#and that ending was completely underwhelming

[littledykeblue]

(𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏/𝟒: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑)

──𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 (𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖);

(drummer!sevika x reader): your friend invites you to see a band you have no interest in. that is, until you see the sexy drummer.

wc: 8.9k | cw: drummer!sevika, new fan!reader, dom top!sevika, bottom!reader, oral sex (r! & s!receiving), biting, scratching, hair-pulling, mating press, doggy style, a little spanking, strap-on usage, pet names: doll & baby, blink & you'll miss it dry humping, MINORS DNI.

note: this is part one of four in a mini-series i'm going to put out! the others will be vi, caitlyn & jinx aka the rest of the band. hope you enjoy this first installment!

It's pure chance that you end up standing outside in line to see a band you know next to nothing about. Your friend, Raven, just so happens to work at a pretty popular music venue, and she takes turns offering your whole friend group free tickets. Usually, you only cash in for bands you already like. No need to spend a whole night primping and standing in a sea of sweaty strangers just to be underwhelmed.

But this time, Raven insists. Says you'll want to go. If not for the music, then for the spectacular eye candy.

You ask her for the band’s info, figuring a quick scroll through their Instagram will be enough to decide whether it’s worth the effort.

Hotwired.

Cool name, at least. You pull up their page and immediately wonder how you’ve made it this far in life without even hearing about them. Every single member? A complete knockout. It's almost suspicious.

You don’t even mean to, but soon you’re moving over to Google. Once you manage to collect yourself and pick your jaw up off the floor, that is. It’s immediately clear they’ve got a loyal (and horny as hell) fanbase, made up mostly of women who are deep in the trenches.

Jinx does lead vocals. She looks like an edgy punk fantasy brought to life, all smeared eyeliner and that permanent shit-eating grin. Her scandal list reads like a greatest hits album: breaking paparazzi cameras, getting banned from festivals, allegedly attending an orgy or two. That last one may or may not have been debunked, but nobody really cares.

Then there's Vi, the guitarist, and easily the one with the sluttiest internet presence. Just from surface-level scrolling, you can tell the girl’s allergic to shirts and addicted to sticking her tongue out in literally every picture. You kind of get it. If you had a tongue piercing, you’d show it off too.

C.K.’s their bassist and easily the most mysterious. She’s always wearing a mask in every photo, and there are entire threads dedicated to speculating who she really is or why she never shows her face. She's got basically zero solo content. No interviews, no side accounts. The only time you ever see her is through blurry crowd pics or carefully curated shots on the band’s main page.

But the one who really stops you in your tracks is the drummer. Sevika. She’s clearly the oldest in the group and by enough that it’s become part of her brand. If you had a dollar for every time someone called her “mommy,” you could quit your job and live off the passive income.

It doesn't take long before you’re deep in her personal pages, scrolling through photo after photo, each one somehow hotter than the last. If you had to pick favorites, you’d be stuck between a pic of her holding some grinning girl in a headlock (because you wish that was you) or a candid shot of her half-sprawled on the tour bus couch, shirt rucked up just enough to show a hint of stomach and whatever tattoo’s inked there. It causes a delusional fantasy of seeing the tattoo in full, up close and personal.

If you weren’t sold before, you definitely are now. It’s only after you’ve been scrolling for the better part of an hour that it occurs to you: maybe you should actually listen to some of their music. Just to be sure. After all, no amount of raw sexual magnetism is worth two hours of garbage sound at floor-shaking volume.

Hotwired sounds exactly how you expected them to sound: fast, loud, and chock-full of debauchery. Beautiful.

Just like that, you’re hooked. Fully on board. You start counting down the days like it’s Christmas, and somehow, each one drags slower than the last, like time itself is conspiring against you. You keep yourself sane by cycling through outfit options and FaceTiming Raven late at night to workshop looks and lock in the plan. She promises she’ll make sure you get the real experience, not just general admission hell.

Eventually, Saturday rolls around.

