#Then you ask his friends: what's his middle name?

[fonthoura]

Hc where Garak knows Julian is a liar, but he can't, for the life of him, know what he's lying about.

Like, he has this feeling, given to him by years of training and an observant eyes, that Julian is very purposefully unauthentic, and it seems that no one else notices.

He sees how Julian talks a lot and overshares, but never really says anything, to the point where his friends would have a hard time answering any question about him, like, for fucks sake, it took reading his file to get to know his date of birth because no one knew.

Jadzia thinks he has a brother, Miles is convinced he has a sister, and Garak is fairly sure he is an only child, the problem is, Julian doesn't talk about it. He talks too much and hardly says anything.

Garak also notices how he is always tense, as if holding back, like when he lets himself be punched when he clearly sees it coming, when he let's things break even though Garak is sure he could've caught them mid air, how he seems to calculate the perfect amount of clumsy in a day (once he even bumped into Garak and pretended to be distracted) and no one notices.

But Garak does, Garak knows he is lying about something, he feels it, specially when he looses on games and arguments, like he could not think of something else but Garak sees it in his eyes that he is hiding something.

And Garak constantly gets worried, despite his best knowledge, about him.

He knows how lonely it is, to keep yourself hidden from the world, to not let anyone know you, to hold the weight of a thousand secrets on his body, and constantly he sees this weight taking it's toll on the doctor.

Julian keeps people at arms length, he gets close on condition, he larps with Miles, discuss literature with Garak and converses with Jadzia, but keeps them all compartmentalized, always distant, even his crush on Jadzia being shallow, no real depth to it.

Julian seems skin deep and Garak knows how it feels and aches for him.

So he constantly tries to scratch the surface, aways tries to get Julian out of his lie made shell like Julian does to him, and he doesn't succeed, but he keeps trying.

Specially after he finds out that Julian had been gone for a month and not even him noticed it, he knows it's because no one would, because Julian keeps so much of himself hidden that you can't distinguish him from a fake.

And then, doctor Zimmermann shows up...

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, age gap (college senior with rafe in his 30s), secret dating, angst, fighting, suspected cheating, name-calling, swearing, pet names, rafe grabs the reader’s face, spanking, spanking with a belt, bdsm, wet and messy, squirting, edging, multiple orgasms, threats, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial and control, rough sex, fingering, manhandling, soft!rafe at the end, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, teasing

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The brisk December air bit your cheeks as you stepped out of your apartment and headed downtown. Christmas lights glowed warm along the street, but your mood was anything but light. You stuffed your hands into your pockets; your arm looped in your friend’s, head tilted on her shoulder as you suffered in silence.

All your finals were done, a long, relaxing break to look forward to, but all you could do was think about him…

For months, you had been navigating your whirlwind romance, secretly dating your Professor—sexy, intelligent, successful… And you had fallen hard against your better judgment. It was wrong… It was risky as hell… But it was real. Or, at least, you thought it was.

Lately, though, Rafe has been pulling away—canceled plans, vague apologies— his lingered gaze that you had gotten so used to fizzling away. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. A night away, just the two of you, celebrating your completion of the semester and a week of rest and relaxation for the both of you.

He hadn’t even brought up winter break… Rafe wasn’t looking toward the future anymore. He was completely checked out.

But tonight was different… He canceled, and unlike before, you didn’t ask for an explanation. And to your disappointment, he didn’t give one either.

“Forget him,” you grumble, momentarily wallowing in self-pity.

“Forget who?” Your friend asks with a laugh as she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

You bite your lips, taking a shallow breath as you let those two words slip your lips. “This guy from my econ class,” you lie. “He blamed our B on me…” Another lie.

”Who complains about a B in college?” Your friend scoffs and laughs, tipping her head on yours. “Forget him? Fuck him…”

“Agreed,” you smile, the wavering in your tone making her raise an eyebrow, pressing again.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come out?” She asks as she softens her voice. You flutter your lashes, feeling the emotion you’ve been pushing down bubble up in your chest.

It’s not like anything has happened… Nothing has happened, as a matter of fact. He was giving you nothing, yet you felt his silence was speaking louder than any words could. And who could you talk to about it? No one.

“Babe?” She tries again as your friends walk across the bustling street, heading into the flooded downtown area.

“Just not feeling like myself lately…” Your voice floats away with the winter wind as you see Rafe open the door, holding it open for a woman to pass through.

He looks handsome in his fitted suit and black wool overcoat, his hair brushed back, giving you a glimpse of his perfect face and chiseled features.

Your friend coaxes you forward, but your body freezes in the middle of the sidewalk. You watch as Rafe and a beautiful woman in a powder pink dress fall out of sight, disappearing behind the doors of The Flora Room.

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She asks, shaking you playfully to get you out of your daze.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” One of the girls in your party calls out. You look around the little town square, seeing bar after bar, knowing it would be a tough sell to get your friends to sit down even for a single drink in there when they could buy three shitty drinks for the fee of one overpriced martini.

You watch your friends drift to one of the downtown sports bars, but you keep your feet grounded. Your friend reads the room, hanging back with you, following where you lead, her curiosity piqued.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” She mumbles from the corner of her lips as the two of you pass through the doors.

There’s no bouncer at the door; your shoes don’t stick to the ground with each step. Screaming, laughing, and a deep bass rumbling from the speakers are exchanged for light conversation and piano music. It’s rich and elegant, the polar opposite of what the two of you are used to on a typical night out.

“We’re just gonna sit at the bar,” you smile at the hostess, who extends a hand, ushering you back. Your eyes dance around the space, looking for Rafe and the women as you feel your anger and unease fester.

So busy you couldn’t see me, huh? You seethe as you position yourself just far enough away from him.

The situation is hard to read—a party? You look at the group he’s with; the lot of them dressed to the nines. Watching with your breath held as she laughs, his head tilting slightly as if the woman said something clever.

She looks sophisticated and expensive, her curves hugged in a dress that seems to have been made for her. She reaches out, squeezing Rafe's bicep as she chuckles again, making your stomach churn.

The bartender rests your martinis in front of you. You keep your eyes locked ahead; the tears in your eyes sparkle in the bar lighting. It's impossible to see without blinking, but you know the second you do, they’ll fall.

Your friend's hand rests on your thigh, and with that little bit of physical contact, your eyes shut. Tears roll down your cheeks and fall off your chin. She looks ahead, following where your attention was paid before looking back at you and back at him again. “Oh…” she breathes, before her eyes widen.

“Yeah,” you whimper, knowing she put two and two together. ”Just don’t-”

”I won’t say anything,” she assures before you can even finish, reaching over, blotting the tears off your cheeks with a bar napkin.

You reach in your purse, hands tightening around your phone, and without thinking, you open the text thread… The one where Rafe left you on read.

You: We’re done.

You watch as Rafe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He adjusts slightly, looks at the lock screen, and sees the notification with your name on the front before stuffing it back in his pocket, not giving it any more attention.

Missed call after missed call; text after text… It only took a few blocks before Rafe finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you the time of day.

You couldn’t help but give him a similar treatment, watching as all his attempts rolled in, you not making any effort at all. You look over your shoulder as you walk into your apartment; there are so many texts from Rafe that you know he can’t be far behind.

You pace your apartment, just waiting for the inevitable. Regardless of what that was or what that wasn’t, he’s been ignoring you. How simple would it have been to let you know where he was going and the real reason why he canceled?

That woman—who the fuck was that? A friend, I’m sure… But you couldn’t even fathom Rafe watching that all go down. He would feel the same fucking way, especially if you were giving him reasons to worry before.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You hear Rafe’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, making your stomach sink, jarring you out of your thoughts.

“Baby,” Rafe’s familiar voice called from the other side. “What the hell is going on, huh? Open the door.”

Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, annoyed at how easily Rafe could demand your time. How he only seemed to care when you sent those three words. “Go away!” You shout, feeling goosebumps spread across your body.

“Not fucking happening,” his tone was firm—the frustration bled through his words. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You kiddin’ me?” BANG. He bangs his fist against the door in frustration. You hear his voice soften as he gets closer to the door's seam. “What the fuck is going on?” He hisses.

“Why don’t you tell me,” you step a little closer as well.

“If I knew, I would apologize. Alright? I got nothin’ to hide from you-”

”Bullshit,” you cut him off. “Who was she, Rafe?”

“What?” He cries out as he jiggles the door handle rapidly, testing it and then testing it again. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“The women from the bar, Rafe. I was there.”

“Princess… What the hell?” He breathes. “You don’t understand, baby. C’mon.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Rafe,” you snap as you bang against the door yourself. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, you barely look at me anymore, you're canceling our plans, not telling me where the hell you’re going, and then I find you on the night we were supposed to actually spend some goddamn time together flirting with someone else. Yeah, Rafe. I understand. You’re a liar.”

Silence falls heavily outside the door. You furrow your eyebrows, looking through the peephole straight at your neighbor's door, your heart breaking when you don’t see him on the other side.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, making your heart leap.

Rafe: Have a great night, sweetheart.

“You’re joking me,” you huff as you push out into the hall, gasping as Rafe pushes you back in.

“I love you. But you’re being a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts as he lets the door clap shut behind him before dragging you a few steps to your room, slamming that door as well.

“You have five minutes to explain, Rafe,” you shout, “then I’m kicking you out.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart? After all this time? That’s generous of you.”

“Talk or leave,” you snarl before Rafe shoves you down on the bed, making you gasp again as he mounts you fast, his hand slapping against your mouth, holding it shut.

“Stop fucking testing me and listen. Alright?” You mumble underneath his trembling palm. “If I lift my hand, you’re gonna listen to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes narrow on his, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll tape your mouth shut if you won’t listen to me. You know that, right?” He asks in a gentler tone, contrasting his dark words.

You roll your eyes, finding yourself getting more annoyed by the second. “The fuck has gotten into you, huh?” He asks as he looks down at you below him, wearing a new defiance you’ve never shown before.

He lifts his hand, and you huff out a breath, scowling as you look up at him. The older man looks back at you with the same disgusted look.

“What, Rafe?”

“There’s been a rumor circulating around the campus that a professor has been sleeping with a student… I’ve been dealing with that—I have not been avoiding you for any reason other than that. And that woman… That woman who could never be you, princess, is not who you think. Okay?”

“So, who is she, then?” Your glare softens slightly, the bite of your tongue still there. “Because you sure seemed like you were enjoying her company, Rafe.”

Rafe sighs deeply, dragging his hand through his hair as he steps off the bed. “She’s the new University President… That was the faculty Christmas party. I forgot to tell you because I was too caught up in all this shit.”

”You forgot?” You ask. Rafe is taken aback by your attitude, even after telling you everything.

“Yes. I forgot,” he answers, his tone sharp. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to protect us,” he chides as he gestures between you. “The scandal, the risks… You kept sayin’ everything was fine, so I wasn’t worried. I have never worried about you.”

You feel a slight guilt creep in, seeing him so vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn’t assure him everything was okay and that the two of you were fine. “Well, maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Assumed the worst?” Rafe’s scoffs, his frustration crystal clear. “You mean accusing me of cheating and ending things over a text? A text? Because that’s a rational response right there, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

”You don’t get to turn this shit around on me, Rafe. You’ve been distant. When I told you I was “okay,” I wasn’t… Didn’t you notice a change between you and me? Couldn't you hear it in my voice that I clearly was not okay? You’re so distant. It’s like we’re not even together-”

“I’ve been distant because I’m dealing with this—this shit has real consequences, princess. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. If anyone finds out about us-”

“Then talk to me!” You yell over him as you step closer. “You’re acting like I’m irrational. I would have understood. All you had to do was tell me what’s going on!”

“And all you had to do was ask instead of throwing a fuckin’ tantrum,” he shoots back.

Your jaw drops, temper flaring even more. “A tantrum?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his gaze unwavering. “A tantrum. You’re acting like a spoiled brat-”

”Fuck you,” you hiss. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“What the hell?” He laughs at you weakly, looking back at you like you’ve gone completely mad. “Where’s my girl? What the fuck is happening?”

“Do you need help finding the door or what?”

His eyes widen; the man struck utterly silent. “Please tell me you haven't been feelin’ this way the whole time we’ve been together,” he asks, the exhaustion of the fight wearing on him as he looks back at you, shoulder slumped, breathing heavy.

“The last few weeks, yeah-”

“But not the whole time, right?” He asks, the tone of his voice letting you know you both know the answer.

“No… Not the whole time,” you mumble.

“Couldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt, princess? I mean hell, sweetheart. You could have looked around the goddamn bar. What the hell would I be doin’ hanging out with your Econ teacher if I could be spendin’ the night with you? Why would I be rubbin’ shoulders with Dean Richardson— your Dean, by the way, unless I had to, huh? Don't you think I’d rather spend my night with you?”

You look back into his piercing blue eyes, your cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but he steps toward you fast, standing above you as you sit on the edge of the bed. You squeak as he grips your cheeks in his big ringed hand, forcing your gaze.

“I love you, princess… But you need to grow up. Use your words. Stop jumpin’ to conclusions and start cuttin’ me some fuckin’ slack.” You mumble, but he pinches your cheeks even more. “Stop cuttin’ off before I can explain myself.” Rafe slots himself between your thighs, loosening his hold slightly.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a little breath as you look at him. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No.” Rafe silences you as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Apologies are fine, but you need to listen. This isn’t some fling. This is real. And if we’re gonna make this shit work, you have to trust me. Even when it’s hard,” Rafe whispers, letting his lips graze against yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, thighs drawing in slightly. “I trust you, baby,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe pulls away, his gaze softening more than before, but his frustration hasn’t completely faded from his beautiful blue eyes. “Then show me… Stop playin’ these games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you protest, but he cuts you off with a look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

“You sent me a breakup text, then ignored me when I came here to fix it,” he chides. “I’m not some frat boy—not some college kid you can pull that shit with. Aight? And if you don’t think that little stunt you pulled is a game, I don’t know what is. Do you know how many times I called you?”

“I texted you too, and you ignored it,” you mumble as you look away, feeling the weight of his gaze as your face heats up.

“N’why do you think I had to do that, huh?” He adds condescendingly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Knowing that answering a text from you, a mid-faculty party in the light of a scandal, probably wouldn’t have been Rafe’s best move.

“We’re done with this little back-and-forth bullshit. If you have a problem, tell me. And if I screw up, I’ll do the same.” You nod, looking at Rafe again as he cups your face, his rough thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Rafe…” You pout.

“Yes, baby,” he responds gentler than before.

