled out the dress you thought would wear him down the quickest, dolling yourself up to the best of your abilities and even donning the cutest pair of heels you could find.

The fruits of your labor manifested themselves in the form of a practically drooling Jungkook standing in front of your apartment door, stammering a greeting to you as his eyes went up and down your body multiple times, taking various stops at the parts he likely deemed his favorites.

He led you downstairs by your hand, groaning out loud at your perfume as he complimented it, claiming you must've wanted him dead before he even got to take you on your date. Maybe he was half right about that.

Once downstairs, he played dumb when you gaped at his expensive car, simply claiming that you deserved nothing but the best and opening the passenger door to you with a kiss to the pack of your hand.

His hand remained on your thigh the entire way over, nimble fingers occasionally tracing t the skin or sometimes even squeezing at the plushiness of it. You smiled in satisfaction at how blatant he was about wanting you. He'd always been loud and proud about it, but the reactions he was giving you tonight inflated your ego tenfold.

The restaurant was, once again, another demonstration of his wealth. This time you scoffed at any other suggestion to him being rich, to which he simply chuckled as he allowed the host to lead you over to your seats — some which he'd introduced as the best in the house.

"Are you going to tell me what you do for a living or should I start speculating?", you asked after a few sips of wine.

"What are your thoughts?", he decided to entertain you.

"You're in the mafia, maybe? Or a nepo baby? One of your parents married into wealth? You don't seem the lottery type. You look like you're very well accustomed to being rich," you began speculating, enjoying his amusement at you.

"All very fine guesses, but no. Gonna have to try harder."

"Can I bribe you into telling me?", there was a suggestive tilt to your tone.

"Please bribe me."

You giggled. You enjoyed how open he was about liking you. It was extremely refreshing. It was hard to remember now why you'd ignored his advances for months.

"Tell me," you whined.

"It's nothing exciting. I'm afraid you'll be bored by it," he clicked his tongue.

Maybe you should flip the script and show him your own interest?

Before you could decide, your body took control of its own, with your leg beginning to drag up and down his own under the table in a slow and seductive fashion. He instantly hiccuped at his drink when he felt the touch.

"Tell me?", you asked again, but your tone was far more convincing this time. You let the strap of your dress fall to the side, giving him a sneak peak at the strap hidden underneath it; the first hint at the pretty set you'd thrown on for later.

"A-ah, I'm just a video editor and producer. Nothing too exciting," he managed to not stutter too much as he felt your touch and allowed his eyes to zero in on the tiny sliver of bra.

"Oooh, sexy."

"Well, not as sexy as being a barista," he joked back through a stutter.

"Is that why you're always at the cafe? You're rich enough to not work a menial job like the rest of us peasants," you leaned towards the table a bit, foot continuing to tease at his leg.

"I'd say the pretty barista there is the bigger reason- Baby, you gotta stop doing that," he interrupted himself.

"What, I can't flirt with you? How's that fair?"

"You have the upper hand here. It's not fair!" he almost whined.

"Trust me, I could be doing much worse," you threatened with a smirk, "Don't make me sit next to you. I'll be even meaner up close."

He gaped at you for a few moments before readjusting himself on his seat, eyes trailing to your chest for a brief moment before attempting to refocus.

"Baby, did you enjoy your meal?", he suddenly switched the subject, sitting up straight now.

"We just got here," you tilted your head in confusion.

"Yeah, but, uh, I think I might've left my stove on. Come back home with me to check?"

Oh.

Well, that was fun enough for you.

But you could make it funner.

"But I wanted dessert," you pouted as you let your foot find higher heights on his legs.

"What I want isn't on the menu," he played along with a matching pout.

"Will you treat me to something good if I say yes?"

"I'll give you anything you want," he gave up on the double entendres, tone exasperated as he visibly itched to get up from his seat.

"Fine," you feigned disinterest, slowly getting up from your seat only to be rushed by Jungkook who had suddenly made his way over to your side of the table, ushering you out of your seat.

He scrambled through his wallet to grab a stack of cash, gesturing at the waiter to let him know it covered the bill and that he could keep any extra as a tip. You giggled as he dragged you away, not at all subtle in what his goal was. Even his grip on your wrist as he dragged you away was clear on its intent.

"Well, that was a shitty date," you deadpanned back in the car.

"You're the one who ruined it by playing footsie with me!", he rasped, attempting to focus on the road while you sat pretty beside him with an unspoken promise of sex as soon as you reached your destination.

You were happy to not be the one driving.

"But you said you'll treat me once we take care of your oven, right, Kookie?" you teased with a hand beginning to draw patterns on his leg, causing him to flinch with a whine.

"D-don't touch me! I will crash and I need you intact for I wanna do to you," he grumbled.

You laughed again, surrendering for the rest of the ride.

The next time you spoke was when Jungkook began pulling into a building that looked a few tax brackets above your own. It oozed luxury, being so high up that you could not see the end of it from the car window.

"A producer, huh? Dude, you're loaded. You could probably buy out the entire franchise of the cafe I work at," you marveled as you took in the expensive-looking parking lot you were pulling into.

"Can I? Will that get you to stop working and pay attention to me?," he pouted.

The sight gave you some cognitive dissonance. On one hand, you had an extremely attractive Jungkook donning what was likely an insanely expensive suit whilst maneuvering the car with only one hand. Meanwhile, you also had a needy boy pouting at you for your attention.

But you decided to play into the latter. The control he gave you was just too enjoyable.

"Needy," you teased.

"You have no idea."

And those were hid last words before he finally parked the car, rushing to get out and round it in order to help you out of your seat. It was embarrassing, really, the urgency in which he ushered you towards the lobby, practically dragging you all the way to the elevator before pressing a button far too high for the ride to be a short one.

Which was why you chose to take advantage of tour solitary surroundings whilst in that small ascending box.

Jungkook should've seen it coming, really. You hadn't been shy about being a tease back at the restaurant, nor had you really restrained yourself while in his car. It should've been obvious to him that you'd try and pull something whilst on the elevator too, right?

Wrong. Or well, at least if his whimper of surprise had been any indicator of his cluelessness.

The most sensible thing to do (in your horny opinion, at least) at that moment had been to corner him and catch him in a heated kiss. Apart from his initial surprise, it seemed like this was the right step to take, seeing as he fed into it immediately.

His hands were just as needy as his person, gluing themselves to your body and refusing to leave it for even a second. Every curve was felt and squeezed at as his tongue infiltrated your mouth. But his needy hands weren't even the best thing about him.

Your favorite thing was how shameless he was when it came to his sounds. If a mere kiss had him whimpering against you, you were ecstatic to know what second base would make him sound like.

Pulling at his hair, you pulled him away from you just so you could take a look at his dazed eyes (which were very adamantly glued to your lips). The sight was too pretty to ignore. But this lasted mere seconds before the poor boy drew you into another kiss, humming when you kissed back with the same amount of fervor.

Needy hands landed on your hips, long fingers digging into the plush and pushing them against his own. His hardness was already proudly present and dragging itself against whichever part of your body was closest. Pants were released right into your lips and suffocated against your tongue. No words were exchanged, as the sounds of clothes ruffling and tongues meeting were already loud enough.

Sadly, the beautiful art of dry humping had to be put to a stop when the elevator dinged, indicating you'd reached your destination.

True to his character, Jungkook whined again, immediately setting course for his apartment as he dragged you by the hand once again. You found your destination quite quickly as Jungkook fumbled to let the two of you in, practically pushing you in before closing the door behind him.

"Fuck, I want you so bad," he spoke for the first time as he pressed your lips together once more.

Blindly guiding you through his expansive apartment, he somehow managed to only bump twice before making it to his bed. Sadly, you were unable to take in your surroundings due to Jungkook's insistence in keeping your lips locked, but who were you to complain?

Landing on his bed, Jungkook remained standing, beginning to throw off his blazer and unbutton his shirt as you leaned back in a sitting position, legs spread to allow him to stand between them. You enjoyed the show, not even attempting to get yourself into any state of undress.

"Stop staring at me like that. You're making me nervous," he whined when he found himself finally shirtless, squinting at you as you quite literally ate him with your eyes.

You knew he'd be the prettiest sight from the moment you first spotted him, but he looked even better than you could've possibly imagined. He was clearly sculpted, but you didn't realize it'd be to this extent. Carrying a lean figure, every inch of his body still managed to contain toned muscle. The tattoo sleeve also did not help manners.

You ignored his whining, continuing to stare.

"Come up wrap me," you lifted your hands childishly as if to invite him to undress you, which he accepted happily.

Chuckling at your demeanor, his hands reached out to you, helping you stand up before blindly unzipping your dress and letting it fall down to reveal the other pretty garments you'd chosen to wear for him.

"Oh, you hate me," he mumbled upon a single view of what was hiding below your dress.

Pressing his forehead to your shoulder, he groaned, hands hanging by your sided as he appeared to apprehensive to touch you, not really knowing where to start.

"You haven't even looked at it yet!", you pouted, "I got it just for you. And it was expensive — maybe not by your standards, but," you shrugged.

His nose trailed its way to your neck by then, breathing you in and continuing to groan at the peak of lingerie he'd just gotten. There was no way he had gotten a good look from his proximity, but knowing that the mere suggestion of you dressing up for him already had him frustrated.

"I'll buy you a wardrobe full of them," he huffed whilst his hands felt you up, fingers lightly scratching at the lace barely covering your hips and breasts.

"If I rip it, will you be mad?", he asked after getting his fill of you. Your neck was practically wet with his saliva by then.

"Well, you did say you were gonna buy me more, so,"

Your statement was followed by a ripping sound coming from down south, your lower half now fully nude as you gasped.