You show up to the venue with your makeup sharp and your outfit toeing the line of try-hard, feet already bouncing from nerves and excitement. The line out front snakes down the block, full of people in ripped fishnets and smeared eyeliner, all buzzing with the kind of feral energy that comes from knowing you might lock eyes with your parasocial crush for two seconds if you stand in the right spot.

Right on cue, the Hotwired tour bus rolls past, slow enough to make you wonder if the band's inside looking back at all of you, too. It's blacked out with a massive decal stretching across one side: a grimy chrome version of their logo with electric blue slashes through it, like claw marks.

The second it passes, the crowd screams like it’s the second coming of Christ. You can't lie—you want to scream a little, too.

Then the front doors crack open and Raven steps out, scanning the crowd. She spots you almost instantly, waving you over. You push through the line, ignoring the side-eyes and muttered complaints, until you’re at the front. The bouncer squints down at you, arms folded like he’s about to be a problem, but Raven just gives him a pointed look and a playful nudge.

“Come on, Jakey,” she says, all syrupy. “You know she’s with me.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “One of these days, Rae…”

“And it still won’t be today,” she cuts in, already grabbing your wrist and pulling you past him. He lets you both through without another word.

Inside, the venue is way cooler than you expected. It’s grungy in that on purpose way, walls covered in layered gig posters, old stickers, and marker-scrawled graffiti.

The stage is low and intimate, set against a wall of distorted LED panels, and the ceiling is just high enough to make you feel like the place might implode if the mosh gets too wild. The lighting is red-tinted and low, and the air already smells like cheap beer and heat.

You both make a beeline for the bar, down a quick drink that tastes like battery acid and sugar, and then squeeze your way up through the crowd until you’re right at the barricade. Prime real estate. Raven beams at you, smug as hell.

“God, I cannot wait,” you say, adjusting your top and already scanning the stage for signs of movement. “I'm probably going to come as soon as the first shirt comes off.”

"I wouldn't be too worried," Raven answers, grinning. "The same thing will probably happen to fifty other girls. Me included."

"I seriously can't believe you've been gatekeeping them from me. Bad friend." You shake your head in mock disappointment.

Raven nudges your shoulder with her own. "Don't be like that," she says, "you're the one who refuses to listen to anything new. It's like pulling teeth with you."

"Fair."

"But, let's not ignore the fact that I've got us in the splash zone," she says, jerking her head up towards the stage. "There's no better spot to get the band's sweat flung on you. Plus, you're much more likely to get shit thrown to you."

You throw your arm around her shoulder and grin. "You are the best."

Soon enough, the lights dip a little lower and a trio of guys jog out onstage. The crowd cheers, not as loud, but still excited. The opener's called Time Killers—some high-energy, slightly chaotic boy band with a surprisingly tight sound.

They don’t waste too much time introducing themselves, just launch into a fast-paced set full of pounding drums and catchy guitar riffs. They’re not the main event, but they do a damn good job of loosening up the crowd, bouncing around the stage, shouting into the mic between songs, cracking jokes about Hotwired being backstage drinking half the rider.

By the time their set wraps up, everyone’s a little sweaty, hyped, and more than ready for the main act.

The moment the lights dim again, the energy in the room spikes. There’s a shift in the crowd, a low wave of buzzing conversation, giggling, camera flashes, the rustle of people scrambling to get their phones out. You can hear the name Hotwired murmured like a prayer, over and over.

They don’t make a big entrance. No theatrical intro or pyrotechnics. The girls just start filtering onto the stage like they own it, which, based on the screams that immediately follow, they absolutely do.

You spot Jinx first, bouncing out like she’s been shot out of a cannon, grinning wide and immediately flipping off the crowd. Then Vi, strutting in all pink hair and tank top and shoulder muscles, throwing up a peace sign and mouthing something probably filthy to someone in the second row. Caitlyn walks on like a ghost, calm and unreadable behind that signature mask, bass slung across her back.

And then there’s Sevika.