“Why aren’t you talkin’ about the future anymore? I know you wanted to take the heat off us but didn’t even ask what I’m doing for break. You didn’t even make plans with me-”

“Shh…” He shushes you as he looks down at you tiredly, about ready to lose his mind that you’re still challenging him in some way. “Take out my phone,” he mumbles. You lower your gaze slightly, reach into the pocket of his dress slacks, and pull out the device. “Your birthday, baby,” he hums his passcode. You unlock the phone, looking up at him again. “Open my email…”

You pull up Rafe’s Gmail and see the confirmation for the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Vail, with your name attached to the reservation made a week ago.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmurs as he grabs the phone off your hands, tossing it to the side.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Rafe. I-”

“You think you can sass me, throw a tantrum, and walk away without consequences?” He mumbles. “I think it’s time someone teaches you a lesson about being a brat, princess,” he whispers as his lips find your neck, licking and sucking your hot skin, making your pulse race.

Rafe’s loosened tie hangs from his neck, sweeping against your thighs as his teeth graze along your ear. You grab it, pulling him toward your lips, making him chuckle against yours.

“Got some shit you wanna say, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly.

“Maybe I like being a brat, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

Rafe kisses you deeply, sucking off your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, nipping with enough pinch to make you whimper into his open mouth. “Then I guess this is going to be a long night for you, princess,” he rasps as he grabs your tights between his fingers, ripping them open. You inhale sharply as he cups your pussy in his big hand, rubbing your sex over your wet panties.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he slaps your cunt, making your thighs draw in just for him to force them apart. He continues to tease you over your panties as he gathers your hair with his other hand, tugging it back.

“These last few weeks… Fuck, they’ve been frustrating, huh?” He asks as he pushes his big fingers into your entrance, the threshold of the wet cotton blocking him from going any deeper than a knuckle deep. “And you’re gonna misbehave? Make it harder on me? You know I could have just taken my frustration out on this pretty little pussy, baby,” he mumbles as he hooks his finger around your panties, pulling the fabric tight, making you whimper.

“Rafe, please-”

“We’re at the finish line. Two days away from a vacation that I’ve been plannin’ for weeks. That I was gonna surprise you with… and you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat? What’s that about, huh?” He asks as he paws off his tie, tosses it on the bed, and pops open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

You take in his gorgeous body as he exposes more skin—his broad chest and his cut abs, the deep ridges of his v-lines kissing the top of his pants. You bite your lip, stripping yourself of your tattered tights and clothes as he undoes his leather belt, releasing it with a crack before tossing it on the bed.

“Stand up,” he orders, and you do as your tummy flutters. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” Rafe reaches for his tie, running it through his big fingers as he takes in your body. “Wrists, baby,” he mumbles against your neck as he stands close, his rock-hard cock pressing against your ass.

Rafe binds your wrists and grabs your hips, sitting down on the bed, guiding you to lay over his big thighs, your ass in the air. Rafe’s rough fingers drift up the back of your legs, making you tremble, your wetness already weeping from your aching hole.

He chuckles as he runs two thick fingers right through it, taking it between his lips, moaning around his digits. “Fuck, princess… You’re a problem aren't you? Gettin’ wet off this shit, huh? Like gettin’ yelled at and punished.”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Yes, what, princess?” He groans as his hand comes down on your ass, making you cry out.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffle. “I like getting yelled at and punished.”

“Atta girl… Look at you. Already turnin’ that little attitude of yours around, huh?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers in your pussy, making you wail. He fucks them into you fast and hard, your warmth squelching lewdly.

You crane your neck, eyes widening as he goes for his leather belt. You struggle slightly, your natural reaction to move away, but his big arm wraps around you, holding you in place. “Think you’re gettin’ away from me?” He chuckles. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

CRACK.

Rafe delivers a loud smack on your supple flesh. You let out a loud cry, feeling the sting and tears welling on your waterline.

“You had a lot to say before, baby,” he mocks as he drags the leather up the back of your thighs. “Where did my bratty little bitch go, huh?” He mumbles as he lands another hit, making the tears spill over.

Rafe tosses the belt to the ground, plunging his fingers into your slickness again, only to find that you’re even wetter than before. “Stop enjoyin’ this shit so much, pretty,” he breathes, his smug smile heard in your tone as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Yes, baby,” you moan as your head falls forward, feeling yourself about to cum around his big fingers. “Oh, Rafe.”

“Mmm… I should stop, shouldn’t I?” He asks as he continues his brutal pace.

“No… No, please,” you sniffle as you feel your body tighten around him, your peak approaching fast. You lift your ass in the air, following his fingers as he pulls them away gradually, yanking them out right before your body gives way. You gasp, breathing heavily as Rafe robs you of your orgasm, your heart banging in your chest.

“How do you think it felt gettin’ that text tonight, hmm?” He asks as he lifts you off his lap, shoving you on the bed—your chest on the mattress, and your feet on the floor. “The love of my life… The only thing-” CRACK. He spanks you yet again, making you scream. Rafe laughs mockingly into his next couple of words, “The only thing that has ever truly mattered to me,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to his knees. The warmth of his breathing hits your throbbing cunt. “Broke up with me… through a text message. Fuckin’ insane, right?”

His tongue plunges into your drooling hole, fingers swirling on top of your throbbing clit making your thighs tremble. Rafe sucks and tongue-fucks you like a god, taking you right to the edge of ecstasy again. Your muscles clench, fists balled up, rising on your tippy toes reeling, and right when you're about to break, he pulls away again.

“Rafe, please!” You sob.

He steps forward, the front of his muscular thighs flush with the back of yours. You whimper as he draws away just enough; his swollen head rubs through your drenched folds, teasing your clit, toying with your glossy hole ‘til you’re burying your face in your comforter.

"Beg for it, princess. C’mon…” He whispers as he taunts you with his tip.

“Please…” You beg, lips quivering with every breath. “Please… I’m begging you, daddy. M’sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you whimper. “I love you… I love you so—oh, fuck,” you cry as he sheathes his cock into your swollen cunt.

Rafe grabs the edge of his tie, knotted around your wrist, using it as a hold to fuck into you deeper, gliding into your greedy hole, your body quickly cumming around him, pussy flutter wildly, but he just keeps on going.

He yanks the tie, pulling it loose. He flips you to your back, looping your legs over his shoulder before plunging in again. Rafe brings his big body closer to yours, folding you in half, toned hips clapping against your body with each rough stroke.

“Didn’t ask for permission, princess. Creamin’ around my dick when I should be usin’ you like my personal fuck toy...” You follow his gaze, looking down at the place where you context the creamy ring of your arousal glistening around his thick base, the picture alone leaving you feeling like you could cum on sight. “You better ask… I know you're about to cum again. And if you do-”

“Rafe, I-” You grit your teeth, fighting back another orgasm you know he’ll deny.

“I’m not done talkin’. Fuck, have you learned nothing?” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, wetting the bed below as your body shakes. “If you cum without askin’, I'm gonna tape those pretty little lips of yours shut, grab that vibrator from your nightstand, and have you cummin’ ‘til you pass out.”

“Please. Please. Please,” you sob.

“Might do it anyways, princess. It’ll be good for you…”

“Rafe!”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grab the edge of the bed, holding on tight as Rafe makes good on his words, taking his frustrations out on your tight cunt as you squirt around his length.

"There you go, fuckk. There's my girl,” he murmurs, smiling smugly, tilting in and kissing your forehead sweetly, his punishing strokes telling a different story entirely as he chases his climax, emptying himself in your fluttering cunt with one final thrust.

Rafe lowers your trembling legs, dragging back, but you grab his hips, pouting your lips and shaking your head ‘no.’ He smiles down at you, lowering himself to your lips, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Don’t be, baby. I never want you to think I don't care. Okay? I'm sorry… Should have let you know what was goin’ on. I should always be takin’ care of my girl,” he mumbles between gentle kisses. “You were right. Alright?” He whispers before kissing your forehead.

“I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore…”

“That’s crazy, baby. ‘Course I do. I was serious; you're the only thing that truly matters to me…”

You bite your lip, smiling into your kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, princess.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy

[prodbymaui]

Eunoia. — 이민형

when it's all said and done, girl, I want you

PAIRING: mark lee x reader GENRE: unspoken feelings

WORD COUNT: 2.3k+ words

WARNINGS: finger fucking, pet names (baby, love), pool sex, exhibition kink, grinding

SYNOPSIS: it's late at night and you're yet to pull yourself out of the ocean that is your thoughts. Mark helps you out in a complexed but effective way that he knows. A/N: very self-indulgent, definitely not a scenario that came up to me in the middle of the night and stayed in my mind ever since. anyhows, enjoy reading!

The day nears the next cyle of the moon and sun, but you remain at the pool side— music resonating from your phone as you dip your feet in the pool, drinking the night away. 

You should’ve been worn out from all the fun that you had with your friends yet for some unknown reasons, sleep doesn’t come to you easily. In result, you opt grabbing one of the unfinished bottles of vodka for yourself.

The thoughts swimming in your head must’ve drowned you, considering that you didn’t hear one of the bedroom doors opening and the footsteps walking towards. It is only when someone sits next to you that you notices their presence.

Your gaze shifts from the stars to the man on your right— Mark. Your breath hitches for a moment. The messy hair and a plain white shirt paired with the dopey smile on his face is enough for you to fall in to another trance.

“What got you out here having fun all by yourself?” Mark tilts his head in question, to which you let out a soft laugh.

“Is drinking alone fun now?”

“I suppose.. ? It looks fun for me.”

Merely replying with a smile, silence engulfs the both of you. And as if on cue, your mind boggles you over trivial things once again, just like what it does since you were young.

Mark passes you a brief glance, then to the music playing on your phone.

Thoughts

Sometimes, I just can't control my thoughts

No medication's ever made them stop

All I think about is everything I'm not

Instead of everything I got

He sighs, biting his lips as he contemplates on what to do.

And it’s not Mark if he chooses the complexed but effective way.

The bubble of your thoughts pop when the water splashes at you suddenly. Surprised, you look over to Mark who’s swimming his way towards where you are seated. Just right before you, Mark comes up from the water, brushing his black undercut hair back.

His eyes meet yours. “Hi,”

“Hello,” You grin, sipping your vodka.

He walks a little bit more closer, enough for his chest to make contact with your knees. Mark smiles again, resting his hands on your knees.

“Hi,” He repeats softly.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Hello Mark,”

What is this man doing? The voices in your head asks.

“Come swim with me?”

You glance at the rippling water illuminated faintly by the moon, then back at him, standing waist-deep with a boyish grin that doesn’t quite match the hour. 

“Pass, I’m just waiting for sleep to take over my body. Besides,  you shouldn’t be swimming this late at night, Mark. You’ll catch a cold.”

Mark exhales dramatically, a mix of exasperation and amusement, before swishing the water toward you in a playful splash. It doesn’t reach, but the gesture draws a reluctant grin from you.

“Loosen up a little,” He says, his voice warm, almost teasing. “Who cares about catching a cold if it means having a bit of fun?”

You’re not quite sure how it happens. You remember saying no—firmly, even—but now the cool water laps at your legs, rising steadily until it reaches your waist. Mark’s hand is warm and steady in yours, his grip pulling you further into the pool, toward the deeper end.

“Mark,” you warn, your voice low, your fingers tightening instinctively around his. It’s not fear—nothing as dramatic as that. You can swim perfectly well, and the depth of the water doesn’t intimidate you. It’s just…this wasn’t supposed to be on your list for tonight.

He slows, catching the hesitation written across your face. Without a word, he stops walking, the two of you now floating in the very center of the pool. The stillness around you is palpable, broken only by the faint ripples you’ve created together.

Mark’s gaze softens as it finds yours, studying your expression carefully, reading the unspoken. Then, with a quiet assurance, he slides his arm around your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

“I’ve got you,” he says, the words low but firm, steadying you in a way that feels more solid than the water ever could.

You sigh, taking in the comfort of the moon and starts hovering above the both of you, and the comfort of Mark’s arm around you.

“What do you think Yeonjun and Wooyoung’s reaction will be if they see us like this?”

“The teasings, oh god,” The mere thought of the two troublemakers’ reactions is already enough to make Mark sigh in exasperation. 

He can practically hear their voices now—the teasing tone, the exaggerated laughter. They’ve been relentless lately, poking fun at the “odd vibe,” as they like to call it, between the two of you. Their wild imaginations have taken your every interaction and spun it into something far more dramatic, their assumptions as colorful as they are persistent.

You laugh at his response, sliding your arms to rest on his shoulders. “Why do you think they tease us so much?” Mark’s chuckle fades, leaving a quiet tension in its place. The water sways around you both, but all you can focus on is how his gaze has softened—more intent now, as if he’s waiting for something.

“They think there’s something between us,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel weightier. His hands linger at your waist, his touch steady yet hesitant, like he’s holding back.

You swallow, your laugh from earlier now a distant echo. “And… do you think they’re right?” you ask, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.

Mark’s lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “Sometimes,” he admits, barely above a murmur. “It’s hard not to when they keep planting the idea in my head.”

You feel a faint warmth rising in your cheeks, though you’re not sure if it’s from his words or the way his thumb grazes your side absentmindedly. “And what does that idea look like to you?”

The shift in his expression is subtle, but it’s enough to make your heart stutter. There’s something deeper in his eyes now, something that makes the air between you feel almost fragile.

“Do you want me to show you?” he asks quietly, his voice low and steady, but there’s an edge to it—a flicker of vulnerability he can’t quite hide.

The moment stretches, the world outside the pool fading to nothing. It’s just you, Mark, and the unspoken tension swirling between you, like the water lapping at your skin.

Whether it’s you or Mark who closes the distance first doesn’t matter. All that matters now is the way his lips meet yours—soft and deliberate, moving in a rhythm that feels as though it’s been waiting to happen. The kiss deepens naturally, a slow, intoxicating exchange that carries the urgency of something long denied.

Mark’s hand slides to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as though anchoring you to the moment. His grip is firm but careful, a silent assurance that he won’t let go. When he feels you lean further into him, your movements mirroring his, something shifts.

With surprising ease, Mark’s other hand slips beneath your legs, lifting you as though you weigh nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, securing yourself against him. The movement presses your bodies closer, the water rippling around you in lazy waves.

You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and uneven, his lips trailing softly before returning to yours. The press of his body is undeniable, a tension simmering beneath the surface, but the way he holds you—steady, deliberate—grounds the moment in something more than just desire.