"Jungkook!"

"Oh, these rip easily. That's good. I like these," he muttered, unhooking your bra before beginning to kiss his way to your breasts.

"K-kook, fuck."

His lips caught onto one of your breasts, tongue teasingly rounding the hardened bud in the middle before nipping lightly at it. A huff of air was released against your skin as he sighed in what you believed to be contentment.

"You're so pretty," he sounded pained as he said it.

He continued kissing at your breasts and feeling at your body for a few moments before laying you back on the bed, hands aiding you in scooting towards its middle so he could hover above you comfortably. His hands didn't leave you once, latched onto some part of your body at all times.

Trailing down with wet kisses, his lips acted as a magnet against your skin, finding their way to your middle slowly but desperately. Immediately once there, he nuzzled his nose into your bundle of nerves, sighing against it before letting his tongue get a taste.

"I- fuck, Kook," you sighed when you received a wide lick to your folds, followed by precise movements of his tongue.

Jungkook's proclivity towards oral became obvious quite quickly. It was as if he was trying to replace all the wetness seeping out of you with his own saliva. It sounded disgusting in theory, but felt far too good in practice.

"Hmm, fuck. Baby, I need to be able to breathe," he chuckled breathlessly when your thighs began squeezing around his head a little too harshly.

"It's your fault," was all you mumbled before whining at him to continue.

Unable to deny you anything, he kept going, tongue pointed as it poked and licked at your swollen pearl while his ring and middle finger slowly inserted themselves inside, doing a 'come hither' motion and gracing against your walls to perfection. The constant rumble of his groans against you did not really help matters either.

"You're too fucking good at this, shit," you groaned when he held you impossibly closer, nose rubbing against your clit as he licked at your hole maniacally.

"Just, fuck, it's so warn n pretty," mumbled the drunken man.

It made you pulse the way in which he described your cunt. Pretty had never been a word you'd considered, but who were you to oppose his expert opinion?

Far too soon, you felt your orgasm approach. All your senses were heightened. The smell of sweat, the feeling of his tongue against you, the sound of his grumbles of self-serving pleasure; you were done for.

When you came, it didn't come to you as a surprise when Jungkook refused to create any distance between you. His head remained buried between your legs, tongue lapping at you despite your body begging at him to stop. The sensitivity was high, but the pleasure was ever so present, you didn't have it in you to actually make him stop. Your hands dug into his hair even harder than before, though they were indecisive as to whether to pull him closer or away from you.

"God, fuck. I've been wanting to do that since I met you," he groaned out once he resurfaced.

He climbed beck up your limp and ruined body, kissing his way to your lips before nastily shoving his tongue in your mouth. Not bothering to ask whether or not you'd want to taste yourself, he took a wild guess and asserted you'd be enthusiastic in your reciprocation — which you clearly were, practically reaching down his throat with your own tongue.

Naturally, your bodies melded with one another as you kissed. Both pairs of hips became needy as they ground against each other. Bumping bellies, you ensured Jungkook remained trapping against you as you wrapped your legs around his nonexistent waist. He chuckled at this for half a second before continuing to devour your lips with his own, hips even more desperate than before.

"Wanna- fuck, wanna cum like this, but ... God, need to be inside you," he grunted out his predicament.

Pity.

Maybe you'd rebirth the lost art of dry humping some other day. It'd be far more fun to make Jungkook cum in his pants, after all. Why waste a perfectly naked Jungkook with some dry humping when he was already in a full state of undress?

"What are you waiting for?", you nudged him with your foot, opening your legs further to demonstrate your want for him.

"You're mean," he huffed as he kissed you before pulling himself away to scramble through his end table for a condom.

In an uncharacteristically non suave manner, Jungkook ripped the condom open with his mouth, peeling it over his hardness with an urgency that showed you just how needy he was. This caused you to giggle at the sight.

"You laugh now, but I'm about to fuck you into this bed," he grunted as he absentmindedly rewrapped your legs around his waist, ensuring you locked them behind his back so he could grab onto his cock and begin lining himself up.

"Fuck, baby, do you see that? So puffy and needy," he mocked, tip running up and down your folds, catching your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"Stop it. I'm the only one allowed to be mean," you complained, legs pulling him forward.

"Right," he chuckled, "What I'm about to do to you feels really mean, though."

"Jungkook, I swear to- F-fuck!"

"God, so fucking tight," he mumbled under his breath, "Feels even better than I imagined."

You panted for a few moments as you adjusted yourself to the huge intrusion, eyes faltering a bit.

"Thought about this a lot?"

"Every night, baby," he groaned when you gave him the green light to start moving.

With this, he began grinding into you with an intensity that showed you he'd been telling the truth. Despite how much of a mess he'd been throughout your date, his suave and confident persona was ever so present whilst fucking into you.

There seemed to be no thoughts in his mind that did not revolve around your pleasure. His pace was mind-numbing yet sensual, his fingers circled at your clit with the perfect precision, his lips never ceased in their smacking against your skin. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to ruin you for any other man (hint: he was).

"Feels good, baby?," he grunted between thrusts, breathless and almost unable to form a sentence.

"K-kook-"

You were unable to formulate words, and he knew as much. Or at least that's what you got from the smirk pressed up against your cheek as he trailed back up to your lips.

"You're going to cum with me, right, pretty? Hmm?", his nose nudged your own, lips leaving teasing kisses against yours, "It'll feel so good, gorgeous, okay? I'm, fuck, I'm almost there."

"Kook, I'm c-cumming, sh-shit! Fuck!", you wailed when it finally hit you, having no time to feel embarrassed at how quickly it came. It had all been too much, but you were pretty sure Jungkook knew that.

He followed you into the abyss with a groan and a small bite down the skin of your shoulder. He hummed against the skin, getting it damp with saliva, but you didn't care. The heat from his body as he pressed you down onto his sheets created a damp sheen of sweat between you. It was all very humid and nasty, but the knowledge that Jungkook was currently creaming into a condom whilst buried inside you, mind lost as his sounds filled the room, was more than satisfactory to you.

"Fuck," he groaned once he slumped himself next to you.

He lazily slipped off the condom, throwing it at a trash can laid near his bed before nuzzling his body against your limp one. You had made no move since your orgasm, simply taking in the pleasure that had just invaded you mere minutes ago.

"You're dangerous for a barista."

"You knew this the moment you saw me. That's what you liked about me."

He hummed happily, "You should actually be mean to me next time. It'd be hot."

"Masochist," you laughed.

"Guilty."

"All the girls are gonna hate me when they realize I toon you off the market," you whined as you flipped yourself to your side, scooting closer to him and practically burying yourself in his skin.

"But you love that, don't you?", he chuckled.

You giggled back.

"Guilty."

to read short 2k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my jk monthly tier on patreon!

content: more cafe shenanigans with reader and her coworkers, jungkook still being down bad, smut, afab reader, tit fucking, face riding, mentions of sexting, etc.

wc: 351 (teaser); 2k (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"What the hell are you doing here with those?"

"Is that how you welcome your boyfriend?"

Those were his last words before you rushed to round the counter and get him out of earshot, dragging him by the arm towards the exit. On his other arm, he held tightly onto the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers he'd entered the facility with mere moments ago.

"Woah, what's with the aggression?", he scoffed in jest when you finally made it far enough from your coworkers' eyes.

"Dude, I already told you Lila's been on my ass since she found out we're dating. You have got to stop bringing gifts to my workplace," you groaned, though still taking the flowers from him and giving him a peck as a form of thanks.

There had been a few instances already in which Jungkook had been far too loud and proud about your relationship whilst visiting you at your workplace. It always led to thin-veiled animosity between you and your coworkers.

"So? Who cares about Loraine, or whatever her name is?", he shrugged.

"I do! And it's not just her. They're all in love with you. And most of them keep giving me the cold shoulder because of you! Lila's just the worst of them."

He pouted and coo'd, chuckling when you complained at him for patronizing you. His arms wrapped around you, still chuckling in amusement at your predicament.

"Well, you won. You have me," he hummed in satisfaction.

"Pfft. As if I chased after you," you scoffed.

"Is that a challenge? I'm not afraid to go back in there and confess my love for you."

"Jungkook. No!"

"I won't. Just because," he stopped to check his watch, "it's 2:02pm, which means you get to clock out and I get to take you home. So get your pretty ass back in there so I can get my girlfriend in bed."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"I said what I said," he gave you one last squeeze before grabbing onto your hand and leading you towards the cafe you'd just technically kicked him out of.

...

find the continuation on patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[tender-rosiey]

smack, smack — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: special thanks to the beautiful @stinkyme for inspiring me to actually write this and for fangirling over the idea with me <3

gojo satoru, like any dad, got his fair share of ‘bullying’ from his daughter, his 5 months old baby.

some dads get peed on, others get their hair pulled, and others get their nose bitten on the daily. it's a little something to make them suffer a bit like the mothers had to during the pregnancy.

your husband, however, is always getting smacked in the face whenever he has his blindfold on, and I mean harshly smacked in the face and unforgiving scratching.

the first time it happened was when he was going to school. he was ready, uniform on and everything, but he simply had to say goodbye to his two girls.

skipping to your shared bedroom, he placed two big smooches on your face. then, after much of pulling him off you, he went to smooch his little girl. a big unmatched grin was on his face as he looked down at her in her crib.

he picked her up, cooing softly at her, “what a pretty girl, just as pretty as your mama, huh?”

satoru then laid her gently against his chest and started rocking her softly, while humming. after a while, he felt her stir a little in his arms. she sleepily looks up at him, and he smiles down at her, “good morning, baby—“

now, your daughter was used to seeing her dad without the blindfold. she was used to getting met by her dad's bright blue eyes.

so when a strange unknown man was holding her up instead of her papa, she started wailing and screaming, repeatedly smacking him in the face.

whenever her little—strong—hand landed on the blindfold, she would try to pull it off with all her baby might. you scrambled out of your bed at the loud screeches and screams of both your husband and your daughter.

you saw how satoru was desperately trying to, as gently as possible, make her release her grip. you stumbled on your words, before yelling, “your blindfold! take off your blindfold off!”