Mark pulls away, breathing heavily. “I know it’s late but tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want any of this and I’ll pretend none of this happened tomorrow.”

Nonsense. You don’t even know what got him thinking like that when you’re already on cloud nine just by his kisses.

“Don’t stop,” You whisper against his ear before connecting your lips with his once again.

As your tongue fights and clashes with one another, you gasp at the feeling of Mark’s palm cupping your core. The water surrounds every part of your lower body but Mark could still feel the slimy texture of your juices on his skin.

His fingers slides along your labia, letting it explore and feel your warmth. The soothing movements of his pads strays away from your focus as Mark’s kisses travels down to your neck. Tracing your skin with his tongue, Mark licks a stripe straight to where your neck and collarbone meets. You gasp as he gives it a little kiss before sucking the skin, at the same time he enters a digit inside you.

“Mark..”

He shushes your noises yet his fingers serves absolutely nothing to help you do so. Not long after you’ve gotten used to his single digit, he enter another after another, curling them inside. Your head lols back, trapping your bottom lips between your lips.

Turning the both of you around, Mark carries your weight one arm while the other busies itself pumping inside you. In a few steps backwards, your back hits the wall of the pool causing Mark’s fingers to be buried deeper inside. Your hands fly to grab something as a leverage, eventually finding his flexing arms. The cold breeze brushing against your skin reminds you that you’re not in the privacy of your bedroom or any private space right now. And Mark uses it to his advantage, seemingly knowing well what you like despite this being the first time that he’s having a taste of you. “Haechan was awake when I left the boys’ room, you know?” he murmurs, his tone low and teasing as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His lips brush against your cheek in a series of soft, fleeting pecks, his warmth lingering with each one. “He was mumbling something about wanting a snack but being too lazy to actually get up. You know how crazy that man is about his snacks, babe.”

His voice drops to a playful whisper. “What if he decides to come out? Imagine him catching us like this—you trembling in my arms, eyes fluttering shut, your hips jerking against me like you’re trying so hard to keep quiet. One look at your hips, and he’d know exactly what’s happening, no questions asked.”

You curses at the thought of being caught. And Mark laughs. Because he knows damn well it’s not due to embarrassment nor fear. The clench of your walls on his fingers tells him so. “Wouldn’t you like that, babe? I think you would,” Curling his fingers upwards, your eyes rolls to the back of your head. “Look at you getting close at the thought of it. I wonder what’ll be his reaction.”

“Mark please,” You plead, not even knowing for what reason. “Please? I don’t know even know what you want, love.” It’s frustrating how the brutal pace of his thrusting fingers contrasts the soft and loving tone of his voice. It messes your head and inside both at the same time. “Please please, Mark—” Your eyes catches his sharp gaze in a hazy film, barely even able to open your lids to maintain eye contact. “Fuck– haah, I’m gonna come.” “Yeah?” Mark pulls you impossibly closer, grinding his prominent boner on any accessible part of you that he can reaches by merely moving his hips. “I’m gon– I wanna cum, I’m gonna cum. Shit, Mark please, baby,” You desperately cling on to him, meeting his fingers halfway as you try your best to fasten the pace despite the restrain from the water. Mark groans, silently wishing it is his cock you’re clenching around so tightly right now. How good it must feel to your warm walls massaging his length, tightening on him just right, milking him dry until he’s nothing left but an empty vessel of a man obsessed with you and your body. He presses your bodies to the wall as he grinds harder and faster, matching your pace. “Do it. Come for me,” He whispers your name in an encouraging manner. And you did just as he orders. Failing to keep your eyes open, your eyes shut close as your mouth forms a circular shape. The pleasure comes to you crashing down. Mark doesn’t know what kind of hold you have on him but he’s certain it is no way near surface level when he reaches his own climax just by watching you come undone in his arms. The look of you embracing the pleasure he offered is enough to send him off the edge. You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck, your ragged breaths mingling with his as you try to steady yourself. The aftershocks still linger, leaving your body heavy and your mind hazy, but the comforting rise and fall of his chest anchors you. Both of you silently agree to stay like this for a moment, letting the sound of the pool water gently lapping around you fill the quiet. It feels like time has paused, a brief reprieve from everything outside this bubble of warmth.

But fate, as always, has other plans.

A slow, deliberate clap breaks the stillness, immediately snapping your attention toward its source. The sound is followed by a low whistle that cuts through the air like a taunt.

“Well, that was one hell of a show,” comes the familiar voice, dripping with mock amusement.

Your head snaps up, and there he is—Haechan, leaning casually against the doorframe of the boys’ room, arms crossed and that trademark cocky smirk plastered across his face. His expression, equal parts smug and entertained, makes your stomach drop.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

azul meeting leech parents and leech twins meeting ashengrotto parents?

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Azul meeting the Leech parents!

“Ahhh, you must be Mr. and Mrs. Leech. It’s wonderful to finally meet the parents of my dear vice dorm leader Jade and my invaluable associate Floyd. Azul Ashengrotto, at your service.”

His smile was dialed up to 11 as he produced business cards from within his jacket. One for the father and one for the mother, then an extra card apiece in case the first were lost or damaged. Azul handed them over with a flourish. Only Mr. Leech accepted a single card, slipping it from the boy by pincering his index and middle fingers like a crab’s claw.

He held it out for his wife—a hand covering her mouth, hiding her expression. Mr. Leech ran his own gaze over the printed text, reading simultaneously. Name, positions, contact information. His eyes slightly narrowed, in that almost imperceptible way that Jade’s did.

Ah, there’s the family resemblance.

“I would provide you with my own, but I’m afraid you would have to sign an NDA first. Due to the nature of my… occupation, there are many legal hoops for others to jump through.”

“An NDA!! I see that you’re a man after my own heart,” Azul gushed. “I’m a businessman myself, so I completely understand the importance of keeping trade secrets. Please, think nothing of it. Just keeping my information on file is enough for me.”

With a nod, Azul’s business card vanished into Mr. Leech’s suit. “Agreeable young man.”

It was difficult for Azul to hold his smirk at bay. Bingo. I’ve gotten an ‘in’.

“Ehhhh, how strange. You’re a little different in real life than how Jade and Floyd described you,” Mrs. Leech piped up, giggling.

“Oh? And how, may I ask, did they describe me?”

“Let’s see… What was it again? Do you remember their specific wording, angelfish?”

“I believe it was… ‘A cute, squishy crybaby with an absolutely terrible personality. High-strung and hopelessly greedy. Prod him in the right places and his composure will break down completely. A treat to bully.’ Something to that effect.”

“Wh-What…!!” Azul sputtered, his jaw agape. “I-I am no such thing!! I STRONGLY refute their claims.”

Those two…! Making me sound like an utter buffoon to their parents!!

“My, myyy~” Mrs, Leech drawled, latching onto her husband’s arm. “Did you see that just now? His cheeks turned bright pink and his eyes went sooo wide. He really is as adorable as Jade and Floyd said he is!”

“Is that so? Hmm… I’m getting hungry myself. The young man is starting to look rather appetizing.”

“A-Are you joking!?” Azul demanded, bolting up from his seat. “If so, I do not find this the least bit amusing…!!”

“Fufufu. Perhaps you can kindly recommend a hearty octopus dish or two from your eatery’s menu.”

“Ehehehe~ I’m so pleased that Jade and Floyd have such a fun friend around at school!”

“This is no laughing matter!!”

Jade and Floyd meeting the Ashengrotto parents!

“Mr. and Mrs. Ashengrotto.”

“Azul’s mom and dad!”

"It's nice to see you again, ma'am," the twins said in unison. They wore a matching smile, showing all of their sharp teeth. "And it's nice to finally meet you, sir."

“Ah, I recognize you.” Mrs. Ashengrotto’s eyes lit up with realization. “You’re the Leech boys that would come by and drag him out to play with you. You used to be so small—look at you now, you’ve grown so much!”

“Yup, that’s us!”

“We were little rascals back then. It was terrible of us to pull Azul away from his precious studies." Jade chuckled into one hand. "But not to worry, we've been on the straight and narrow ever since those childhood days. Isn't that right, Floyd?"

"Yeah, Jade~"

"It must be fate that you were brought back together at Night Raven College." Mr. Ashengrotto's laugh was warm and hearty, like a stew in the dead of winter. "What do you three get up to nowadays?"

"Lotsa stuff! Azul's got this whooole operation going on, and we're there to help him out," Floyd replied cryptically. "Jade and I advertise and do crowd control! Azul's the brains, he handles the plans and money and whatever."

"Advertise" as in, "luring unsuspecting souls into making deals" and "crowd control" as in, "dealing with debtors who tried to weasel out of those deals". Trinkets, money, talents. Everything Azul collected had a chance of being paid for in blood. Dirty prizes--but it was a secret none had to know.

"You work well as a group," Mrs. Ashengrotto remarked. "Reminds me of myself and my own restaurant staff!"

"Well, Azul does often speak about how he respects you. It does not surprise me that he works to live up to your sparkling reputation." Jade's eyes cut to a table across the way, where Azul was seated and chatting with his own parents. He appeared to be flustered about something, having risen from his seat, his mouth flapping in protest while Mr. and Mrs. Leech grinned widely. Jade himself smirked at the sight.

"He's been a blast to be around!" Floyd agreed, slinging an arm around his twin. "Azul's suuuch a good leader. Think we'll be stickin' with him to the ends of Twisted Wonderland and back, hehe."

"That's right, Floyd."

Until he becomes boring, he had once claimed. It had been winter break, and they were seated on the floor of Scarabia's lounge, mancala beads in hand. Azul had agreed, had already considered that inevitability.

But Moray eels were not known for their honesty. The truth, they only spoke out of his earshot.

"It's nice that you'll always be there for each other. I envy that deep bond you share." Mr. Ashengrotto raised his glass--provided free, courtesy of Azul. "A toast? To the future of our boys and their friendship."

Mrs. Ashengrotto followed her husband's lead. Then Jade, then Floyd.

Their glasses met in the middle with a resounding clink.

[tkomptgoedluv]

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt1. here | pt.2 here | pt.3

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,494.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all that you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

[candycandy00]

Welcome to Christmas Island! - A Sanji x Reader Fanfic

You work on Christmas Island, where every day is Christmas! All guests get to make a wish to Santa and have it granted. When the Straw Hat pirates show up, you decide to grant the wish of their handsome blonde cook. 

Smut. 18+. Sanji x Fem Reader. Implied that Sanji is a virgin. Oral sex. Cream pie. I haven’t written Sanji in 20 years so I hope I got him right!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

You’ve lived and worked on Christmas Island for the past few years, but you still get excited each time new guests arrive, especially when they’re famous. 

It was only a matter of time before the Straw Hat pirates landed on this little island, and all your coworkers were equally hyped up to meet them. You’ve all followed their exploits in the newspapers for months, becoming fans along the way. Even the owner of the island, “Santa”, admires them! 

You’ve looked at all their wanted posters countless times, but one of them stood out to you: a silly looking blonde man named Sanji. While your friends were more interested in the more “cool looking” pirates, you found Sanji charming. You know it’s a silly picture, so you’re interested in finding out what he actually looks like. 

Your chance comes when the Straw Hats arrive and check into the enormous resort that takes up the entire island. They walk in, most of them gawking at the huge lobby full of Christmas trees and twinkling lights. They’re chatting and laughing amongst themselves, and their reputation for being fun-loving seems to be accurate.

Taming your excitement, you hurry over to greet them in your candy cane striped dress. 

“Welcome to Christmas Island!” you say in your cheeriest voice. “Please come in and sit down. I’ll explain how things work here.”

They begin taking seats in the plush red sofas positioned in the middle of the room. You do a mental headcount as you watch them, trying not to seem like an overly eager fan. 

Sanji spots you before you spot him. He steps up beside you, gently taking your hand in his. “Such a lovely lady here to welcome us!” he says, placing a quick kiss on the top of your hand. “This island is a dream already!”

When he raises his face to look at you, a breath catches in your throat. He’s way more handsome than you expected! His wanted poster barely resembles him, but the blonde hair and curly eyebrow are unmistakable. 

He smiles at you and takes his seat. You give the group a moment to settle down and get quiet before you begin. 

“On Christmas Island, every day is Christmas! At this resort, you’ll each write a letter to “Santa” asking for a Christmas present. You’ll receive that gift during your stay. Keep in mind we can only grant wishes for material goods or services. We can’t give you impossible things. For example, you can’t ask us to withdraw bounties or give you skills that can’t be learned while you’re here.”

They seem to understand, a few of them nodding. You pass out fancy notecards for them to write their Christmas wishes on, along with red envelopes for them to seal the “letters to Santa” in. 

A woman you recognize as Nami looks a bit skeptical as she eyes the notecard. “How much does this cost?”

Some of the others look at you, curious about the answer. 

You smile and shake your head. “No cost at all! There’s normally a fee, but since we’re all fans of the Straw Hat pirates, even Santa said to give you all the VIP treatment at no charge!”

The group seems happy to hear that, a couple of them actually cheering. Then they all begin writing on their notecards. Once they’re finished, you retrieve them and another employee shows the guests to their rooms. They’re all given private rooms, each one beautifully decorated with festive trees and lights. 

Later, you and two coworkers are reading the notecards to begin processing the wishes. 

“Look,” your friend says, giggling as she holds one out. “The captain just wrote one word: Meat!”

You laugh as you glance at a card in your own hand that says, “A year’s supply of cola”. 

Most of the requests are fairly reasonable and fit the crew members’ reputations. But at the bottom of the stack is one that stands out to you. 

“A sweet lady who wants to spend time with me.”

Your heart nearly skips a beat. You expected something perverted from the famously horny cook of the Straw Hat pirates, but Sanji’s request is surprisingly cute. 

“Can I take this one?” you ask, a little worried that one of your coworkers might have their eye on him. 

The two women look at each other and shrug. “It’s yours if you want it,” one of them says. The other nods in agreement. 

Thank goodness! You didn’t want there to be any awkwardness with your friends, but you were prepared to argue for this. Thankfully you don’t have to. 

One of them leans toward you conspiratorially. “What if he just wrote that as a nice way of saying he wants someone to fuck him?”

You grin at her. “Actually, I’m kind of hoping that’s the case!”

The others squeal in delight and cheer you on. “You get it, girl!”

You return to your own quarters to freshen up and change into your cutest red dress, then you head down the guest hall to find Sanji’s room. You only have to knock once before he opens it. Was he waiting by the door for his “present”?

He blinks as he looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, you’re the one who welcomed us!”

You return his smile. “I’m surprised you recognized me.” There are lots of women working here who wear the same dress you had on earlier. It’s basically the uniform. 

He steps aside, opening the door wider and gesturing for you to come in. “I never forget a beautiful lady’s face,” he tells you as you walk into his room. 

The comment makes you blush, but you giggle nervously and change the subject. “Are you settled in okay? Do you need anything?”

Looking around the room, you can see the closet door slightly open, and a few dress shirts neatly hanging inside. The bed doesn’t appear to be messed up at all, and everything is in its place. On a small table with two chairs, there’s a glass ash tray that’s nearly full. 

“I don’t need anything at all,” he says as he pulls out one of the chairs for you. “But can I offer you something to drink? I’m sure you know what the options are.”

You do. There’s a small variety of alcoholic drinks in the mini fridge, plus a hot water machine with various teas and coffees. 

As you sit in the offered chair, you accept his offer, taking a cup of tea. In all honesty, you just want to watch him prepare something. His skills are quite well known.  

You watch him fix your tea, his hands moving expertly to prepare it in the perfect manner. Then he sits the steaming cup in front of you and takes the seat on the other side of the table. 

The tea is delicious of course, leaving you wondering what you’ve been doing when you make it for yourself. He seems to like watching you enjoy it, a smile practically glued to his face. 

“It’s wonderful! I can’t believe it’s from the same tea we use!” 

After a few minutes of friendly chatting, you sit down your empty cup and get down to business. “Regarding your wish…”

His smile falters, a blush creeps over his face. “It’s okay if it can’t be granted!” he says quickly. “I’ll just take some new utensils, or maybe some rare spices if you have them here.”

Does he not realize you’re his present? He seems to have the wrong idea about your visit. Just how many times has this poor guy been rejected? 

You reach across the table and put one hand on his arm. “We can easily grant your wish,” you say. “In fact, that’s what I’m here for.”

He freezes, staring at you. His stunned eyes shift down to your hand, then back to your face. “You… want to spend time with me?”

“I’d love to!”

He still seems to be in shock. “Are you sure?”

You reach into the pocket if your dress and pull out a folded paper. You smooth it out on the table and slide it over to him. It’s his wanted poster. 

He blanches when he sees it, but before he can say anything, you blurt out, “I’m a fan of yours!”

“Huh?”

Now it’s your turn to blush again. “I mentioned before that all of us here are fans of the Straw Hat pirates, but we each have our favorites. You happen to be mine.”

He’s rapidly turning red. “Really?”

You nod. “I even keep your wanted poster in my pocket at all times.”

He glances at the poster. “But it’s such an unflattering picture of me…”

“You look fun! You look like someone I’d like to hang out with. And yes, you’re way more handsome in person.”

If this were a cartoon, steam would be shooting out of his ears. He almost seems to melt into his chair. “You think I’m handsome?!”

“Of course! I was so excited to meet you, so I happily volunteered to grant your wish!”

He has tears in his eyes as he takes both your hands in his across the table. “This place really is like a dream!”

And so the two of you laugh and talk and enjoy more tea for the next hour. He tells you funny stories about their travels and you tell him about some of the craziest wishes you’ve received. 

At some point, perhaps growing bold from the friendly atmosphere, you say, “To be honest, I wondered if maybe ‘spend time with you’ was code for something else.”

He seems genuinely confused, which is adorable. “Something else?”

You lean forward, subtly showing off your cleavage. “Something more… intimate.”

It seems like a shiver runs through his body, but then he composes himself and says, “I didn’t want anyone to feel obligated to do that.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” you say, looking as disappointed as you can, “because I was hoping it was code.”

His mouth falls open, the cigarette slipping from his lips. You can almost see hearts in his eyes. He seems to be trying to form words for a reply, but failing. 

You stand up and walk around the table to be closer to him. “I’m your present tonight, so you can do whatever you want with me.”

He swallows, looking up at you as if you’re a goddess that has come down to him from heaven. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

His eyes dart about the room, as if he’s worried this might be some prank and someone else is waiting to rush out and tell him so. After a moment, he looks back at you. “Can I k-kiss you?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

He stands up from the chair and steps right up to you. He slowly places his hands on your shoulders. So gentle! He’s treating you like a delicate little creature that will flee if he’s not careful. 

As he leans down, his eyes flutter closed, and you can see the blush across his cheeks. You feel the tips of his golden hair first, then his lips softly press against yours. It’s a chaste kiss, his hands lightly trembling on your shoulders. 

You’ve heard so many conflicting rumors about him. Some say he’s a totally lecherous horndog who fucks anything that moves. Others say he’s a sophisticated gentleman who respects women. Still others say he’s a pathetic virgin who can’t get laid to save his life. You’re beginning to suspect the truth is some strange mix of all three. 

You reach up and put your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss. His tongue finally slips into your mouth, and he tastes like cigarettes and the tea you’ve both been drinking. 

When the kiss breaks, he looks positively lovestruck. But his arms are around your waist, holding you closer to him. You can feel the bulge in his pants, and you lightly grind yourself against it. “What else would you like to do?” you ask playfully. 

“Lady’s choice,” he says, the smooth gentleman peeking out again. “I’d love to know what youwant to do.”

You grin mischievously at him and say, “Sit down and I’ll show you.”

He moves back to sit in the chair so fast, your eyes could barely follow him. You giggle at his eagerness as he stares at you. You take a moment to pull up the edge of your red dress on one side, up to your hip. It’s enough to show him you’re not wearing panties without revealing the whole present. 

His eyes bulge, and you’re guessing something else is bulging even more now. You prance over and then lower yourself to your knees before reaching out and unbuckling his belt. You hear him breathe in through his teeth, and you look up to see his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breaths. You smile as you open his pants and slide one hand in, using it to pull out the prize you’ve been seeking. 

He’s bigger than you expected, and elegantly shaped. It’s such a nice cock, such a waste that it’s been neglected for so long. You can fix that. 

Your hand wraps around it and you slide it up and down the shaft. You can hear him breathing heavily as he watches, stunned. When you lean forward and give the tip a little lick, his hands suddenly grip the arm rests of the chair. You can hear the wood creaking under the force. 

Smiling to yourself over the fact that you can reduce a powerful, famous pirate to this state with one lick, you wrap your lips around him and take his twitching cock into your mouth. 

He groans, his head falling back and his eyes closing again as you begin bobbing your head back and forth, your lips gliding along his length. Your tongue swirls his tip, your throat tightens around him when he’s deep enough, and his panting above you makes such sweet music in your ears. 

Finally he places his hand on your shoulder and says in a strained voice, “I’m… I’m about to…”

You pull back and grin. “Please cum in my mouth.” Then your lips are around him again, sucking lightly and lapping at his tip. 

He looks torn between desire and being a gentleman, but desire wins out. With a moan he releases his load onto your tongue, and you drink it down eagerly. 

After a moment, you stand up, licking your lips. You stand nearby while his breathing slows to a normal pace. Then he looks at you. “That was incredible… you’re an angel!”

You laugh and take one of his hands, placing it atop your head as you lean toward him. “You’re supposed to pat my head and call me a good girl.”

His face turns scarlet, but he does as you wish, lightly patting your head and saying, “Such a good girl!”

You giggle at that, then look down between his legs. He’s beginning to get hard again, which is exactly what you’re waiting for. 

“So? What would you like me to do next?” you ask. 

He looks a little shy and awkward as he says, “Can we… have sex?”

You reach down and pull your dress up, all the way to your waist this time, giving him an eye full. His cock instantly becomes fully hard, his eyes seeming to turn to hearts again. “I thought you’d never ask,” you tell him as you step closer and straddle his lap, letting his lovely cock rest against your slickened pussy. That alone makes his entire body quiver. 

When you rise up and position his tip at your entrance, then sink down onto him, a gasp escapes him. His arms wrap around your body, holding you firmly but gently. You have to wiggle a bit to get free enough to begin riding him, your hips swiveling. 

Sanji groans as his own hips buck from the chair, pushing deeper inside you. Then he pauses, a worried expression on his face, and says, “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

You smile, pushing your own body down to take him even deeper. “It feels good when you go deep,” you say, and his breath hitches, his eyes widening before he starts fucking up into you, slowly and deeply. One of his hands is on your waist now, the other buried in your hair. 

As you grind down onto him, his taut skin rubs against your clit, making your own breaths shallow and quick. His tip hits your cervix, and a shudder ripples through you. When you moan out his name, his cock throbs inside you, making you arch your back in pleasure. When you do, he buries his face in your chest, his tongue peeking out to lap at one pert nipple. 

He raises his face to look you in the eyes. “I’m in love with you!” he exclaims, his hands tightening their grip on you slightly. 

You smile, but don’t reply. Men always say that while they’re inside a woman, but you have no expectations. In a few days Sanji will sail away from here and you’ll never hear from him again. But you’ll treasure these memories of being with him for the rest of your life. 

He feels so good inside you, your clit is practically pulsing. He kisses you again, so sweetly. It’s a romantic kiss, the kind shared by people in love, and his hand slides down from your hair to rest softly on your neck. 

It’s all enough to push you over the edge, and you cum while still riding him, your body trembling in his arms. 

Watching you cum seems to push him to climax as well, and he suddenly pulls you tightly against him as he shoots his load into your core. 

The two of you remain intertwined for a while, both of you breathing hard, then his arms loosen around you and you slide off him, your legs partially numb. 

“I’m all yours while you’re on Christmas Island,” you say as you pull your dress back down. “Just call for me whenever you want.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then says, “Why don’t you come with us?”

You freeze. “What?”

He stands up and buttons his pants, then pulls out a fresh cigarette. “I can talk to Luffy. He’s pretty easy going about these things. You could join our crew and sail around with us. We get into a lot of dangerous situations, but we always pull through, and I can protect you.”’

You, joining the Straw Hat pirates? You’ve never even considered something like that before. But it sounds like a dream. You smile broadly at him. “I’d love that!”

He smiles back. “It really is Christmas every day here. I got more than I could even hope for!”

[eddiazx]

juno part 2 - evan buckley x reader

part 1 here!

There are many words in the English language to describe Buck. Loving, stubborn, intelligent, a human form of sunshine, are just a few.

A damn tease, is another description.

After using the handcuffs on him, it was now your turn in the metaphorical hot seat. Your hands were chained to the headboard of the bed, and Buck had spent the past half-hour kissing, licking, and sucking on practically every part of your body, except where you needed him to. You couldn't grab onto his curls with your restrained hands and direct him where you needed him, and no amount of pleading on your part was getting your boyfriend to take mercy on you.

He bites the sensitive part of your inner thigh, and you try to push yourself down and off the bed so that your core was in front of Buck's face. To no avail - Buck leans away from you, smirking.

"What's the rush, sweetheart? We have all day."

"Please, Buck, please. I need you inside me, filling me up like only you can." You babble incoherently, on the brink of delusion.

Buck groans at your words. His weakness was you talking dirty to him, ammo that you pull out at opportune times to get what you want. It works 100% of the time, because Buck finally takes ahold of himself and sinks into you to the hilt.

Your moans harmonize together as Buck starts to move, hips grinding against yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses there. Buck trails his fingers down between the tight space between your bodies and circles your clit, and like a dam breaking, you come hard. When he feels you clench around him like a vice, he lets go as well.

Buck reaches over to the nightstand to grab the keys and un-cuffs you.

"You okay?" He murmurs gently, a stark contrast to the cocky guy a few minutes ago, while he rubs on the skin of your wrists where the cuffs had dug in a little too hard.

You smile softly and place an appreciative kiss on Buck's lips.

"More than."

BONUS:

Come to Buck’s place, alone. Don’t tell anyone was your text to Hen. 

Hen is expecting and fearing the worst, because what else is she supposed to do with an ominous message like that? She would’ve called Athena for backup if you hadn’t specified the alone part. 

Hen uses the key Buck and you had given her for emergencies. She doesn’t hear much downstairs, so she gingerly makes her way up the loft stairs towards the open bedroom, calling out both of your names, before she stalls at the top stairs and takes in the sight before her.

Both you and Buck stare back, sheepishly. You’re both naked, in the middle of the bed, each with one hand cuffed to the headboard. Buck lays semi on top of you, trying to cover you up as much as possible, but was displaying his bare butt in doing so.

Hen splutters, not even sure where to start but also wondering what gods she might’ve angered to find herself in the same position twice. 

Resigned, Hen eventually asks for the keys, to which Buck points to foot of the bed, where he had accidentally tossed the keys in the heat of the moment. Hen picks up the keys and moves to un-cuff the two of you, when Buck stops her.

"You can just put them right here, Hen. Thanks."

Hen shakes her head, and leaves the loft. All my friends are freaks, she thinks.

[devildomwriter]

You Go To See A Christmas Carol Part I

Going to see a Christmas Carol in the Human World with Diavolo and the brothers takes a turn when the brothers forget what’s normal for them is not normal for everyone else.

You shuffled out from the middle seat of the packed car and hopped onto the icy pavement. You blew into your gloves to warm your face and looked around as the brothers climbed out of the cars around you.

Mammon: “So, this is the fancy theatre place, huh?”

Satan: “It’s a performing arts center.”

Mammon: “That’s the same damn thing!”

Lucifer: “Quiet! We’re late enough as it is! I won’t have you all bickering in the parking lot and wasting more time. You should be thankful Diavolo even invited you to this play to begin with.”

Leviathan: “What is this play about again?”

MC: “It’s called A Christmas Carol.”

Belphegor: “Ugh, we don’t have to listen to carolers do we?”

Beelzebub: “It’ll be okay Belphie.”

Belphegor: “No it won’t. Remember what satan did last time?”

Satan: “I was being slandered, those kids had it coming!”

Lucifer: “That’s enough! Let’s go! Start walking!”

MC: “Yes, father.”

Belphegor: “Pft!”

Lucifer: “What was that?”

MC: “I didn’t say anything.”

Lucifer: “That’s what I thought. Now does everyone have their human identities?”

Mammon: “Ugh, not this again.”

Lucifer: “This it’s important. Our names are well known up here, gathered all in one place like this it could scare someone.”

Belphegor: “That sounds like fun.”

Lucifer: “It won’t be when Michael hears about it. Now, tell me your names again.”

Mammon: “Matthew…boring ass name—“

Asmodeus: “Guuuuuys! I can see my breath! Look!”

Asmodeus: “Huuuuuuuh.”

Mammon: “Oh yeah! Neat!”

Lucifer: “Stop that. Honestly, you aren’t children.”