“I! am! trying!” he yelps as she continues slapping the hell out of his face.

you hurry and take his blindfold off, swiftly throwing it to the side. he started rocking her, smiling despite the red marks and scratches all over his handsome face, “it’s me, daddy! you see me?”

almost magically, your daughter calmed down in an instant with the occasional hiccup from her previous crying. he smiled, “there you go; that’s my girl.”

she gently made grabby hands at him, and he quickly pulled her back into his chest. your daughter instantly snuggled into his shoulder and hid her face in his neck.

you stared at him for a moment, “well, at least we know that she bloody hates that blindfold.”

it honestly kind of adds up.

you remember the many times that your daughter was generally distressed or fussy and instantly calmed down when she saw her dad’s eyes. you also remember that one time your daughter was actually zoning out while looking at satoru’s eyes, her own safe place.

satoru chuckles with a shrug, “I have you as my savior, anyway.”

“you can’t always count on me to be the one to save you from our daughter’s monstrously strong grip.”

and he can’t.

no one is brave enough to try and to fight back a baby, let alone the strongest sorcerer’s baby.

that attack happens way more than satoru would like. for example, whenever you’re busy, he takes his little princess to the school with him. in general, everyone helps in taking care of the little angel (devil in some cases).

however, god forbid she sees satoru coming back from a mission with his blindfold on.

it took some time for your husband to learn his lesson and immediately take his blindfold off before he entered the school. until then, he was prone to his daughter’s crazy strong hand smacking his face till his entire face is painted red and not the cute kind.

satoru never believed in his students to save him, except for yuuji. the first time it happened around the students, most of them were either laughing or speechless.

yuuji did try to save his sensei from his smacking machine of a daughter, but ended up getting smacked himself.

your husband did hope that, maybe, nanami’s heart would soften, and he would finally help him.

nanami’s heart did soften, just not for satoru. instead, your daughter now has a special soft spot in nanami’s heart, as he did in hers, but that isn’t our topic for today.

the amount of times you would enter the room to find nanami chuckling or smiling at your husband getting beaten to a pulp by your baby. satoru could be sobbing, “nanami, please! save me!”

and nanami would simply smile—sadistically—and hum, “I don’t think I will.”

you’re pretty sure that nanami believes this is god’s way of punishing your husband for all the mischief he caused.

ignoring that, it grips your heart how satoru’s face would brighten up the moment he saw you. he would run up to you, giving you the baby to calm her down while he gives his face a rest.

and your little girl was smiling and giving you her version of cheek kisses.

your husband recovered quickly though, and took her back, his blindfold finally off. he doesn’t do it without pecking your lips though, “my savior.”     

then he gets lost in his own world with his little girl, and their laughs and giggles filled the room. her hands were gently holding her dad’s face as she squeals, and satoru’s heart soars as he forgets about his beating from a moment ago.

now, that doesn’t mean that his dear students don’t make fun of him for always losing against his little girl. during one of the recent teasings, he simply huffed, “you never tried the grip of a baby! tell them, yuuji!”

yuuji shudders as he remembers how long the slap mark lasted, “she is one hell of a strong baby.”

it’s one thing for panda and nobara to laugh, it’s another for megumi and maki to do so as well. your husband’s ego simply couldn’t take it anymore. he took his baby in his arms and gathered the baby bags, sparing one last glance at his ‘bullies’.

and so your husband dramatically exits the room, “I need my wife! I can’t with you people anymore!”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

check out my buy me a coffee!

[misswynters]

Brothel

Sevika x afab!reader / wc: ?

warnings: 18+, BITING (thanks to ep. 3), smut with no plot, dom! sevika, fingering, sub! reader

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

let me know if you would like to be tagged in my writings

The dim, warm glow of the brothel's lanterns cast a haze over the room, filling the space with a sense of secrecy and allure. It was here, in a secluded corner draped with plush cushions, that you found yourself in Sevika's strong embrace. Her presence was magnetic, her intensity drawing you in with every touch, every stolen glance. This was unfamiliar territory for someone from Piltover, yet with Sevika, it just felt right.

She watched you with a smirk, her eyes dark and calculating, her gloved metal hand tracing a line down your arm with an almost possessive air. "You Piltover types don't usually end up here," she teased, her voice low and gravelly.

"What's the matter? Too good for this side of the bridge?" Your breath hitched as her lips found the curve of your neck, sharp and demanding, leaving a trail of warmth across your skin. You felt yourself leaning into her, yielding to the strength of her body pressed against yours. Sevika's hands roamed confidently, as if claiming every inch of your body with each touch.

Somehow, she knew just how to ignite every nerve, her fingers tracing lines that left you breathless. Her lips brushed against your neck, and you couldn't hold back the quiet moan that slipped from your lips. Her hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. "That's it," she murmured, her voice a rough whisper. "I knew you'd like it."

As her mouth moved lower, she grinned against your skin, savoring every reaction. The pleasure was intense, building like a fire within you, and when her teeth grazed your collarbone, you couldn't help but let your own teeth sink into her shoulder in response, a desperate attempt to steady yourself against the overwhelming sensation. Sevika's body tensed slightly, and instead of pulling away, she let out a low, satisfied growl.

"Not as innocent as you look, are you?" she murmured, clearly enjoying the way you clung to her, marking her with your bite. She shifted slightly, pulling you even closer. "You're just full of surprises," she chuckled, her hand sliding up to cup your face, guiding you to look into her eyes. The intensity in her gaze was undeniable, dark and filled with a hunger that sent a thrill through you.

"Go on," she urged, her voice low and filled with anticipation. "If that's what you need... don't hold back."

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words died as her mouth brushed along your jaw, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck. The sensation was intense, each touch unraveling your carefully constructed composure. Her gloved metal hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, grounding you against her as she pressed her lips to the hollow of your throat, lingering long enough to make you shiver.

A low chuckle escaped her as she felt you tremble. "There it is... just let go. Don't fight it." Her voice was a rumbling whisper against your skin, full of knowing confidence. She bit gently at your collarbone, and a strangled gasp escaped you. Without thinking, you clutched her shoulders, sinking your teeth yet again, into her as a means of grounding yourself. Desperately trying to find anything to hold onto in the face of the overwhelming pleasure she’s giving you.

To your surprise, Sevika let out a low, appreciative growl, her eyes flashing with a thrill you hadn't expected. "Now that's more like it," she purred, her smirk growing as she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her gaze was predatory, dark with a mixture of approval and challenge. "Not so prim after all, are you?"

You felt heat rise to your face, but she didn't give you a chance to reply, her hand sliding down your back, pressing you closer against her. "Good. I want you to feel every second of this," she whispered, her voice low and intense.

"So don't hold back on me. Let me hear you."

Her hand slid down to your thigh, guiding it up over her hip with a firm yet gentle touch. She held you steady, her eyes never leaving yours as her fingers traced firm, reassuring circles against your skin. "I'm right here," she murmured. "Just relax... let me take care of you." Her voice was a steady anchor, pulling you deeper into the moment, every word laced with that commanding edge that made your pulse race.

The sensations were intense, overwhelming, and every time you felt yourself losing control, her hand would tighten, guiding you back, her voice a steady whisper against your ear. "That's it... just like that," she murmured, encouraging you with a gentleness that was almost surprising. "Don't be afraid to take what you want."

Sevika's gaze held a gleam of dark intent as her metal fingers traced over your hips, the coolness of the metal sending a shiver up your spine. Her smirk deepened as she watched your reaction, clearly enjoying the way you arched instinctively under her touch.

She was meticulous, taking her time, each movement deliberate as she let her hand linger, mapping out every inch of your skin with the smooth, unyielding surface.

"Relax," she murmured, her voice low and commanding as she slid her hand lower, the metal a striking contrast against the warmth of your skin. "You wanted something different, didn't you?" Her lips were close to your ear, her breath hot as her fingers pressed just a little harder, testing the limits of your comfort. She worked in slow, steady circles against your clit, applying just enough pressure to make your heart race.

Her other hand remained warm and grounding on your thigh, keeping you still as she let her metal fingers explore, her touch both soothing and electrifying. Each motion sent sparks through you, the contrast between warmth and coolness, softness and hardness, blending into a sensation that had you on edge. You tried to stifle a gasp, but Sevika noticed, her smirk deepening.

"Oh, don't hold back now," she drawled, her voice laced with a teasing edge. "I want to hear you."

Sevika's touch was almost too much, the metal fingers moving inside you reaching deeper, each steady motion making you shudder. She watched every reaction, her gaze sharp, her focus never wavering. You felt yourself losing control, every movement of her fingers inside you driving you closer to the edge. Each slow, deliberate touch made you tremble, your breath hitching as you tried to stifle the sounds escaping you.

"Sevika... I.." you gasped, struggling to find words as the intensity built. Her fingers moved with calculated precision, unrelenting, and as you continued to reach your climax, you instinctively tried to pull back. But Sevika's hand tightened on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, her gaze narrowing as she watched you squirm beneath her.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere," she murmured, a smug grin on her lips as she took in the effect she had on you. "I told you, I want you to feel every second of this."

Sevika's fingers worked expertly, her movements rhythmic and deliberate, each motion coaxing out more of the heat building inside you. The room was filled with the unmistakable, wet sounds of her fingers moving inside your folds. The wetness coated her metal fingers, glistening in the dim light as they slid in and out with ease. The noises growing louder with every movement, that it surely can be heard from outside the room. Luckily everyone knew better than to interrupt when sevika has business with you.

She noticed, a grin spreading across her lips as she looked down, clearly proud of the effect she had on you. "You hear that?" she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "That's all you, making such a mess for me." You whimpered, your face flushed as you tried to turn away, but she guided your chin back with her free hand, forcing you to meet her intense gaze.

"Don't hide from me. I want to see every reaction," she ordered, her voice both commanding and gentle. Her fingers continued their steady rhythm, now slick with your arousal, each movement creating an unmistakable wet, squelching sound that filled the small room. The sensations were almost too much, and as her fingers pressed against your clit, you instinctively tried to pull back, feeling the heat of pleasure growing almost too intense. But Sevika's other hand pressed firmly on your upper thigh, keeping you anchored to her, her grip strong and unyielding. "Don't even think about it," she growled softly, amusement coloring her tone.

"You're going to stay right here and take it." Her gaze flicked down to where her long slender fingers were inside. Her smirk only grew as she watched the way her hand gleamed, coated in your arousal.

"So damn wet... all for me," she muttered, almost to herself, as if fascinated. As the pleasure intensified, you couldn't hold back the noises slipping from your lips, and Sevika noticed, lifting her hand toward your mouth. "Bite down if you have to," she commanded gently, her voice low and almost possessive. You hesitated but felt another wave of sensation, so you did as she instructed, biting down gently on her rough palm, your muffled moans blending with the wet, rhythmic sounds her fingers created. You were so lost in the pleasure of her fingers that you count control yourself, slobbering over her hand. And she liked it.

"Good girl," Sevika murmured, her words filled with approval as she felt you tense and writhe beneath her. The pace of her fingers quickened, each movement slick and unrelenting, the wetness intensifying as she continued, her fingers gliding in and out effortlessly. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered, "Let go for me. Don't hold back."

The pressure built to a breaking point, her fingers working in relentless rhythm, the wet sounds a constant reminder of just how thoroughly she had unraveled you. When the release finally overtook you, it hit like a wave, and Sevika didn't stop, her fingers coaxing out every last shudder, her smirk widening as she felt the intensity of your reaction.

"There it is," she murmured, her tone filled with satisfaction as her fingers slowed, wet and glistening from the pleasure she had pulled from you. She leaned close, brushing a gentle kiss to your cheek as you caught your breath, her eyes filled with pride. "You did good."

taglist: @untitled-locket @cestlaprincesa @ohboi @themostlesbianever

banners: @cafekitsune

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 3

(Rafe Cameron x reader, series, 5.7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

additional chapter cw: suggestive language/themes, heavy drinking, mature readers only please

⇢ series masterlist

The game was on, and Carter wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

You however, were much less invested in her scheme to set you up with Tom, already feeling tired and confused after 24-hours of this little reunion trip. You laid in bed for quite a while replaying the almost-moment you’d had with Rafe in the kitchen in your head before taking a long, dreamless nap. It was the smell of the barbeque wafting through your bedroom window that woke you up. You threw your hair up in a bun, too groggy to care about putting any more effort into your appearance.

As you reached for the handle, you heard two hushed voices arguing behind your bedroom door. You opened it slowly to reveal Carter and Topper facing each other, both with their arms crossed as they carried on a heated whisper-argument.

“What are you even doing up here Topper?” Carter demanded.

“I don’t know, what are you doing up here Carter? Trying to get a leg up?” Topper snapped back, towering over her in height yet still somehow looking small under her glare.

They were so locked in on each other that neither of them had even noticed your appearance.

“Um, hi,” you waved your hand between their faces to get their attention. “Can I help you?”

They looked at you, startled as their arms fell and stances softened. Carter eyed your outfit up and down, trying to hide her distaste at your choice of leggings and a t-shirt.

“Well, I don’t know what he’s doing up here but I came to see if you needed help getting ready,” Carter replied.

“I am ready,” you said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You’re, uh,” Topper scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

You squinted at him, you could understand Carter critiquing your outfit, knowing she was trying to set you up with Tom, but what stake did Topper have in your outfit choice?

“We’re literally just going downstairs,” you countered.

“Maybe throw on something a little nicer,” Carter urged gently.

“Okay, fine,” you gave in. “You two are being so weird today.”

Topper gave you a thumbs up as you closed the door in their faces.

A few minutes later you reemerged in a new outfit, a crocheted halter top and some cut-offs. You had let your hair down and ran a brush through it, dabbed on some mascara and lipgloss. It was the maximum amount of effort you were willing to put into a big night out in the backyard.

Despite everyone’s relentless teasing, Topper actually was a pretty good cook. The food was great and everyone thanked you, Rafe, and Tom for going out to get it.

“Tom paid!” you announced. “So everyone make sure to be really nice to him or he won’t bankroll us anymore.”

You smiled at Tom, who grinned back and waved you off in joking modesty. You let your eyes linger as he leaned over the firepit on the other side of the sprawling patio, skillfully stacking the wood before lighting a match and holding it under. He crouched low to blow gently on the kindling, causing the fire to roar to life. You could see a sliver of his toned lower back peeking out from his shirt as he reached for another log, dropping it straight into his newly sparked flame with a bare hand. The whole thing was unbelievably attractive.

The only thing better was the stoney look on Rafe’s face when you caught his eye, realizing he’d noticed the way you were looking at Tom like you wanted to have him for dessert. Good. 

Playing and replaying the scene from the kitchen in your head all afternoon, you came downstairs determined to freeze Rafe out. Sure, he remembered your favorite candy and maybe almost even apologized, but it wasn’t enough to erase the sting you felt when he pulled away from you like you had the plague as soon as anyone else entered the room.

After dinner, you were perched on the railing of the porch, sipping something strong and chatting with Carter and her childhood best friend, Maddie.

Maddie was nice enough, the Kook academy prom queen two years in a row, but she had never shown much interest in you. Until you showed up here looking much more instagram-worthy than you had in high school.

“So, omg,” Maddie started, playing with a strand of your hair like you were the closest of friends. “When are you gonna drop the workout routine? You look gorg.”

Never once had one of Carter’s friends complimented your looks. 

“Thanks,” you grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I play a lot of volleyball and jog a little.”

“Well it’s working!” Kelce hollered from across the porch, already wobbling slightly from his inebriation.

There it was again, your blush, always showing up at the least opportune times. All eyes were on you, such open talk about your body making your skin crawl with self-consciousness. You looked over the railing to the sand a few feet down, wondering how badly the jump would hurt.

As always, knowing you better than anyone, Carter felt like she could read your mind. Protectiveness roared in her chest, she set her hand over yours to silently tell you she understood before turning to the party and announcing, “okay, we’re playing a game! Everyone around the fire pit!”

No one argued with her wishes, they never did. The group gathered around the bonfire, each with a full drink in hand as Carter unnecessarily explained the rules to never have I ever as if this same group hadn’t played it a hundred times in high school. 

You appreciated Carter moving the attention off of you, but clearly she didn’t know this was your least favorite game in the world. The second the name of the game came out of her mouth, your heart dropped to your stomach, hit with memories of sitting off to the side while her friends played, all of your fingers embarrassingly still up, revealing you had done nothing interesting or scandalous in your life.

Sure, you’d definitely added a few notches to your belt since then, but you knew these people and had no doubt you were still way behind. The sad thing is you didn’t even care, but you knew they would and you couldn’t help that nagging desire to prove that you were just as cool as them. You sighed as you settled in your chair next to Carter, frustrated that just as you were starting to feel somewhat normal, you were transported right back to your loneliest days.

Carter went first, “never have I everrr…shoplifted.”

Sabrina took a giggly sip from her solo cup.

“Isn’t your dad’s networth like a billion dollars?” Kelce asked.

“Yes, but he never would’ve bought me those red panties, so I took ‘em,” she winked at him, and he scooted his chair closer to her.

Everyone else still had all ten fingers up, making you think maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

But your relief didn’t last long. One by one they went around the circle, revealing each other’s secrets and leaving you with ten fingers up.

“Never have I ever done a body shot.” Your fingers stayed up.

“Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.” Your fingers stayed up.

“Never have I ever hooked up in a public place.” Your fingers stayed up. 

As the group got tipsier, the revelations got dirtier. You were sure some of them were lying and there was some temptation for you to put a finger down as a lie too just to level the playing field, but that was such teenage bullshit. You might not have as a high of a body count as some of them, but you still had your pride. 

The blood rushed from you face when Maddie said, “never have I ever been with two people at once” and Rafe put his last finger down, smirking as he finished off his beer.

A few more rounds passed and everyone else had put at least a couple fingers down while you still hadn’t done a single one of the things listed. You chewed on your lip, wondering how early was too early to excuse yourself to go to bed.

You were about to make a break for it, when a now sloppily drunk Sabrina pointed at you and slurred, “aww bambi’s still got ten!”

Bambi was another one of the many teasing nicknames they’d called you in high school, and it might just be your least favorite. 

“You’re still such a good girl,” Sabrina jibed. 

She must’ve been beyond wasted. She wasn’t necessarily nice, but she wasn’t usually this much of a bitch.

Your breaths got short, the anxiety erupting like fireworks in your chest. You could feel Carter’s mind spinning next to you, trying to come up with some way to defend you, but another voice beat her to it.