Lucifer ushered you to the growing lines as everyone excitedly waited to get through security and into the grand hall for the long-awaited performance.

Security Officer: “Lines that way.”

Lucifer: “Thank you.”

Satan: “We have tickets already.”

Security Officer: “Still that way.”

Satan: “Fine.”

MC: “Excuse me, we’re looking for a friend.”

Mammon: “Why would he know Diavolo, there’s like a million people here?”

MC: “He’s a real eccentric guy, red hair?”

Security Officer: “You mean that guy waving on the balcony?”

MC: “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Security Officer: “Been there about three hours now.”

Lucifer: “How many?”

Security Officer: “Staff was making a real big fuss about him too. You know him?”

MC: “Yeah, he kidnapped me a while back.”

Security Officer: “Excuse me?”

MC: “So the lines that way, yeah? Thanks.”

Security Officer: “Kidnapped?”

You chose not to answer him and ran to catch up with the brothers who’d quickly followed Lucifer lest they provoke his seasonally intense wrath.

Satan: “Lucifer you don’t need to call him you can see him from here just fine.”

Mammon: “I think he’s shoutin’ somethin’?”

Leviathan: “He’s saying…uh…”

Beelzebub: “I…can… see… my…. Breath.”

Lucifer: “…”

Lucifer: *sigh*

Asmodeus: “Isn’t it cool!!!”

Mammon: “Yikes! My ears Asmo!”

Lucifer: “That’s enough, where’d MC go?”

Leviathan: “Hey that officer guy looks kind of nervous now…he’s really staring at us?”

Lucifer: “He probably heard Mammon refer to Asmo by his name.”

Mammon: “You just referred to me by my name too!”

MC: “Hey guys, what’d I miss?”

Lucifer: “Nothing of significance.”

Beelzebub: “Lord Diavolo says he can see his breath.”

MC: “That’s adorable, I expect nothing less.”

Lucifer: “Please don’t encourage him MC.”

MC: “No promises.”

Lucifer: *sigh* “Does everyone have their tickets?”

Satan: “No.”

Lucifer: “What do you mean, no!?”

Satan: “You took them because you didn’t trust us to hold them!”

Lucifer: “Clearly I was right.”

Satan: “What?”

Lucifer: “Mammon this is yours. Your name is now Matthew Morningstar.”

Mammon: “I know, you made me go over it a million times. I don’t think anyone’s gonna even ask right?”

Lucifer: “They will in an interrogation.”

Asmodeus: “What? Are we being interrogated?”

Lucifer: “Hopefully not.”

MC: “The night’s still young.”

Lucifer: “Stop it, MC.”

Lucifer: “Levi, congratulations you get to keep your name.”

Leviathan: “Thank goodness.”

Lucifer: “Satan you’re going as Stanford Morningstar.”

Satan: “That’s a stupid last name.”

Lucifer: “Ignoring that, Belphegor your name is Todd.”

MC: “Why’d you choose Todd?”

Belphegor: “It means death in German.”

MC: “Yup, okay…”

Lucifer: “Beelzebub, you’re name is Benjamin, you can go by Ben if you want to— do not eat this ticket.”

Beelzebub: “…”

Lucifer: “Todd, you’re holding onto his ticket.”

Mammon: “Who the fuck is Todd?”

MC: “Belphegor, pay attention.”

Belphegor: “I am paying attention.”

MC: “I was talking to Matthew.”

Beelzebub: “Matthew?”

Lucifer: “Change of plan, we only call each other by our human names in front of other humans.”

MC: “I’m a human.”

Lucifer: “You don’t count.”

MC: “Shucks.”

Lucifer: *sigh* “Asmodeus you’re name is Amadeus, that’s an easy one, don’t forget it.”

Asmodeus: “Okie!”

Lucifer: “I’m going as Lucious, I believe that’s everyone.”

Asmodeus: “I’ll go first and show you all how it’s done!”

Leviathan: “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

Satan: “Because you should.”

Guard: “Ticket.”

Asmodeus: “Right here sweetie!”

Guard: “Amadeus?”

Asmodeus: “That’s right!”

Guard: “That’s a cool name. Seeing the Christmas Carol?”

Asmodeus: “I sure am!”

Guard: “Haven’t seen it in a bit, hope ya have fun. I’ll have to take my wife and kids when I get a chance, maybe next year. Alright, raise your arms for me.”

Asmodeus: “Oh no, did I mess up already?”

Guard: “Already?”

Leviathan: “Asmo, just T-Pose.”

Asmodeus: “Ew, why in the Devildom would I do that? That’s so not tending right now!”

Lucifer: “He has to use the metal detector, lift your arms.”

Asmodeus: “Ooooh, okay!”

Mammon: “Real master if I ever saw one…”

Asmodeus: “Shut up Mammon! I’d like to see you do better!”

Guard: “Any weapons on you, sir?”

Asmodeus: “Oooh, just in my pants!”

Guard: “I’ll need you to take it out for me.”

Asmodeus: “What? How bold! Right here in front of all these people?”

Guard: “…?”

Lucifer: “That’s it. I’m sorry sir, my brother was making a stupid dirty joke, none of us have any weapons. Lift your arms Asmo before I do it for you.”

Asmodeus: “That sounds like fun.”

Lucifer: “It won’t be once we’re home if you don’t hurry it up.”

Asmodeus: “Yikes! Okay, okay!”

Guard: “Okay…just gonna pat you down real quick….”

Asmodeus: “Pat me anywhere you want pal— ow! Lucifer that hurt!”

Lucifer: “Be. Quiet.”

Guard: “Lucifer…u-um…Amadeus, you’re all good.”

Lucifer: “Don’t you dare go anywhere, wait right there until Mam—Matthew goes through.”

Mammon: “Y’know on second thought why don’t I watch Satan first?”

Satan: “Ow! Don’t shove me what’s wrong with you?”

Lucifer: “Someone just go.”

Satan: “Very well”

Guard: “So…that’s you’re umm…brother?”

Satan: “Unfortunately.”

Guard: “Stanford Morningstar?”

Satan: “Stupid surname, I’m aware.”

Guard: “I think it’s quite unique actually, has a nice ring to it.”

Satan: “That’s your opinion.”

Guard: “Uh, lift your arms please…no weapons I presume?”

Satan: “None.”

Guard: “You’re all good, please proceed.”

Leviathan: “Mammon don’t push me what’s up with you!?”

Guard: “Are you next?”

Leviathan: “H-Hello, fellow human! Sir!”

Guard: “Haha! You guys are a pretty fun bunch aren’t ya?”

Leviathan: “We met at a convent.”

Guard: “What?”

Lucifer: “What?”

Leviathan: “I-I, um…it just came out.”

MC: “This is beautiful.”

Lucifer: “MC, you’re next. Please take them up to Lord Diavolo after this.”

Guard: “Alright, no weapons, you’re good.”

Leviathan: “Thank you, goodbye!”

Mammon: “…”

Guard: “So one big family trip today huh?”

MC: “No, I was kidnapped.”

Guard: “What?”

MC: “I forgave them though. Stockholm syndrome is a hell of a drug.”

Guard: “You guys really are pretty funny. You a comedy group or somethin’?”

MC: “We might as well be given my daily life.”

Guard: “Any weapons?”

MC: “Only spiritual.”

Guard: “Good on you. Me too. Catholic, what about you?”

MC: “I don’t even know at this point. I’m just here for Diavolo.”

Guard: “Well I hope you figure it out, have a good time.”

MC: “God willing.”

You looked at Lucifer as you said that and he glared at you while you gave Mammon, who was sweating bullets, a curious look. Something was definitely wrong with him.

Leviathan: “You think they’ll be okay in line without us?”

MC: “It’s just Beel, Belphie, and Mammon, it’ll be fine.”

Satan: “Okay. Let’s go up to see Lord Diavolo and brief him.”

MC: “Someone go buy some popcorn so Beel doesn’t have a breakdown in line.”

Asmodeus: “Leave it to me!”

MC: “No charming anyone, they’ll get fired.”

Asmodeus: “Ugh, fine.”

Mammon: “Hey uh…Belphie you mind going ahead.”

Belphegor: “What, why?”

Mammon: “I uh…may have forgotten somethin’…”

Belphegor: “…what did you do?”

Mammon: “Nothin’.”

Lucifer: “Mammon.”

Mammon: “I uh…forgot that weapons were kinda a big deal in the human world…maybe.”

Lucifer: “…”

Lucifer: “Beelzebub, Belphegor, don’t cause trouble, go right to MC they’re waiting at the door.”

Mammon: “Hey that’s my collar, hey! Where are ya takin’ me? Lucifer!”

Guard: “…”

Belphegor: “Just ignore them, it’s better not to question it.”

Guard: “Right…so umm, Todd, is it?”

Belphegor: “It means death in German.”

Guard: “Okay….arms up, please….You’re good….right along…”

Beelzebub: “Belphie, my ticket.”

Belphegor: “Oh yeah, here.”

Guard: “I’ll take that, thank you. Benjamin?”

Beelzebub: “What? No, it’s Beelzebub.”

Guard: “What?”

Beelzebub: “Who’s Benjamin?”

Guard: “This ticket is assigned to a Benjamin Morningstar.”

Beelzebub: “Oh yeah…that’s me.”

Guard: *mumbling to himself* “He’s the last one…you can do this…”

Beelzebub: “Is something wrong?”

Guard: “Arms up please…quick pat down…go ahead.”

Next

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 23

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Sitting on the hard concrete platform of your cell, you were scheming every possible way to kill Noah when he crossed your path. From plucking out his hair with tweezers to tearing out his guts with your nails.

All the humiliation you endured when you were approached and locked in this smelly square, he was going to pay back double, with interest. It was a surprise to you when the police stopped you just a few meters from your house. They had received a report that the car you were driving was stolen, and since you had no idea where the paperwork was, you had to go with them.

The Jaguar was registered in Gerard's name, of course. Noah couldn't possibly afford a month of a car like that when he was still paying off the damage you had caused to the other vehicle. While it was impressive that he had borrowed a car to cross the city looking for you, you couldn't help but think about how dirty he had played after your departure.

“Hey!” the guard called out in a dragging tone as he unlocked and opened the cell. “You’re free to go.”

“Finally!” You stood up from where you were sitting, planted your feet firmly on the ground, and tossed your hair back.

Standing at the reception, waiting for your belongings, a shadow covered the light from the lamp when he positioned himself behind you, causing immediate tension in the guard. From the irritated clearing of his throat and the absolute silence, you knew Jolly wasn't happy about being woken up in the middle of the night.

“I want to go back to my cell…” you whispered to the guard, leaning over the counter.

“Not happening.” He handed you your belongings with a barely contained smile, and you shot him a narrowed look before grabbing your phone, purse, and keys, turning to face Jolly’s serious gaze, which immediately made your shoulders shrink.

Still silent, he walked ahead toward the station doors, and your hurried steps, despite wearing heels, managed to keep up. You hated when your best friend stayed silent for so long—perhaps because you knew exactly what would happen when he finally spoke.

“Honestly? I’m almost afraid to ask how you ended up here.” Jolly shook his head as he adjusted himself in the driver’s seat.

“Jolly…” you admonished, pretending to be offended. “This time, I really didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Then how did you go from an awards ceremony—where, oddly enough, you behaved all night—to a police station hours later, wearing your ex-boyfriend’s jacket and accused of stealing your record label owner’s car?”

“Noah Sebastian.”

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He rolled his eyes with a groan, banging his head against the steering wheel. It wasn’t the best moment, but you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at how absurd the situation seemed when viewed from the outside.

“I’m not going to tell you again to be careful with these games you and he play. If someone leaked this or took a single photo, you know exactly how the next few days will unfold, don’t you?” he warned, spinning the steering wheel with an indignant tone. “He went after you, didn’t he?”

“Yes…” You sank into the car seat, biting your lips. It was complicated to bring up his name without recalling every detail of the bar still etched into your brain—like the scent of him on your skin.

“I could say something, but I think I’d better stay quiet.”

“I actually care about what you have to say, Jolly.”

A string of insults? A harsh dose of reality? A mix of mockery about your situation? It was inevitable to guess what he was about to unload, but no matter what it was, he had a way of making any word sink in and stick, often breaking through your stubbornness.

“So I’ll ask just one question, and I want you to be as honest with me as we always are with each other in all our conversations, okay?”

You nodded without taking your eyes off his side profile, tight-lipped as he dodged cars on the fog-clogged road.

“Do you honestly think that allowing any kind of intimate moment last night won’t make things worse between you two?” He threw the question while stopping at a red light, and out of the corner of his eye, Jolly noticed your face shift as you looked away toward the dashboard. “I’m not talking about you; we both know how you’ve handled the breakup since it happened. I’m talking about him…”

“He wanted it just as much as I did.”

“Of course he did, girl!” he retorted, snapping you out of your reverie. “He hasn’t thought about anything else since you left, and last night, you handed him the perfect opportunity. But I’m talking about what happens tomorrow. Noah will wake up alone again. He’ll see that the problems between you two still exist and that he didn’t solve everything with a snap of his fingers like you made it seem. That’s the part that worries me, you get it?”

The light turned green, and you pressed your fingers together as the car moved forward once more. Jolly was right; you would treat it as a mistake that shouldn’t have happened. As difficult as it might be, you’d try to keep moving forward. But for him, the weight of that night, layered atop the hurt he already carried, was far greater.

Hurting him with an impulsive act had never been your intention. But the magnetic pull that drew your bodies together in that moment spoke beyond reason, as if, for that fleeting time, there were no endings, no anger, no pain, no lies, or anything bad that had driven you apart.

In the end, it was just you and him.

Him and you.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed him…” you said softly, almost embarrassed, as you picked at the loose skin around your nail. A wound formed there, but you kept pulling until the trail of blood stretched longer. “But it’s not just his body I miss, Jolly. I miss my friend Noah, you know? I miss staying up all night talking nonsense with him, hearing him laugh until he chokes, sharing a space with him where the energy feels different, singing truly with him, composing, sharing ideas, making plans…”

You didn’t know what it was like to make long-term plans anymore. You had never pictured yourself going so far before him. It was usually Noah who injected confidence into your veins, who pushed your mind to believe it was worth living longer. You just wanted more time with him and begged the universe every day to extend it.

But now that plea was useless. You didn’t know how to use that time alone.

“I know how you feel. I miss my friend Noah too,” Jolly said for the first time in a more melancholic tone, keeping his eyes on the road. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him swallowing hard, as if struggling with something. “The same one who insists he died almost two years ago.”

With the silence of thought that situation brought to both of you, Jolly reached your street and stopped in front of your house. You took a deep breath as you glanced sideways at the road leading to the front door, dark due to the absence of street and porch lights.

"Are you okay staying here alone tonight? The guys and I are spending the night at the studio. You could keep us company; I’m sure anything there is more comfortable than this house..." he said, his eyes comically wide, drawing a smile from you.

"I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow. I definitely won’t be productive at the studio at this point."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "You're gonna miss out on pizza."

You let out a quick laugh and shook your head at his sarcastic remark. Jolly said goodbye with a light touch to your hand, and you closed the passenger door, holding your belongings and high heels in your hand as you made your way to the entrance.

The drizzle kept hammering against the asphalt, each cold drop serving as a soundtrack to your uneven steps. The shoes in your hand felt as heavy as if they were made of lead, but something else began to unsettle you: a creeping sensation that something wasn’t right.

It was when you reached your front door that you noticed it was ajar. Your heart raced. For a moment, you stood still, staring at the small dark gap between the door and the frame, trying to rationalize. Had you forgotten to lock it? Could the wind have pushed it open? But deep down, you knew neither of those made sense.

The unease rose in your chest like a tide. Your trembling fingers touched the damp wood, carefully pushing the door open. The sound of it scraping against the floor echoed in the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. Inside, the house was completely dark, except for the faint light from the street casting long, distorted shadows on the walls.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, its flashlight trembling along with your hand as it lit up the hallway ahead.

"Hello?" Your voice came out weak, almost swallowed by the heavy silence.

No response.

Every step you took seemed to echo louder than the last. The air inside the house was still, suffocating, yet there was something about it — a presence you couldn’t quite pinpoint. The flashlight swept over furniture, corners, slightly open doors, but revealed nothing beyond shadows and silence.

You checked every room. The living room was untouched, the couch exactly as you had left it. The kitchen was empty, but the cabinet doors seemed strangely ajar, as if someone had rummaged through them.

"Is anyone here?" you tried again, your voice slightly steadier but still met with no reply.

Your chest tightened, fear beginning to blend with anger, a natural reaction to the vulnerability you hated feeling. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking beneath your weight. Upstairs, you checked the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the hallway closet. Nothing.

Finally, you stopped in the center of the house, clutching your phone as if it were your only line of defense against the void. Your breathing was quick, almost gasping. There was no one there. There was nothing.

And yet, the weight in your mind remained, as though something invisible was watching you. You tried convincing yourself it was just your imagination, that the ajar door had been a mistake, and all of this was the result of an overly long night.

You turned off the flashlight, the phone’s light vanishing and plunging the house back into darkness. The silence now felt even more oppressive, almost deafening.

And still, the feeling that you weren’t alone refused to fade.

The next day, the weather seemed gloomier, and you barely slept due to the paranoia implanted in your mind that someone had entered your house while you were away. After torturing yourself with those thoughts for hours, you finally dozed off just minutes before your alarm went off.

Showered and dressed, you yawned while hurrying down the stairs to head to the studio. If this was the life you had, it was up to you to at least try to make things right, even if just a little. That included pretending you cared about this project.

Not for the label. Not for that idiot Noah. Least of all for yourself. But your friends deserved for the band to still be taken seriously, for their dreams and efforts not to go to waste.

They believed in you and hadn’t let go of your hand even when everything fell apart. It was only fair to push this forward for their sake. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t done this before—finding yourself in places you didn’t want to be.

On the sidewalk near the studio, you slowed your pace, letting yourself drift into thought. In truth, you were reflecting on how it would be to face him after everything that happened the night before.

But he landed you in jail by the end of the night, you thought. Though that was just a detail, as at that moment, you were trying to channel your energy into a different kind of memory.

It had been a while since you’d felt him, since you’d been so close and exchanged anything other than insults. With the growing distance, you’d gradually gotten unused to Noah’s physical presence. You’d forgotten what his touch felt like, the texture and natural scent of his skin, the way he worshiped and knew your body as if he lived to study every part of it.

All of it resurfaced in seconds as your memory returned.

You didn’t want to think a single night could change everything between you or erase over a year of suffering—it was impossible. But part of you thought about clinging to it as soon as you stepped through the studio gates and heard his voice.

Noah was out of tune, and you dared to say his voice was dragging as if being there was a huge sacrifice. Dressed warmly despite the studio not being that cold, he had drooping eyes that betrayed a sleepless night and seemed utterly distracted as the guys discussed sound adjustments.

“Sorry I’m late…” you said, drawing attention to yourself.

“It’s not like it made much of a difference,” he replied, sharp-tongued as ever.

“I think I did make a difference if you consider the tone you’re singing in. Need help?” you countered, challenging him.

“I need you to stop interrupting the rehearsal.”

“Great! Then you won’t mind if I head back home to watch a series and do my nails?” you retorted, narrowing your eyes with a fake smile as you walked toward him.

The guys slumped their shoulders in dismay, realizing how close the exchange of barbs was to turning into a real argument. You had left home determined not to give the devil a voice, which included avoiding trivial fights with Noah—even if he was begging for attention.

Slowly, you stepped up onto the short stage and adjusted yourself behind your microphone, your fingers tapping on it as the intro began.

“If you think you’re getting away with your stunt last night…” you muttered, glancing at him sideways.

“Try something, and I’ll make sure you spend more than a night in jail, you pickpocket!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“You should be ashamed to call me a thief when your wallet had twenty dollars, and the car wasn’t even yours!” Your attempt at whispering seemed to fail with every sentence.

“Twenty dollars you didn’t return.”

“It’s the fee for putting up with you!”

“I thought your services were a bit pricier.” He shot back, amusement lacing his voice as he watched your chest puff up in fury.

“GO TO HELL, JERK!”

Noah only tightened his fake smile at you before turning back to adjust his microphone and start singing. Fine. You’d just broken your promise not to let him get under your skin today.

During the song, you focused on your part but couldn’t ignore his unusual behavior. Noah was breathing harder than usual during breaks, his voice still fluctuating, and he couldn’t hit all the notes, needing your help to complete them.

By the end of the first song, you saw him stop and rest his forehead against the microphone, leaving a strange feeling lingering over you.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly.

“Just a headache.”

“How long have you had a headache?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s keep going,” he said, lifting his gaze and motioning with his chin for the guys to move on to the next song.

“I think we should stop for today.”

“If you want to stop, you can just leave,” he snapped, his tone curt as he began the intro to the next song.

Noah couldn’t keep up the rhythm, not even until the chorus, when his body leaned forward, and his fingers pressed against his temple. Everyone stopped immediately, and you set your microphone aside to help him to the couch.

The pain he was feeling clenched his jaw, and his teeth were so tightly pressed together that you could clearly hear them grinding.

"Hey!" You called out as you crouched in front of him, and in a sudden motion, he grabbed your hand. Noah was gripping it too tightly, perhaps causing some pain, but you didn’t care.

"My head hurts so much I can't see," he groaned, his voice a near-painful rasp.

"Let’s take him to a doctor," Ruffilo appeared, concern etched on his face, but Noah tightened his grip on your hand and shook his head.

"No, I don’t need a doctor."

"Alright, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to..."

"What?" Jolly interrupted. "We don’t even know what the hell is wrong with him, and you're just going to listen to him?"

"Rehearsal’s suspended for today. I’ll take him home once he’s better."

You gave the order without turning to face them, your thumb never leaving his skin for even a second. In that moment, your heart felt like it was racing; you needed to be certain of where you were standing, as if afraid.

Afraid of truly losing him.

The boys, confused and irritated by your decision, left the studio. You remained there, crouched, waiting for him to lift his head while fighting your own uneven breaths.

"I know you hate headache medication, but since you don’t want to see a doctor, I don’t see another option." You shrugged with the suggestion, and he just groaned.

"I’m just really stressed. There’s nothing a doctor can do for me unless it’s a lobotomy." He rolled his eyes, and you smiled.

"Hey, but that’d destroy most of your memories, I’d imagine. Do you really want to forget everything?"

Noah paused for a few seconds, as if he needed extra time to process your words through the sharp pain. He seemed to drift away, and gradually the force he was using on your hand subsided, leaving a cold air between you.

"Just the last nine years."

Your smile vanished as quickly as the thought hit you. You could barely feel the pins and needles in your heels; the burning in your chest was stronger.

"Makes sense," you muttered, pressing your lips together slowly. "Memory loss is the least of it in cases like this. You’d basically become a vegetable—your brain wouldn’t work anymore, nor your basic functions..."

"Not much different from how I live now."

You swallowed hard when you heard his raw words and saw his downcast gaze, the weight in your throat growing as he leaned closer to your face.

"I made a deal with Gerard. I’d sell him three singles, and he’d shorten the band’s contract," Noah exhaled the information with the limited air in his chest. "Just because I wanted to get rid of you once and for all."

"You tried to betray me and ended up having to put up with me even more in the fine print," you said, shaking your head.

"Consequence."

"How can you keep being so selfish, acting like you’re the only one who suffered through all this? Like you’re the only one who ended a relationship, the only one who was hurt, the only one who loved, Noah!"

"Because I’m the one who lost the most in all of this!" he snarled through tears, leaning his face closer to yours. Noah pointed at his own chest, his labored breathing visibly unstable. "You never needed me to live, so your life goes on. But I always needed you—I made you my life!"

"Just because we handled it differently doesn’t mean I loved any less or that my life’s been better than yours. It just means I’ve gotten used to sweeping pain under the rug."

You responded, wiping under your eyes.

"I told you, you wouldn’t last a day living in my shoes. That’s what I was trying to avoid when I protected you."

"Protected me from your own lies and the horrible person you become every time you break a promise."

"Look at that—we’re not so different," you challenged, locking your eyes onto his. "I was broken by you too. I saw you turn your back on me, I saw you lie, Noah. You just forget the feeling when it’s not happening to you!"

"I wanted it to hurt you as much as it hurt me," he said weakly.

"But before you ever knew that pain, I’d felt it countless times, my love."

He shook his head slowly. His trembling hand hovered near your face but retreated, as if pulling back from an action he couldn’t bring himself to complete. Both of you were crying at the same pace, and you remembered the conversation in the car.

The impact of the previous night was different for you than it was for him: where you saw hope, he saw memories of failure.

He seemed trapped in an internal struggle, wanting to console you but convinced he was no longer worthy of that role.

Both of your tears fell in silence, and you couldn’t tell if it was the despair of the situation or the memory lingering between you. The conversation in the car. The words that had left their mark.

"I don’t know what to do anymore, I... I don’t know," his voice came out fragmented, almost a whisper, as he pressed a hand to his chest. Then you realized.

Noah’s breathing was too fast, irregular, as if he couldn’t find enough air. His chest rose and fell erratically, his hands trembling like leaves in the wind. He brought a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut, but the motion only made him look even more lost.

"Hey, hey, Noah, look at me," you said, trying to stay calm but feeling panic rise within you. You placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to anchor him, but it was like he was far away, unreachable. "Breathe with me, okay? Just... inhale, slowly."

He shook his head, still clutching his chest. "I... I can’t... I can’t!"

The ground seemed to vanish beneath your feet. He was having a panic attack, perhaps the worst you’d ever seen.

"Noah, listen. I’m here. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to do this alone." But it was as if your words couldn’t penetrate the veil of agony surrounding him.

You picked up your phone with trembling fingers, dialing the record label’s medical support and describing his condition as clearly as you could. Seconds felt like hours as you waited, trying to keep him focused, trying to hold back the chaos consuming him.

When they arrived, you could hardly think. They placed him on a stretcher, and you held his hand the entire time, ignoring the questioning looks. All that mattered was that he felt he wasn’t alone.

At the hospital, the waiting was torture. You paced back and forth, images of the previous night blending with guilt and fear. He was in a room with the doctors, and you were there, not knowing if he would come out of this stronger or if this was his breaking point.

"Always at the crime scene," said the devil.

"We seem to have that in common," you replied, rolling your eyes and stopping at the reception desk to face him.

Chewing gum and crossing his arms, Gerard couldn’t have looked more amused.

"What happened to that brat this time?"

"Panic attack," your voice was serious. "Do you know if he’s had anything like this recently?"

Gerard thought for a few seconds, making a ridiculous pout.

"Not that I know of."

"Strange, this attack seemed way too intense for a first time. Noah didn’t even seem surprised... he didn’t even want to come to the doctor."

"Because he knows it’s nonsense," the man shrugged, continuing to chew the never-ending gum in his teeth. "But of course he wouldn’t be surprised. You stress the poor guy out all the time just by being around. No wonder he’s falling apart."

"Surely it’s not the working conditions or the pressure you put on us. Of course, blaming me is easier."

He laughed, waving a hand as if you’d told the funniest joke, but you remained serious, arms crossed and frowning.

"It’s the most obvious thing. No wonder he didn’t refuse the label’s strategy to dissociate his image from yours," Gerard noted, raising his shoulders. "Noah isn’t that stupid."

"What are you talking about?"

"Playing dumb, are we? Haven’t you been paying attention to the news lately? Little by little, people are talking more and more about his appearances with Scarlet, and fans are confirming theories that the two of them are together."

You stared at Gerard for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

"He hasn’t denied a single one of them," he continued. "In fact, he thought it was a good idea that his name is now being tied to someone less... well, you know."

"How can you be so pathetic?" you countered. "Noah doesn’t have all his wits about him, but a PR romance..."

Your words died in your throat when you glanced across the reception and saw the girl with voluminous red hair approaching the room’s entrance.

"He’s desperate to put an end to you..." Gerard continued. "Are you going to say it’s a lie?"

No.

You weren’t going to say it was a lie.

Not after what you’d heard at the studio.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Some sticky sweet frat!rafe x sorority!reader smut for day 21! Coming Tomorrow 💕🩷

+18 unedited sneak peek

“Rafe!” You hear someone yell for him across the room. Someone calls your name quickly after. Rafe ignores it, letting his lips brush against your neck, nuzzling his beautiful face closer to take in your sweet perfume.

“You’re the prettiest girl here, you know that,” he mumbles. You let out a breathy giggle, which only excites him more; Rafe pulls you closer, pressing a kiss against your neck, making your head fall slightly, hoping he’ll do it again. “Fuck you look good, sweetheart.”

“Rafe!” They try again. The two of you look out into the living room at a group of friends gathered around. One of the girls drains the rest of the bottle of champagne, dumping it upside down to show that it’s empty.