“Well,” Rafe said, drawing all eyes off of you and across the firepit towards him. “Never have I ever gotten so crossfaded at a boneyard party that I pissed my pants in someone else’s truck.”

He shot Sabrina a vindictive smile.

“Rafe!” She protested. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” 

At her admission, everyone broke out into laughter, aimed at her.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Rafe chuckled, “you just did.”

“Bruhh,” Kelce hollered. “That’s nasty!”

Sabrina went red, completely humiliated. You tried to be a girl’s girl, but after years of her teasing and making you feel like a loser, you couldn’t help but join in the laughter at her expense. 

As she emptied her cup spitefully, you caught Rafe’s gaze across the fire, the air between you wavy with the flame’s heat. He smiled a crooked, satisfied smile at you, and you mouthed “thank you.” He gave you a reassuring wink and your stomach did cartwheels. 

Carter straightened in her lawn chair next to you, kicking herself for giving Rafe the chance to save you before she could.

“I’ve got one!” she announced, and the crowd hushed to hear their queen. “Never have I ever skinny dipped in the campus fountain and got caught by campus security but successfully flirted my way out of a citation and ended up getting the cop’s number.”

Everyone looked around the circle quizzically, wondering who that incredibly specific anecdote was aimed at.

“No fucking way!” Topper shouted when he saw you put down your pinky finger with a bashful smile.

Topper and Kelce whooped, and the girls all gave you impressed looks.

“Okay baddie!” Maddie gasped. “Was he cute? Did you call him?”

“I mean he wasn’t not cute,” you mused, taking the obligatory sip of your drink. “We hung out a few times.”

“So does that mean you’re into handcuffs now orrr…” Kelce chimed in.

“Oops, I put the wrong fingers down,” you lifted your hand and theatrically put all down except your middle finger, aiming it at Kelce.

The crowd erupted with laughs and amused ohhhh’s. Even Rafe was smiling, and you couldn’t help but wish you knew what he was thinking, noticing his soft eyes on you as you bantered with his friends, all attention on you. This time, you weren’t blushing, you were just enjoying yourself. It felt so nice to have such a naturally fun and easy moment, but it was short lived.

“Never have I ever,” Sabrina interrupted, hiccuping. “Failed an entire semester of college.”

The crowd fell silent once again, no one daring to bring their eyes to Rafe, the clear target of her comeback. He just rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly, like it didn’t bother him at all. But you could see the hint of shame in his eyes, a rare glimpse of vulnerability hidden under his tough facade. You used to spend so much of your time digging for those deeper layers that it was easy for you to pick up on them when they rose to the surface, even if it was just for a second.

Maybe you should let him flounder, leave him hanging like he’d done to you so many times before. But tonight, for the first time ever, he had jumped in to defend you, and maybe one act of kindness wouldn’t kill you.

“Fuck this game. Topper, didn’t you say something earlier about a beer pong tournament?” You prompted him, hoping desperately he’d see what you were trying to do and play along.

Topper looked confused at first, so you smiled tightly and flicked your eyes to Rafe and back as quickly as possible, urging him to understand.

Ever the king of subtlety, Topper’s eyes went wide as he mouthed “ohhhh!” 

Rafe saw the whole thing.

“Beer pong! Yes!” Topper said, excited to finally be in the loop. “Let’s do it!”

“I wanna play!” Sabrina stood quickly from her chair, immediately tripping over her own feet.

“Woah,” Carter caught her and held her up with some effort, Sabrina so far gone she couldn’t even use her legs. “I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

Carter stabilized Sabrina and guided her towards the house. You knew she was pissed at Sabrina for picking on you, but Carter would never leave a drunk girl to stumble around a party by herself. She looked at you apologetically, but you nodded to let her know you were fine.

After they disappeared into the house, Topper and Kelce got to work clearing the long outdoor dining table for beer pong, filling cups and placing them with great attention to detail. You chuckled at the way they were arguing over correct cup spacing and fill levels as you reached down into the cooler for another drink. When you stood, Tom appeared by your side.

“I didn’t realize I was sharing a house with a criminal,” he drawled, mouth quirked with a crooked smile.

“Oh yeah,” you played along, popping the top of your drink. “I’m wanted in four states and Puerto Rico.”

“And Puerto Rico, wow,” he leaned his arm against the porch rail, his body angling towards yours in a way that made your skin prick with goosebumps. “I need to hear that story.”

“I’d tell you,” you lowered your voice and lifted your mouth towards his ear to whisper. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

“You’re in that deep, huh?” He placed his other hand on the railing on the other side of you, effectively caging you in, though he held himself back far enough to give you some space. You didn’t want space, though, the enticing scent of whiskey and the smoke from the fire drawing you to him.

“Mhm,” you leaned in so your chests were almost touching, a smile tugging his full lips when he noticed the way you intentionally closed the space between you. “If you thought the campus fountain story was bad…”

“I didn’t think it was bad,” he shook his head.

“No?” You grinned, eager to see where he was going with this.

“Not bad, kind of hot, but not bad,” he confessed.

“Only kind of?” You furrowed your brow in mock offense.

He broke into a smile and blushed, flustered as he said, “I mean, uh…”

You giggled. His bashful, dimpled smile was so painfully cute you were suddenly seeing the value to Carter’s matchmaking plan.

The alcohol in your system mixed with the warmth radiating off of him made your body go hot, tingles shooting up your spine as his eyes fell to your lips. He was so damn pretty. Warm brown eyes and messy hair you wanted to tangle your fingers in.

Rafe grabbed the fire poker and busied himself by tending to the flames, which didn’t really need it, considering Tom had built such a sturdy fire. The sound of your sweet giggles floating through the air as you flirted with Tom made him want to walk straight off the porch and into the ocean. He’d surely put his lifelong friendship with Sabrina on the line, not to mention his own pride, to keep you from running away in embarrassment, and now Tom was reaping the rewards of his chivalry. 

He remembered, though. Maybe you didn’t think he did, but he remembered. The nights you sat in the corner, lonely, pining, and the go-to butt of his friends’ stupid jokes. And he’d just sat by and let it happen, so many times. It’s no wonder you were leaned up against someone else, sharing stories about a whole chapter of your life he’d missed. He only had himself to blame.

Once the table was set up, Topper turned and frowned at the way the group had split, you and Tom cozy in the corner while Rafe stood by the fire alone, shoulders tense. He needed to step up his Cupid game, like, now.

He clapped his hands loudly, voice booming as he announced to the party that it was time to play. The startling sound forced Tom away from you just as you were about to ask him if he wanted to walk down to the water. Topper pointed right at you and pronounced you would be on his team. You were going to protest before you remembered beer pong was your idea in the first place, your ruse to protect Rafe. You couldn’t back out now.

Beer pong was another thing you’d added to your skill set in college. In high school, you were never asked to join when parties inevitably broke into a tournament. Instead you’d sit quietly and watch with hearts in your eyes as Rafe played with the competitiveness of an Olympian in a gold medal race.

He was known for his terrible sportsmanship, everyone expected a full tantrum if he didn’t win. The same went for school sports, you’d spent every night after a rare loss up on the phone with him listening intently while he ranted about all the ways the refs were wrong or the umps were blind. At the time, you took it as an honor that you were the one he wanted to find solace in. Now, grown and mature, you saw it for what it really was; no one else wanted to listen to him bitch and moan, so you were just his only option.

“Let’s go, Little Carter!” Topper raised his hand for a high five as you approached the table.

“If you call me that, I’m not playing,” you left him hanging.

“My bad, my bad,” he conceded.

You gave in and high fived him, stepping up to the table with your game face on. Kelce and Maddie stood across from you. They were both terrible shots, and you sunk every ball, but Topper was keeping them in the game with his many misses. 

Topper was great at beer pong in high school and you were sure he’d had plenty of practice at U of F, so there was no reason he should be playing so horribly.

“Dude, what the hell is up with you?” You scolded him after another throw that was way off.

“I dunno,” Topper said with an exaggerated drunken slur in his voice. “I think I’m just too wasted to play. You might need another partner.”

Before you could mock him for his dramatics, he had called over to Rafe, who was sitting back in a lounge chair looking at his phone, anything to keep his eyes off of you.

“What?” He grumbled, eyes lifting from his screen and avoiding yours.

“Need you to sub in for me,” Topper fake hiccupped and you rolled your eyes.

You were sure Rafe would see you were his proposed partner and pass on the opportunity, but then he and Topper had some kind of silent conversation with their eyes that you couldn’t interpret, and Rafe stood from his chair.

“You don’t have to,” you offered as he stepped up and took the ball from Topper.

You hated that your instinct was to apologize for inconveniencing him. He shrugged and lined up his first shot.

“Someone’s gotta show ‘em how it’s done,” he said with an easy grin that made your heart beat a little faster. 

If only your younger self could see how your night was progressing. Impressing everyone during never have I ever. Flirting with a gorgeous boy from another school. And now, Rafe smiling at you and acknowledging your presence in front of all these people, willingly agreeing to be your teammate. She’d have died and gone to heaven.

He had every right to be cocky; he was really good. And to his great surprise, so were you. You and Rafe made quick work of Kelce and Maddie, then Kelce and Jack, then Kelce and three more partners that tried to step up to the plate, Kelce’s aim worsening as he teetered on the edge of a blackout.

“When did you get so good at this?” Rafe asked you after a partcualrly skillful shot.

“I was always good at it,” you scoffed. “You just never let me play.”

After that comment, Rafe was suddenly an extra encouraging teammate. Before each shot he’d pull you back, leaning down to whisper in your ear conspiratorially about which cup you should call, like an NFL coach rallying his quarterback.