“Come on! We’re playing spin the bottle,” your friend sings, giving the two of you a come hither motion.

Rafe leans back, letting out a low laugh. His smile is slow and wicked, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Spin the bottle?” He quips. “What is this, middle school?”

”Come on,” she gripes. “Have a little fun.”

You stand up off the couch. Rafe throws his head back with a light, frustrated laugh, knowing he could get a kiss regardless—the two of you seconds away from sealing the deal. He returns his eyes to your body, his feet trailing from the toe of your heels up your legs, roaming up your thighs, lingering on your hips and your waist before getting lost on your tits. “Rafe,” you giggle, and he lifts his lust-hazed eyes to yours.

“Yeah, Baby?” He asks, so shamelessly checking you out you didn’t even need to bring it up. ”Did I tell you you look stunning tonight?” He asks dreamily. You throw your gaze away for a moment, smiling dizzily before returning your eyes to his.

“Not yet-”

”Liar,” he stops you with a laugh, his deep voice making you swoon. Rafe’s lips tug at the corner, his smirk almost predatory as he stares at you. “You know no one’s kissin’ you but me, right?”

You reach your hand out, and he rises to his feet. He pulls you in again, making you gasp as from his heavy hand on your body, his lips impossibly close to yours. “You’re not kissing anyone else but me, Rafe,” you whisper.

“Mhmm…” He wets his lip and smiles. “That’s my girl.”

It’s taking everything inside you to keep from rising on your tippy toes, claiming his lips in that moment. That little title is doing nothing but making it much harder to wait.

[gingerale14]

2, 9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, skipping 17 because you probably have an uncountable list of answers to that one, 18, 21, 25, 28, 29, 33, 35, 37, 40, 41 (because you’re probably definitely playing some CD and I’d like to know which), 42, 43, 44, 46, 47, 48 (most important question here), 49 (maybe too serious compared to the rest but whatever. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to), and sure why not throw 50 in as well

alright this is gonna take a while

2. I've asked myself this question a lot. I think I'd like to live in a city, but not directly inside it, but not in the suburbs. That doesn't leave me many options, I know. I think it's more dependent on what stage of my life I'm in. I think I'd like to be in larger city for the earlier part of my life, but towards the end especially past 40, I'd like to move out somewhere less urban, and probably out west somewhere. My dream is to retire in Santa Fe, so that's probably where I'll end up. Though semi-rural Northeast isn't bad either, I love Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

9. Kinda hard, I don't really have one that comes to mind. I have a really nice pair of Aeropostale jeans that are super worn in and soft, they're a classic. My dad's old hiking pants that I've taken, we've searched for years for pants that as good as those and have never found any, it's a discontinued model too. My highschool letterman jacket is my favorite thing to wear around the house in the winter. My red crocs are a classic. Maybe certain pajama shirts. Merino wool hiking socks (the SmartWool ones).

10. I fucking love my name. It's extremely well balanced. It's exotic to white people, but it's common enough back in India that I can run into it in the wild, which is always fun. One vowel in my name is an "e" instead of the conventional "a", which means my name is completely unique. I've seen my name in many many places but never with my spelling. I think I have a baller set of initials. If I had a middle name it would ruin it, so glad I don't. 7 letters in the first name, 5 in the last, 13 overall. Delicious. Last name starts with A so I'm comfortably in the front of most lists. I'm super super proud of my name and I would never change it. Maybe if I get married I'd conjoin my last name to hers with a hyphen, but even then mine would have to come first because I refuse to lose my beginning of the alphabet privileges. Honestly, I wouldn't even want her to change her name.

11. I've had various mentors over the years. My mom and dad obviously. My older cousin for more juvenile stuff. My uncle (her dad) was a huge mentor for me when I was in middle and highschool, especially in academic stuff. One cheating scandal and messy divorce later, I'm not too keen on taking other advice from him. But probably my strongest mentor/role model is my highschool history teacher, Mr. Reynolds. I love that man and I aspire to be like him. Strongest moral backbone I've ever seen, understand people and children like no other, his impact on my life cannot be understated.

13. I actually sleep pretty well once I fall asleep. There was a point about a month ago where I kept waking up in the night, especially at like 5:00 am, but I sleep deprived myself to the point where I started sleeping like a log again lol.

14. You didn't ask but I like this question. Yes. Till the day I day, till the clocks stop ticking, till the sun explodes. I love love.

15. From the four classical elements, I think I'm earth, though I'd love to be air or water. From the periodic table I'm not as sure. Maybe I'm tin or bromine.

17. my list isn't huge, it's just too personal. but short answer is yes. not as many people as you'd think, maybe only like 2 or 3. even the ones i miss i don't miss super intensely. the feeling of "missing people" isn't one that I feel like I've felt super intensely in my life.

18. I remember one of my first-ever sleepover's it was in 1st grade at my friend Juan Manuel's house. I was laying down in his bed in the dark and we were both kinda scared for some reason, and all of a sudden he screams "GHOST!" and I jump out of bed, run to the door, open it, and just stand there panting as his parents come running lol.

21. I don't know what one thing I'm most thankful for. There are a lot of things and I can't really recall them on command. For now, let's just say I'm thankful for the spirit of perseverance, for my inherent sense of curiosity, and for all the wonderful people in my life who have given me so many opportunities to succeed, and the drive in me that keeps me sojourning forward .

25. I don't have a prefernece for one or the other really. I like how consistent pencil writing is, but it obviously needs a quality eraser. Pens are wildly inconsistent, but a solid pen is a real pleasure to write with. I mostly use pen nowadays though.

28. I'm extremely unconcerned with my legacy. I want the people who are in my life while I'm living to enjoy my presence and care about me. I want to live a life that makes me happy and content. I want to maybe leave behind some physical, tangible thing that will last long after my death. It can be as trivial as a park bench. But that's enough. I really don't care about what happens after death or about any post-death legacy. I'll be dead! I'll have bigger things to do lmao.

29. Actually I hate reading I think all books are evil and should be burned muahahahah. I haven't read much recently, I need to pick something up for the break, I haven't read in ages. Or seen a movie. My life has been shit recently.

33. I got lots, so here's one. Old Spice Bearglove and the smell of mildew immediately remind me of the happiest time of my life, CTY summer camp in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I can't use Bearglove for anything now because I don't want to ruin my memory association with it.

35. If money was not a factor? Oh brother. I'd do everything. Everything. I'd visit everything, experience everything, buy everything, eat everything, see everything, do everything. I feel like it doesn't get communicated across in my personality a lot but the breadth of my interests is massive. I can find something that fascinates me in every field, every industry, every niche, every thing in the world. The scope I'm imagining right now is so massive I don't even know how to put it into words. I'd simply try to experience every possible thing there is to experience, no matter how exotic or mundane. And after a couple years of doing that I'd spend a couple years just hiking and camping. Then I'd buy a nice little place in Santa Fe, a nice little place in New England, and I'd switch between the two as the seasons change. I'd spend the rest of my days reading, watching movies, eating good food, drinking beer, and curling up on a couch with my wife. Oh yeah the time I spend doing everything will probably be doubled because we'll have to satisfy all of my wife's interests, curiosities too. Cause I love her hehe

37. Put it in my wallet and forget about it. That's the realistic answer. Maybe use it for something off of craigslist lol

40. I actually do want tattoos. One of the one's I really want is a skeleton of an Allosaurus in a death pose, I'd get it on my right shoulder but big, like almost big enough to be a sleeve. I also want a tattoo of my favorite little guy that I like to doodle whenever I'm doing a test or writing something. I'd want him on the crook of my forearm so I could see him when I'm writing something on paper.

41. Mmm i don't know when you asked this, but I was probably either listening to Sade's Greatest Hits, Can't Buy a Thrill by Steely Dan, or Kenny G's Greatest Hits. But I'm home now, so all I can hear is my clock ticking on my desk, the exhaust running in the kitchen, and the voices of the guests in the dining room.

42. I don't really know where I feel safest? I don't think that's a feeling I track very often lmao. Maybe my favorite family farm in India, or my hazy yet golden memories of my cousin's old house in Toronto.

43. I don't have an answer for this question that isn't too depressing.

44. The 90s, dude. Chill ass time period, I would love to have lived in a time where there was genuine optimism and happiness for the future and people felt good about their lives. Any further back than that and we run into the racism problem.

46. Not summer, fuck summer. Not spring, not much there. Fall is nice, but not in Texas. Gotta be Winter. Cold, austere, beautiful, but everything indoors becomes 200% cozier. Texas becomes bearable at points in the winter.

47. Hard to say for sure. No electronics at all. Wake up at a good time, make my own breakfast, go for a long walk, eat lunch out somewhere, visit something in the city—a store or a museum or something—come home and shower, curl up with a good book in front of a fire, make and eat a nice dinner, watch a movie, go to bed.

48. There

48.5: Describe myself using one quote. This was assigned to me by a teacher I really loved and respected in high school.

"I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman

49. I regret a lot of things. The things I did on my 18th birthday is definitely up there. The other thing I did that summer is also on that list. Not gonna expound on those. Also the general state of my life, and my mental health and my procrastination and all the side effects it's had. So 18th birthday, other thing, and every mistake of the past 4.5 years. That's the list.

50. I suck at inventing words. The only word I've ever invented is "pulpate." It describes the way a really fat caterpillar moves. It pulpates forward. I fucking hate caterpillars.

[loverangels]

enchanted

pairings: timothee chalamet x female reader

synopsis: your celebrity crush reveals his admiration for you and you can't help but tease him for it in your run in on the met gala

It was supposed to be a quiet day on set. Your latest project had been keeping you busy, and today was no different—costume fittings, script run-throughs, and a few late takes. The steady hum of activity kept you focused, but when you returned to your trailer for a break, your phone was blowing up.

Texts from friends, a slew of Instagram notifications, and several unread emails. Confused, you opened one from your manager, the subject line simply reading: You’ll want to see this.

It was a clip.

Timothée Chalamet, sitting comfortably on a late-night talk show, was in the middle of one of his now-infamous animated interviews. His laughter filled the screen, infectious and boyish, and for a brief moment, you smiled, charmed by him like everyone else.

But then the question came.

"So, Timothée, who’s your celebrity crush?"

The audience whooped, the host leaned in with a knowing grin, and Timothée, trying to play it cool, gave a little shrug.

He hesitated, his fingers running through his tousled curls in that effortless way only he could pull off. And then, with a tiny, almost bashful smile, he said your name.

Your actual name.

You froze.

The host’s mouth fell open, clearly not expecting it. "Really? Her?"

Timothée’s cheeks flushed pink, but he nodded. "Yeah, I mean, she’s incredible. Just ridiculously talented, you know? And beautiful, obviously. But she just seems..." He trailed off, his hands moving as if to grab the words out of the air. "...Like, really cool. Smart. Genuine. I don’t know, there’s something about her."

You watched the clip in stunned silence, replaying it again. And again. And again.

The internet was already in flames. Tweets, TikToks, and Instagram edits were flooding your notifications. Fans were losing their minds. You didn’t even have time to process how you felt about it.

---

A Week Later: The Met Gala

The Met Gala red carpet was chaos in the best way. Flashing cameras, booming voices, and the rush of silk, sequins, and couture gowns swept around you. You moved down the carpet like you’d done a hundred times before—posing for photos, answering questions, and offering polite smiles to everyone who crossed your path.

But tonight was different. You could feel it.

The buzz in the air, the way reporters whispered to each other before approaching you. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

“Has Timothée seen you yet?” a cheeky journalist asked as you posed, their microphone in your face.

You laughed it off, tilting your head. "I have no idea," you replied, trying to keep your voice light. "But I think that’s the question of the night, huh?"

You moved on quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. The thought of running into him tonight had lingered in the back of your mind all week, but now, as the moment seemed to inch closer, the reality of it hit you.

And then it happened.

You felt it before you saw him—the weight of his gaze. Turning slightly, your eyes met his, and everything else seemed to blur out of focus.

He looked... breathtaking. A perfectly tailored avant-garde suit hugged his lean frame, the kind only he could make look effortlessly cool. His hair was swept back just enough to still be messy, and his lips curled into a soft, almost shy smile as he walked toward you.

The cameras went berserk.

He stopped just a foot away, his eyes never leaving yours. "Hey," he said, his voice low and familiar, as though you weren’t surrounded by hundreds of people and a sea of flashing lights.

"Hey," you replied, your throat suddenly dry.

He hesitated, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around. "So... I feel like I should apologize."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips tugging into a smile. "For what?"

"For accidentally turning your life into a circus," he said, his grin sheepish, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through your nerves. "It’s fine. If anything, you gave my publicist a new hobby. Crisis management is her favorite thing."

His laugh was boyish and genuine, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

"You really do look amazing," he said after a beat, his voice softer now. His eyes traced the intricate details of your gown like he wanted to memorize it.

"So do you," you replied, and then, feeling a little bold, you added, "Though I guess you don’t need me to tell you that."

He chuckled, shifting slightly closer. "Not true. Compliments mean a lot more when they’re coming from you."

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you were thankful for the dimmed lights that kept the moment from feeling too exposed.

Before either of you could say more, a handler appeared at Timothée’s side, gently reminding him he had to finish the carpet.

He glanced at them, then back at you, clearly reluctant to leave. "Guess I’ll see you inside?"

"Maybe," you teased.

As he turned to go, he shot you one last look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite name. Excitement, maybe. Or curiosity.

And as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 62

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 59, part 60, part 61

the first part takes place somewhere between parts part 37 and part 39, the second part takes place during part 40, and the last part takes place sometime between part 40 and part 41.

“No, no, no,” Steve complains as the radio just keeps talking. He had switched it to the game while he was making dinner, seeing if it was anything worth watching. “Come on.”

Considering how bad they were losing, it might give him more stress to watch it happen.

“Something goin’ on,” Wayne asks, rummaging around the fridge to find something to eat before going to work.

“Nothing serious. Just a bunch of idiots who can’t seem to actually score anything good.”

“Listening to the game?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Might just turn it off, it’s pissing me off.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. I normally listen to the game on my way to work, find myself turning it off when I can’t take it anymore.”

He turns to stir the stir fry he was making in the pan. Lowering the heat so it doesn’t burn. “If there’s nothing good in the fridge, you can have some of this. I made too much for myself anyway.”

“Thanks.” Wayne grabs a bowl. “If it won’t piss you off too much, we could go and watch some of the game before I have to leave.”

Something in that makes Steve freeze for a moment. No one ever offers to watch the games with him. Nancy would sometimes, back when they were dating, but was never really into it. Back when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, they would sneak off halfway through. And just the mere mention of watching it now makes Robin gag, and Dustin roll his eyes.

The only person he can remember watching it with was once with his dad. He was seven and his dad called him into the living room, made him sit down. Asked somewhere between the fifth and sixth inning if Steve ever wanted to play. He knew, then, that if he did, it would make his dad proud. He said yes.

He never liked playing baseball as much as watching it, though. He switched to basketball and swimming in middle school, played that the rest of the way through high school. But that moment was one of the only nice memories he had of his dad.

“Yeah,” he says. Trying to play off whatever he was feeling. “That would be nice.”

Wayne walks away, waiting for Steve as he searches for the channel on the TV. Steve sits down on the other end of the couch. Watching the train wreck of a game, but that’s not what he was focusing on anymore.

It’s stupid, he knows. But somewhere, right now, that hole in his chest fills a little bit. For a moment he can pretend that he’s seven years old again, watching the game with his dad. It’s better this time, though. Now it’s with someone who cares.

“If you ever wanted to make this a little sweeter, a small bit of honey goes a long way,” Wayne offers during a commercial break.

“Really.”

Wayne nods. “Just a little bit, don’t need to go wasting it. But it just adds a little more flavor to it.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

. . .

Steve’s out in the garage when he hears it. Someone in the house calling out his name. The closer he gets, the more distressed it sounds. He tries to remain calm as he finds who it is, but the panic is there.

And then he realizes that it’s Dustin, and everything starts to crumble.

“Dustin,” he says, trying to mask the panic in his voice.

Dustin’s just standing there in the hall, tears streaming down his face. He opens his mouth to try to say something, but all that comes out is a sob. His knees buckle and Steve rushes forward to catch him.

“What’s wrong,” the panic asks. “Are you hurt?”

“You—” is all Dustin says, the words broken off with another sob.

Steve holds him upright and brings him to the living room. Gets him to sit down, calm down. When he starts to breath less frantically, Steve leaves to go get some water from the kitchen. He finds Dustin’s backpack, the radio inside going off like crazy.

“Dustin,” Mike’s voice cracks through. “Dustin, do you copy?”

He finds the walkie. “It’s Steve, he’s at my place.”

“Oh thank God. He just ran off; we didn’t know where he went.”

“Is he ok,” Lucas speaks over Mike to ask.

“Doesn’t look like he’s injured, I’m pretty sure he had a panic attack, though. I’m making sure he’s ok.”

“Ok. Thanks, Steve.”

He returns to the living room, finally gets Dustin to tell him what happened. All of this started because Steve wasn’t at work. Because he called out. The panic on his face says something different, though. Something deeper.

“Dustin, talk to me,” he tries to coax. “What’s going on?”

“No one tell me anything,” Dustin practically yells. “I have to find out everything from someone else, or days, or weeks later. I never get told anything by the person themselves. I’m always the last to know.”

“Dustin—” Steve tries to explain.

Dustin doesn’t let him, though. “No. I’m tired of the excuses. I’m tired of you saying that it’s not my thing to worry about. Because I do. No matter how hard you think you shield me from it, I worry about it. Every day I wake up and wonder if your head is killing you. If when I see you later, you’re going to be how you were before, or a ghost of yourself. If I’m going to look at you push yourself for my betterment. When I know that you’re in pain.”

Stupidly, Steve thought he was hiding it well enough. There was that little bit Dustin saw last week, but that was a one-time thing. He didn’t need to know more; he didn’t need to worry about Steve.

“You’re like a brother to me, Steve. You’re family. I don’t know why you think you can just get away with hiding this from me, but you can’t. Because I love you and all I’m asking is to know what is going on with you. Is that such a big thing to ask?”

Brother, family. Hearing those from Dustin hits Steve harder than he thought they would. Because, deep down, he knew that. He knew that him and Dustin were close, and that they acted like brothers would. There was just that voice in his head that told him it was all fake. That Steve couldn’t really mean that much to Dustin, not when he had a family of his own.

Steve pulls Dustin into a hug, holding him closer than he needs to. But really, he does need to. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s a start. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

. . .

Steve shoots out of his sleep, sitting upright. Breaths leaving his lungs faster than he can suck them in. Heart beating so fast, it could run right out of his chest.

A trembling hand reaches out to click the lamp on his bedside. Three things. The swim trophy he won in his senior year. The picture of the party on his desk. His overflowing laundry basket. All things that can’t be in that place. They are all too new.

He wasn’t there. He was home.

In for four, out for eight. Until his breathing slows, his heart calms. The jittering comes to a steady pace. He won’t be able to go back to sleep. But he’s at least not panicking.

Well, not as much as he was.

Because he needs to do something, he stands and grabs the laundry. Takes it to the laundry room and throws it in. Stops to go and change his clothes, before shoving them in the washer too. It isn’t enough.

He heads to the kitchen, pulls out a book and opens the dog-eared page. Begins a recipe that he probably knew by heart by now, but needs to read. Because the steps, the simplicity, the method, it was calming in a way he couldn’t voice.

Robin was the first person Steve ever baked with. She had come over one day back in the summer complaining that her mom was trying this new health trend, and refused to buy any chocolate chips. And well, since he had an empty house, and at that point a hefty food budget from his parents, he offered to get the stuff to make it.

At first, they used the recipe on the back of the bag. Spent most of the time laughing, and spilling half the ingredients on the floor. He didn’t care. It was the first time that the house felt alive again.

What he didn’t realize, then, was how calming baking could be. How following a recipe precisely could calm nerves. Place the fear into something productive, and give it away. Steve didn’t make much, sometimes he would stray from the simple recipe, but nothing brough comfort like homemade chocolate chip cookies. Nothing reminded him how much he wasn’t alone.  

“We have to stop meeting like this, Steve,” Eddie’s voice echoes through the kitchen. He walks over to the island, taking a seat. “What will the town say?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t care for what the town says about me anymore.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, thinking that Steve doesn’t notice. He does. It was painfully obvious, but Steve didn’t care. It’s been so long that someone stared at him for who he is, instead of who they want him to be. The look made Steve feel alive, in a way, like he was still capable of something.

And really, if Steve wanted to push, it could mean that the ignited heat that traveled with each stare might lead to something. Because, if his peripheral wasn’t fooling him, Eddie looked at him with such adoration it made Steve simultaneously melt and feel like a phony. How someone as amazing as Eddie looked at him like that, he didn’t know. But he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

“What are you making,” Eddie asks as Steve cracks the second egg into the bowl.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

Eddie hums. “Didn’t take you as much of a baker. Especially a midnight baker. There’s a backstory to that one, I’m sure. Let me see.”

He does this thing, sometimes, where he just goes off on a tangent of one thought melding together with the next. Creative thoughts stringing together in one story, much larger than it needs to be. Steve likes listening to it, though. It’s kinda cute.

“So either,” Eddie continues, “you are so ashamed of your secret love for baking that you only allow yourself to partake in such activities in the dead of night. Or. You are secretly a night owl, which is why you are so perky in the morning. You’ve already been up for hours, and are not tired.”

He laughs. “I’m not that perky in the mornings.”

“If you smile at me before eight am, that therefore makes you perky.”

“Maybe I just like smiling at you. Ever think of that?” He looks at Eddie when he says that. Sees the teasing smile turn into shock. Unexpected shock, but not unpleasant.

Steve’s reckless with his feelings sometimes. It makes him say things like that. Makes that beating of his heart come back. But instead of fear, it pumps him full of something else. Something terrified him in a way he was comfortable with.

And it meant that Eddie looked at him like that, and let Steve know it. It made Steve think that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t crazy for this. He hasn’t lost his mind. He isn’t making a stupid mistake. He might just be making the right decision for once.

The oven beeps that it’s done preheating, breaking Steve away. He hopes that it doesn’t mean Eddie does too.

“How’d I do,” Eddie asks as Steve starts to place cookies on the sheet pan. “With my guesses.”

“Not entirely wrong, I am up for longer than you think I am, sometimes. But not because I’m secret night owl.”

Eddie reaches out and steals the spatula. Hesitating for a moment to see if Steve would stop him. He doesn’t. “Why then?”

“Nightmares.”

The room falls to silence except for the clicking of the scoop.

Steve sighs. “When I get a bad one, I need to do something to get my mind off it. If it’s light out, I go for a run, or a drive. If it’s night, I bake. Sometimes I clean, but that never really helps as much as baking does. Not sure why that sticks so much.”

“I get it,” Eddie almost whispers as Steve slides the cookies into the oven. “Before, when my hands didn’t actively hate me, if I couldn’t sleep, I would play something on my acoustic. It helped calm me down. Playing songs I knew by heart, feeling the motions of my hand playing the notes, it was the most calm I ever felt.”

He wishes he was there to watch Eddie play. He could only hear it, just slightly able to differentiate the live playing from the recording. Steve can imagine what he looked like, but he wished he didn’t have to.

“You’re going to be able to play again, you know.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but he really believes it. “With your determination, I think you could do anything.”

Eddie scoffs, rich in pain. “I wish I was as optimistic as you are.”

“Just because you think that it won’t ever happen again, doesn’t mean it won’t. That pool out there, I haven’t been able to fill it for two years. Something happened in there that made me never want to fill it again. But I did. And maybe when I stop thinking something’s going to pull me into another dimension, I’ll be able to swim in it again.” He turns to look out the kitchen window, seeing the moonlight reflect on the water. “I used to love to swim.”

He did. Before the upside down, when it was just a normal life that were giving him problems, he would swim lap after lap. Until his muscles were sore and his body still felt the waves of the water even when on land. Each time his arm crashed into the water, his frustrations melted away.

“Maybe both of us could find a way to love what we used to again,” Steve finishes.

He turns back to look at Eddie, seeing a mix of emotions in his face. The thing that stands out the most is the want to believe him. The want to believe that the weakness in his hands won’t stop him from playing again. That somewhere in the future, it could be possible to.

Steve really believes that it’s possible. It will just take time. Far too much time, creating nothing but frustration and anger. But it is possible. He believes that. And maybe, just maybe, if Steve could still be lucky enough to have Eddie in his life, he could witness it happen.

If the secondary look that Eddie’s giving him is any solace that what Steve feels isn’t one sided, maybe it could guarantee that. Maybe, if Steve could find the words and tell him, or lean forward and just take a chance, he could see if it’s possible.

The timer beeps, breaking whatever moment they had. It’s for the best, really. Steve can’t lose a friendship over the possibility of maybe. He’s lost too much already to that.

apparently my goal when writing this is how much I can make myself cry, because that bit with Wayne and Dustin definitely got me there

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[icycoldninja]

FLUFFCEMBER DAY#21: (Idia x Reader)

Save me

Oh man.

Oh man.

What were you thinking? What kind of delusional high were you on when you asked Idia to come with you to a friend's Christmas gathering? You should have known better, especially since that friend of yours had promised a "fun" "wild" party with loud music and lots of people. Seriously, that description alone should have told you this place was not for Idia, not at all. You had to have been drunk when you begged him to come with you, that's the only answer that doesn't destroy your confidence in your own intelligence.

"Where are you?" You mumbled, mostly to yourself. Half of you hoped he would hear you and emerge from the crowd of chattering bodies; the other half was sure he wouldn't. Why would he? He was probably terrified out of his mind, lurking in the corner curled up in the fetal position and crying. Even if he caught sight of you maneuvering through the room, he likely wouldn't have the courage to leave his hiding place.

"Idia?" You shouted in vain, the booming beats of a vaguely familiar EDM track drowning out your words. The subwoofers continued barking; the bass vibrated in the floorboards beneath your very feet. "Idia! Can you hear me?"

A woman standing next to you who was tipsy on spiked punch heard your cries and turned around to ask you if anything was wrong.

"I'm looking for my friend," You told her, hoping she wasn't too drunk to help you. "He's about this tall, kinda pale, got pointy shark teeth, and has bright blue hair that looks like it's made of fire--well it is, but most people don't believe us when we tell them that--and he's got a big jacket on. Have you seen him?"

The woman gaped at you for five whole seconds before slowly shaking her head and making her way back to the punch table.

"Well, she was no help," You grumbled bitterly, continuing to push through the congregation of swaying people, squinting into the neon-illuminated darkness, looking for any signs of your partner. You debated calling his name again, and after a few moments of internal discussion, decided against it since it was pointless, and kept searching quietly. Then you caught sight of a flicker of bright blue that glowed like eerie fire from a ghostly candle, the kind you normally only find sitting around in Halloween.

"Idia, there you are!" You couldn't help but hiss, as you bounded over to the source of the flickering blue flames. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the floor, his nose buried in not a book, but a glowing game console, his pale skin given a sickly glow by the white-appearing bluelight. He didn't notice you approaching him at all, not until you knelt down and gently flicked his forehead.

"Oh, hey," He droned emotionlessly. "Nice of you to come visit me." His words were dripping with sarcasm, a fact proven in the little eyeroll he gave you before returning to his game.

"Now stop that," You began, before catching yourself and realizing how nagging you were beginning to sound. "Look...uhh.." You found yourself scratching your head, unsure of how to proceed. "I'm sorry, for dragging you here. I really shouldn't have asked you to come, but I see now that this was a mistake, and--hey, are you listening to me?"

Judging from the vacant, almost lifeless expression in Idia's eyes, no, he wasn't.

Blowing out an irritated sigh, you placed your hands on your hips and began pacing back and forth in front of him, trying to work out a plan of action. You could try to drag him away, but he looked pretty comfortable in that spot, and since his fingers were mashing buttons like crazy, he was in the middle of something so important, he might get mad if you interrupted him. Then again...he was so invested in his game, he might not even notice you pulling him away until you were already back home. Oh, what to do, what to do?

"Save me already, what are you waiting for?" Idia suddenly mumbled, though it was unclear whether he was talking to the game or you. You decided to seize the opportunity, blame it on miscommunications if he got upset, grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him towards the exit. Surprisingly, no one noticed the unusually tall, pale man with flaming blue hair who was swearing at his game console while literally being towed to the door. Ah well, it's all for the best.

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I'm gonna be honest at this point we deserve for them to make Buddie friends-to-fiancés like yeah we missed out on canon with the shooting and season five and who even knows what the fuck was going on in season six we're like three seasons behind now chop chop just skip it all and have Eddie desperately propose in the rain. I need it. It would cure me. More importantly it would be the most in-character way you could possibly get these codependent desperately abnormal idiots together.