“I can’t hit the far corner, my aim isn’t that good,” you said when he proposed the risky shot. 

Self-doubt filled your face as you bit your lip, Rafe recognizing the nervous tick instantly.

“Nah you got it!” he grabbed you by the shoulder and shook you playfully. “You just gotta believe in yourself.” 

Despite yourself, you broke into a smile, making a feeble attempt to brush him away, though he could tell you didn’t mean it.

“Let’s go slugger,” Rafe placed the ball in your hand and guided you into position by your shoulders. He stood behind you and leaned in to bring his mouth close to your ear. “You got this.”

You loved it. You hated it. Your head swirled with conflicting thoughts, but when you sunk the ball with a flick of your wrist, they all faded.

“Let’s fucking gooo!” Rafe yelled.

He lifted his hand for a double high five and you stood on your tiptoes to reach. Your arms came down, but your hands were still in his.

“Told ‘ya,” he said tenderly, smiling down at you as his large hands enveloped yours. “You just gotta believe in yourself.”

Despite the alarms blaring in your head, telling you to run, you let it all linger. The deep sound of his voice in the air, his eyes on your lips, his rough hands folded in yours.

“Okay!” Carter chose that minute to emerge from the house after Sabrina finally fell asleep. “That’s enough wins for y’all, time for some real competition.”

The sound of her voice snapped you out of the moment, and you pulled your hands away from Rafe quickly, nervous about all the eyes on you for the first time since you’d started playing.

“I need a partner,” Carter said, surveying the group on the patio. “How about…”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where she was going with this show and wishing she’d just fast forward to the end.

“Tom?” She raised her eyebrows in his direction, as if it was a crazy idea she had just come up with. “Do you play?”

“I may have taken part in a tourney or two,” Tom said humbly.

“Bullshit,” Kelce exclaimed, slumped in a chair as his head spun. “This guy was the Alpha Tau champion all four years. He’s got a plaque and everything.”

“Damn, I didn’t know we had Alpha Tau royalty in our midst!” Carter bantered.

“Jesus, enough with the fanfare, are you playing or not, dude?” Rafe snapped.

Carter eyed you, her lips twisted in a satisfied smirk. No one was surprised at Rafe’ gruffness, more than used to his competitive mean streak. It was not one of his more attractive qualities. The pull you’d just felt to him faltered a little at the reminder of this particular weakness. You were sure that’s exactly what Carter was hoping for.

“Alright I’m in,” Tom said, stepping up to the table and rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ‘ya.” He winked at you.

“Yeah, yeah, just call your shot, champ,” Rafe said.

The four of you reset the cups, not much work needing to be done on you and Rafe’s side of the table since almost no one had scored on you. As Tom lined up his first shot, he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, adjusting and readjusting his stance to get comfortable.

Rafe crossed his arms over his chest mumbling something along the lines of “this fuckin’ guy” and you couldn’t help but smile, admittedly also kind of getting the ick from how seriously Tom was taking this. 

Then he sunk every ball. After a few particularly good rounds, he made his third shot in a row, and Carter called “fire.” She handed him balls one after another like he was taking free throws, wiggling her eyebrows at you to make sure you were paying attention to his triumph.

You drank each cup obediently, ever the rule follower. After your fourth, you were getting so sick of the stale beer, you and Rafe’s cups had been sitting untouched all night and the cheap hops had soured significantly. When Tom sunk another one you grabbed the cup hesitantly, queasy, nearly gagging.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Rafe volunteered, grabbing the cup from you.

“Y’all don’t have to drink those if they’re really that bad,” Tom offered, pausing his next shot when he noticed how disgusted you looked.

“I got it, man,” Rafe waved him off, holding his nose and shooting back the beer as quickly as possible. He dropped the empty cup with a grimace.

“We can just call it a game,” Tom suggested, clearly feeling bad.

“Do you want to forfeit?” You asked Rafe, dropping your voice so Carter and Tom couldn’t hear.

“What and just wave the white flag?” Rafe replied, eyebrows raised. “Do you?

Your lips spread in a slow smile, “not a fucking chance.”

“Atta girl,” he nodded, returning his gaze to Tom. “We’re no quitters, hit us again big guy.”

And he did, over and over, until there was only one cup left on your side of the table. As he prepped for his final shot, Rafe turned to you, a playful, tipsy smile on his face.

“We had a good run,” He said, reaching out shake your hand. You took it with a smile.

When Tom and Carter won, high fiving each other in a loud celebration, all eyes fell to Rafe, waiting to see how he’d react to losing. You tensed, hoping his chipper attitude when you were winning would carry over into a graceful loss. But then he rounded the table, striding towards Tom, and you cringed in anticipation of a classic Rafe Cameron Temper Tantrum.

“Oh boy,” Carter mumbled under her breath. “Here we go.”

But there was no blow up, just Rafe extending his hand to Tom, who took it with a friendly shake.

“Good game, man,” Rafe said. 

“Yeah, you too, dude,” Tom smiled, not realizing this show of sportsmanship was a historical first.

Rafe tilted his head in a friendly nod towards your sister, “Carter.”

“Rafael,” she returned his sarcastic tone, purposefully using his least favorite nickname.

With that, Rafe walked away from the table, one last glance towards you as he returned to his seat by the fire. You watched him go, feeling sad not that you had lost, but that your fun night with Rafe had seemingly come to an end.

It was dizzying, your ever-changing emotional state, and you suspected it had very little to do with the beer. Thinking over all the events of the day gave you whiplash. One second you were about ready to ask Tom if he wanted to come back to your room, the next it felt like you and Rafe were finally sharing the moment you’d dreamt of for years. All the while, you weren’t sure you actually wanted either of them, or if you even wanted to be here at all.

“Wanna play again?” Carter asked, noticing the distracted look on your face.

“I’m good,” you smiled at her appreciatively, deciding you’d had enough excitement for one day. “I think I’m probably just going to bed now.”

“Aww, but it’s so early grandma,” Topper called over to you from the firepit.

You walked over to his chair and peched on the armrest.

 “Ah yes, another one of my favorite nicknames,” you joked. “No one’s called me that in four years.”

“Another inside joke?” Tom inquired, joining the circle, he and Carter each grabbing a chair.

“In high school, she was always the first to leave parties. She’d rather be at home in bed with a book by 9pm,” Topper explained to him.

You rose from his chair, eager to ditch this little trip down memory lane before it got too embarrassing. You almost made a clean escape, but then a very drunk Kelce decided to chime in.

“Unless Rafe asked her to stay,” he laughed. “Then she’d be there allll night.”

Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’ve been embarrassed a thousand times in your life, but this was something different. You looked down at your feet, not sure what you were supposed to do. No quick, face saving remark was coming to mind.

Carter smacked Kelce on the arm, while Topper shook his head with a disapproving, “dude…” 

Your eyes drifted to Rafe, who was looking down at his hands uncomfortably. Whatever protective instinct that had inspired him to stand up for you earlier was clearly gone as he left you to drown in the painfully awkward silence.

“Oh, were you two…?” Tom asked, pointing between you and Rafe quizzically.

“Nope,” you told him with a stiff smile.

He looked like he was about to ask more, but caught on at the last second, reading in between the lines. There it was, the last person here who didn’t know about your pathetic past was now caught up to speed. Yeah, you’d definitely had enough.

“Kelce, you’re such an asshole,” Carter began reprimanding him.

“Just stop,” you urged her. “It’s fine, I’m just going to bed.”

“Wait!” She called after you, but you were already walking toward the house, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. She gave Kelce one last slap and rushed after you.

Kelce, barely conscious, still hadn’t caught up with his own party foul.

“Where’s she going?” He asked Topper.

Rafe stood from his chair suddenly. 

“Will you get him out of here please?” He spat at Topper, sidestepping the fire as he stormed off toward the house.

Rafe followed your path into the kitchen, not sure what he was going to say when he caught up to you, but suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to make it right. He should’ve said something as soon as Kelce put his foot in his mouth. He’d deal with that dumbass later.

He slid the kitchen door open, headed towards the stairs that lead to the second floor, but he stopped short when he heard your voice. He stayed back, out of sight but close enough to hear your conversation with Carter on the stairs.

“Carter, it’s fine,” you sighed.

“No it’s fucking not, he made you cry,” Carter practically growled.

Rafe’s heart dropped. You were crying? He was gonna kick Kelce’s ass as soon as he was sober enough to feel pain.

“I’m just tired,” you sniffled. “Please, just drop it for now. I just wanna go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Carter said, her voice starting to crack. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to stay.”

“It’s not your fault,” you assured her. “I knew he was gonna be here.”

Rafe frowned. Was the ‘he’ you were referring to still Kelce, or was it him? Was his presence really so distressing to you that you were in tears?

Carter reluctantly bid you goodnight, and Rafe slipped into the pantry so she wouldn’t see him when she descended the stairs back into the kitchen, storming towards the backyard, surely on her way to give Kelce hell.

He stood in the walk-in pantry for a minute, collecting his thoughts. 

Maybe he should be the one to leave. If his presence really was such torment to you, it would be the right thing to do. But you didn’t seem tormented earlier when you were playing beer pong with him, cheering each other on and laughing like friends. Or before, at the fire, when you’d come to each other’s defense. Even his two best friends hadn’t seen that Sabrina’s words actually hurt him, but you did. You always knew him better than anyone.

While he stood in the pantry, illuminated only by the single light bulb above his head, his eyes grazed over the shelf. Between a stack of paper plates and some hamburger buns, sat the candy he had picked out for you at the store. He smiled at the memory of your many car rides as teenagers, fueled by the snacks you had brought when you picked him up. Maybe you regretted those times now, but something about the fact that this was still your favorite candy made him feel better.

His stomach twisted with worry that after what Kelce had said, you would decide to leave. The only worse thought was that he might let you go without finding the courage to say the words he’d been holding onto since he saw you on the beach. Maybe you’d slam the door in his face, but he couldn’t let you leave without trying.

Rafe grabbed your candy off the shelf and climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to knock on your bedroom door before he lost his nerve.

(Chapter 4)

a/n: I LOVED hearing all your Team Tom vs. Team Rafe opinions!! The competition is heating up!!!! (not my outline for this chapter starting with “note: google rules to beer pong” lol)

Ch 4 predictions? 👀

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[sunflowerwinds]

gentle touch | s.a

summary: you take care of sevika, jinx, and isha after the fight with vi and caitlyn. sevika, for the first time in a long time, breaks down when you remind of her that it’s okay to let go.

pairing: fem!reader x sevika arcane

contains: established relationship, fluff, angst, sevika needs a BREAK!, reader and sevika are lowkey parents now.

word count: 2.4K

a/n: i know i said yesterday i would post this but IT NEEDED SOME TWEAKING! i promise the next sevika oneshot will probably be smut but fluff was all that brain felt like writing <3

You had a gut feeling that Jinx’s plan would end badly. Even with Sevika’s repeated reassuring you that everything would fall into place and you two could finally have some peace in your lives, your strong intuition haunted your thoughts.

Oh, how you hated how right you were.

Jinx and Sevika burst through you and Sevika’s shared apartment with that small golden-eyed child, Isha. She was clinging onto Jinx’s leg, clearly infatuated with the deranged blue-haired girl. Your eyes lock on her fluffy head of head then those big innocent eyes of hers, noticing a little cut on her cheek. She whimpered as she followed Jinx into the apartment space, the elder of the two grumbling nonsense to herself.

Sevika's exposed skin was littered with scrapes and bruises, her chest rising and falling slowly. Your eyes shot to her exhausted figure, worry settling in your bones. You had almost forgotten about Jinx until you saw it out of the corner of your eye; her entire middle finger was gone.

Straight to the bone.

The empty space between her pointer and ring finger nearly made you gag out of discomfort. The overwhelming distress of needing to take care of the three had you lightheaded but you pushed through.

“Jesus,” was the first thing you said, walking up to Sevika’s towering figure to wrap your arms around her neck.

Your girlfriend tenses for a moment at the tackle of a hug she was receiving but recovered quickly. Her claw arm stayed by her side as her other found its home at your waist, pulling you in with a long sigh.

“What happened?” You mutter against her neck before pulling away to cradle her blue scarred cheek.

“The kid got in the way is what happened,” Jinx spoke up before Sevika could say anything as she trudged over to sink and twisted the tap, running her open wound under it with a wince.

Your eyes lock with Isha who is now staring at you and Sevika. You muster a weak smile for the child, turning back to your injured girlfriend.

Her eyes seemed… distant.

“Hey, Sev, baby?” Your voice is low, trying to get her attention.

The familiar gray of her eyes focuses on your own, blinking before shaking her head.

“We’re fine,” she dismisses.

Jinx scoffed from the sink. “And what do you call losing a finger? Just dandy, huh?”

Sevika had clear frustration written all over her features at the sound of Jinx’s voice, releasing your waist to trudge over to the couch. You watch her carefully as she reaches for the green bottle of liquor she often brought from the Last Drop and takes a huge swig of it.

You knew how defeated she must feel. Hit after hit; mission after mission. She was worn down and she attempted to hide it from you constantly. Her heavy eyes and dark circles underneath were a given to her clear exhaustion. She would get slightly irritable but kept it under control around you as you weren’t afraid of her as most were.

You were afraid for her.

“Sev, can you sit down? You’re bleeding.” You point to the cushions, brushing a few of your flyaways out of your face. “Don’t huff at me either. I’m not letting you rest until you get cleaned up.”

Without another huff or grunt, she does as she’s told. You hurry to your bathroom, rummaging underneath the sink in there to grab the necessities for the three girls. As you stood up on your bare feet and glanced at the doorway, there stood Isha with wide and curious eyes.

Your heart couldn’t help but soften at the sight of her little hat tipping as she was trying to watch what you were doing.

“You got a little hurt too, huh?” You question.

Isha simply stares at you, looking at the medical supplies in your hands. She was probably unaware of the droplets of blood on her skin.

“C’mon. Gotta get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” you jerk your chin back to the room where the other two were.

The child follows as you walk past her, her small boots hitting the wooden floors. Jinx was leaning against the countertop, simply staring at the missing digit. Isha immediately stumbles over to the equally exhausted Jinx, resting her head on her upper thigh and shutting her eyes in relief. You noticed Jinx’s pale back rise in tension for a split second before relaxing when realizing it was just the adorable child.

Her innocence was admirable yet worrisome.

You walk over to your girlfriend as you set the supplies down in front of you, sighing at her injuries.

“Sev, talk to me,” you frown at her zoned-out look.

“I should’ve left her here with you,” Sevika lets out an irritated sigh, rubbing at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and middle finger.

“Isha?” You question as you pour a bit of alcohol on a rag.

“Who else? She ran in the middle of everything. Got right there in between Vi and Jinx. If I wasn’t distracted with that little enforcer of Vi’s, I would’ve been able to keep an eye on the kid.”

As Sevika explained the situation to you, you carefully cleaned the scrapes of her arm and abdomen. The muscles underneath your palms flexed at the feeling of the alcohol seeping into the injuries. Your eyes followed down her toned arm, landing on the teeth imprints on the space between her pointer finger and thumb.

“Did that enforcer bite you?” Your brows furrow as you take her large hand into your smaller one in disbelief.

Sevika nods to confirm, noticing your tense expression.

“It doesn’t hurt if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You give a pointed look before shaking your head as you continue to wipe up the dried-up blood. She sucked in a sharp breath when you placed a hand on her upper chest, now inviting yourself onto her lap. Your thighs press against hers as you now tend to her face. Any other day you would’ve jumped her bones but everything in you just wanted to make sure she was okay.

Her hard eyes slowly soften as you lean in close to wipe the blood off of her sculpted face. She watched your every move, holding back the urge to litter your face in kisses. Staring at the curves of your lips to the little marks on the natural beauty of your face.

And she almost acts on that very urge until Isha takes her attention off of you tending to her as she hops up onto the couch. She holds back the grumble itching in her throat as you shift your attention to the child.

You grin sweetly at Isha’s awaiting expression. “Alright, Goldie. Come here. Let’s clean your face up.”

Her own small smile breaks onto her face as she scoots in closer to you, her much smaller knee bumping into Sevika’s. You lift your rag and dab it over the dried blood, watching it disappear from her freckled skin. Once you are focused on Isha’s minuscule scrape, Sevika’s palm reaches up to hold your exposed waist from leaning over on Sevika’s lap.

You ignore it for your own sake, sucking in a deep breath as you sit back up on her large lap. Cupping her adorable face and rubbing a thumb over the little cut before tracing the outline of her round face.

“See? Good as new.”

Isha holds onto her hat as she releases a soft giggle underneath her breath. Her big eyes glance at Sevika who furrows her brows in confusion at the child’s stare.

In the blink of an eye, Isha’s small arms throw themselves around Sevika’s neck and squeezes herself in between you and Sevika’s torso. You usually would scold anyone about having their dirty shoes on the furniture but watching Sevika’s panicked expression at Isha's affection was more important in that moment.

“Seems like she has a new favorite, Jinx,” you tease the blue-haired girl.

There was silence. You look up to see Jinx slumped against the countertop, face smushed into the surface as soft noises of slumber leave her mouth.

“Alright, kid.” Sevika patted her back as a signal for Isha to release her.

She refused; in fact, she even snuggled her small face into the crook of Sevika’s neck. Your girlfriend looked to you for help but you simply smiled, standing up from her lap. You lean forward to kiss her cheek before pointing to Jinx’s clearly worn-out figure.

“I’m going to wrap Jinx’s hand and I’ll take her to our room so she can sleep.”

Sevika opened her mouth for a moment but kept still on the couch as Isha kept herself seated on her torso and small arms clinging onto her neck. You try to hurry and take Jinx’s slim hand, wincing at the sight of the open wound but carefully wrap it before her reflexes kick in.

You didn’t want to lose a finger yourself.

“I’ll take her to bed,” Sevika’s gruff voice comes from behind you.

You jump at the sound, wondering how you didn’t even hear her get up from the couch. You turn to face her and hold back your smile at the sight of Isha still clinging onto her, her new mechanic claw arm holding her up.

“Are you sure?” You question, taping the wrap down.

Sevika nodded curtly and leaned down slightly to give you a gentle kiss onto your lips. You chase after her lips as you realize how much you have missed that feeling of her lips on your own. Her eyes couldn’t keep off of your own as she easily lifted Jinx’s figure and threw her over her shoulder.

You two share a look as you glance at Isha’s now asleep figure. Sevika carefully hands her tiny body over to you, making sure she is still sound asleep. You and Sevika make your way to the bedroom, your hand cradling Isha’s head and watching Jinx’s limp figure over your girlfriend’s shoulder.

As much as you enjoyed seeing Sevika be so attentive to the scrappy girl who she claimed she wasn’t fond of, you were worried about what was flooding through her brain. Once Sevika sets Jinx down on the mattress, you walk around her to set Isha down right next to her. Sevika stands right next to the bed, examining the two sleeping soundly.

“You can lay down too, Sev,” you hum, reaching for her forearm.

Sevika was silent before turning her head to look at your gentle touch on her scathed arm. You watch her brows furrow as she turns to your body, her broad shoulders relaxing. She lets you grab her hand to lead around to the other side of your bed. She steadily sits down, grunting at an ache that shoots up her spine.

You follow her movements and find your place snuggled next to her warm body. Her head turned to you and fell forward to place her forehead on your chest, her arms wrapping around your torso.

“I just… need you here for a bit,” Sevika admits as she inhales your scent that she missed so dearly.

You frown at the near whine in her voice as her grip on you tightens as if you were going to leave if she did. Sevika was rarely as vulnerable as she was at this moment with you. After Silco’s death, Sevika had to take over everything — not like she wasn’t doing most of his dirty work for him when he was alive. She didn’t have a her and it was draining the life out of her slowly.

“I’m not leaving, baby. I promise,” you tell her with consideration of her sensitive state.

“I said I would get us out of this.” Sevika begins and you shake your head, shutting down whatever bullshit was going to come out of her mouth.

“I want to be in this if it's with you, okay? Sev, I can see how tired you are, my love. You won’t let yourself rest and I can’t stand to see you slowly wearing yourself down like this.”

You lift your hand to take the elastic that was holding up half of her hair out, running your fingers through the strands on her tender scalp. Sevika lets out a shaky breath, clinging onto you tighter.

“I don’t want you worrying about me,” she huffs, voice wavering. “I can handle it.”

You sigh as you cradle the back of her head, sucking in a deep breath as your eyes fill to the brim with hot tears.

“I know you can. I just don’t want you to handle it alone. You already do everything on your own, baby.”

Sevika’s breathing was growing heavier and stronger, giving away how rapidly her emotions were taking over. The second Sevika lifted her head up to look into your eyes, you saw a single tear leave the corner of hers.

The clear pain on her face triggered your own tears that were building up in your eyelids to fall slowly. You shakily cupped the side of her face, watching her eyes shut at the feeling.

“I’m so tired,” she sighed, leaning into your touch.

You nod as you swipe away the streak, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I know, Sev. I know,” you whisper. “You can sleep, baby.”

Sevika huffs out a slow breath, trying to regain control of her intense exhaustion taking over. Her beautiful gray eyes flutter shut, allowing herself to lean into you. You welcome her with nothing but love. You attempt to regulate your tears as you place a kiss onto her forehead.

“I love you,” you whisper onto the skin.

Sevika's arms relax around your waist, adjusting it so that Jinx’s creation wouldn’t be poking into your lower back. You knew the phrase was overwhelming for Sevika so you agreed to say it when you deemed it was absolutely necessary.

In the crook of your neck, she mutters: “I love you.”

You couldn’t help the next few tears falling from your face at her breaking voice.

She felt safe enough with you. Vulnerability was a struggle with Sevika but when she was able to release the worries of seeming weak, timid, a failure; you were so immensely proud of her.

You glance over at the two other girls who were sound asleep in the bed. Isha’s small hand held onto one of Jinx’s long braids and Jinx’s mouth was slightly ajar as her limbs were curled up into her body.

The steady beat of you and Sevika’s hearts matching with one another’s helps the two of you fall into a deep sleep.

TAGLIST: @breezy-sapphic @fict1onallyobsessed @fandomnana @cewl-casper @lovinglynny @archangeldyke-all

[ssahotchnerr]

omg could you maybe write something about reader going to one of jacks soccer games and all of the moms are jealous of her bc she’s with hotch

not so friendly competition

omg i absolutely can cw; fem!reader, jealous suburban moms, one tries to make a pass at aaron, established relationship, small angst?, pettiness, aaron being adorable <3 wc; 1.3k

from the moment you arrived - a hand clasped in aaron's, jack excitedly sprinting ahead the two of you - you could feel the target on your back.

the warm, refreshing morning suddenly felt quite stuffy. as if strangely enough, there wasn't enough air to go around. the feeling especially solidified when aaron gave you a sweet, parting kiss - him off to uphold his coaching duties, you off to find a spot on the grass to set up your chair.

you half expected it, the feeling out of place and self consciousness; this was jack's second season playing soccer, aaron's second season coaching, and most of the players had returned from last year. long story short, and entering a relationship with aaron only a few weeks after jack's season had concluded, you were the new face.

not only that, you were missing a common trait amongst the others. you weren't, by definition, jack's mom.

it was a silly, technical notion, and it was quite possible you weren't the only outlier, but you simply wanted to belong there just as much as the others. to feel as if you belonged.

and that's definitely not how you currently felt.

despite your perception - hoping you had falsely and quickly misjudged the atmosphere - you offered the moms a smile and a hello as you got settled. you got maybe one, two responses in return, before they resumed their ongoing conversation without you. any hopefulness that remained, deflated as you sat there silently.

and while you weren't exactly listening to them, you could still make out bits and pieces of their conversation. however, your ears fully perked up at the mention of aaron. which also brought you into the discussion.

"you're with the coach?"

her question wasn't based on genuine interest, a getting-to-know-type basis, a friendly conversation starter. but, it was rather accusatory, as if you'd done something detrimentally wrong.

you nodded, your eyebrows furrowing briefly in confusion. "yes?"

"like... with him?"

oh.

the standoffish environment wasn't due to you being unwelcome, or, at least not in the way you had previously anticipated. it was jealousy, plain jealousy. they must've spent all of last season ogling aaron, and here you were, getting in the way.

again, you nodded in confirmation. a few grimaces were produced amongst several faces, igniting something deep within you, suddenly feeling very protective of aaron and your relationship.

you casually shot back, relentlessly, "why, is that a problem?"

the mom shrugged, pulling her eyes from yours annoyingly, as if you'd done her an injustice.

she didn't stop there though, uttering something under her breath. while you didn't hear what it was exactly - the low tone definitely indicated she had just insulted you in one way or another.

and choosing to remain on the civil side, you held your tongue.

the whispers continued sparingly; as much as it stung, and as much as the red-hot feeling that had settled in your body was uncomfortable, why should you let it affect you? they weren't a threat, they were suburban moms - probably peaked in high school, probably relied off their husband's salary, probably thought they were better than each and every person they came across.

you could be annoyed, but you weren't worried. the bigger picture, you had what they wanted; you had aaron. you've already won, despite any fights they attempted to pick.

"i need to stretch my legs." the same woman abruptly said, loudly to gain your interest.

she promptly rose, walking towards the team's bench. or more specifically, right up to aaron.

she was quick to strike up a conversation with him - overdramatizing her already-shrill laugh, displaying open body language, the sweetest smile she could muster up.

what did you in, a 'friendly' touch to his arm before she retreated, whenever she finished saying whatever the hell was so important she had felt the need to interrupt his coaching for.

and throughout such, aaron appeared as his typical friendly self as he engaged with her, as expected. although a look of confusion did flash across his face when she graced his arm.

your jaw clenched in anger, but you kept reminding yourself: her actions were just to spite you, just to piss you off, and you refused to give her the reaction she seemingly so desperately craved.

so when she returned, with an awfully smug look plastered on her face and dropping into her chair with a sense of pure satisfaction, you kept your focus forward. you came to watch jack's game, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

but during the mid-game break, once aaron had finished talking with the kids and they sprinted back onto the field to practice some goals, did you approach him.

"hi sweetheart," aaron mumbled into your skin as he kissed your temple, one of his hands comfortably finding your back. "enjoying the game?"

you nodded, offering him a timid smile.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing." you lied, tucking yourself into his chest. you took a deep breath and sighed, smelling the traces of light sweat and grass clinging to him.

"you don't think i buy that, do you?" he asked, a gentle, almost comical tone to his words - all to lighten up your present tension. "what is it?"

you shook your head, "i don't want to talk about it..." your eyes shot over to your new best friends, whose eyes were glued to the two of you. "here."

aaron glanced over at them, profiling immediately. "are they giving you a hard time?"

after a moment's hesitation, an annoyed huff escaped you. "let's just say they're not too happy that the coach is taken."

"what?" aaron laughed breathlessly, his face scrunching the smallest amount in confusion. "half of them are married."

"clearly that doesn't matter, they're still over there undressing you with their eyes." you arched an eyebrow, the scowl on your face only deepening.

"c'mon, you're too pretty to make that face." aaron lightly teased, kissing your pout gently. at the touch, your face did relax, the ends of your lips itching to turn upwards into a smile.

"oh they're gonna hate that you did that."

aaron shrugged, kissing you again. "let them."

you surrendered yourself to your smile, but you still frustratedly crossed your arms in front of your chest. "it's ridiculous."

aaron was quick to untangle your hands, holding onto them and applying a gentle squeeze. "you know you don't have competition. you have me."

"i know. that's why i feel so stupid i'm letting it bother me." you gritted through your teeth. "what did that one woman even say to you?"

"truthfully, i couldn't tell you. i wasn't paying attention." he answered honestly, his eyebrows drawing into a line as he even attempted to mentally recall it.

you couldn't help but laugh, pressing yourself more into him. "you're insufferable."

"i try." aaron joked, but his expression switched tactics, to genuine concern as he moved in front of you, "in all seriousness, are you going to be okay?"

"yeah." you brought your hands to his chest, running your thumbs against his pecs affectionately. you already were. "i have you, don't i?"

"and you could always stay here with me." aaron playfully, but earnestly offered. "and be my beautiful, thoughtful, astounding, beautiful assistant coach."

"you drive a hard bargain," your eyebrows rose, feeling his chuckle underneath your fingers. "but it's okay. i'm not gonna let them think they're running the show, or that they can step on me like that." you shook your head. "and as needed, i might have to flaunt you around."

aaron grinned, proudly. "that's my girl."