She stalks. Head down, focused, with a thick cable slung over one shoulder and a case of hardware in her grip like it weighs nothing. She moves through the dim lighting like she’s been doing this forever, every motion efficient, practiced, precise. There’s something about the way she pauses to check the rigging on her kit, nodding once to herself before moving on to the next thing, that makes your stomach swoop. You can tell she’s the kind of person who doesn’t leave anything half done.

And then there’s the outfit.

She’s wearing a cropped black vest that clings to her chest and cuts off just under her ribs, exposing toned abs and a stretch of skin that shows more of that dark ink winding up her side. Tight black jeans hug her hips and thighs in a way that should be illegal, chains swaying at her sides with every step.

Her arms are bare, heavy with muscle and shining a little under the stage lights from sweat or moisture. Silver rings gleam on her fingers, and there’s a low-hanging necklace tucked just under her collarbone. Her drumsticks are shoved into her back pocket, and when she turns—Jesus fucking Christ—you catch a full view of her ass and have to actively fight the urge to grab the barricade for support.

"Pretty sure I just came,” you murmur, staring like you’ve forgotten how to blink.

Raven snorts beside you. “Close your mouth. You're drooling.”

You try to. You really do. But it’s hard when Sevika finally finishes setting up, drops into her stool with her legs spread, and starts rolling one stick across her knuckles while the other taps absently against her thigh. She glances out at the crowd, expression unreadable, but something about the way she scans the front row makes you feel like she sees you.

A ridiculous thought that is very fun to entertain.

The moment the final mic is tested and the lights slam to full brightness, Jinx charges to the front of the stage and throws her arms out wide like she’s about to dive into the crowd. The audience erupts—screaming, whistling, people on shoulders, someone in the back launching a glitter cannon that immediately gets sucked into the venue’s weak-ass ventilation system.

“HELL-O, MOTHERFUCKERS!” Jinx shrieks into the mic, voice cracking in a way that somehow makes her even hotter. “Hope you’re ready to get wrecked, because we came here to ruin your night in the best possible way!”

The crowd loses it again, people chanting her name, some already trying to crowd surf. Security looks exhausted and the first song hasn’t even started.

Jinx paces the front edge of the stage like a manic preacher, motioning behind her as she speaks. “You know us already, but we're gonna do introductions anyway because holy shit do we deserve to be screamed at tonight. On lead guitar, is my lovely sister, Vi!”

Vi throws up the horns and leans into her amp, strumming a heavy chord just to flex. The crowd answers with a shriek that nearly drowns out the feedback.

“We've got the ice queen herself on bass...the one and only C.K.!”

Caitlyn lifts her bass one-handed like it weighs nothing, offering the crowd a slow, deliberate bow. Someone near you yells, “Show us your face!” and immediately gets booed into silence.

“And in the back, banging the drums, which I know some of you wish you could be, it’s Sevikaaaaaa!”

You don’t know how Sevika can roll her eyes while still looking like she’s enjoying herself, but she manages. She twirls a stick between her fingers, then throws her arms up once and brings them down hard for a crack of the snare that shudders through your chest.

"And, of course, around here we save the best for last," she says, hopping off the stage and approaching...you. She holds out her hand as if for a handshake and you oblige as quickly as your brain allows you to catch up.

"I'm Jinx! Nice to fucking meet ya!"

Jinx grins and jumps back on the stage, spinning back toward the mic, breathless and grinning. “We’re Hotwired, you’re ours now, and this one’s called ‘Burn the Breaklights.’ Let’s see what you’re made of!”

The guitar tears in first, loud and dirty, then Caitlyn’s bass hits low and deep, and finally Sevika drops into the rhythm like she was built for it. The whole room moves. It's one of the songs you listened to on repeat earlier in the week, so you already know a good bit of the lyrics, already know the moment the beat’s gonna break, already feel your body falling into sync with it.

You and Raven lose yourselves in the moment, dancing like you’ve got something to prove, like the music's a possession. Her hair’s sticking to her face already and you're probably flashing everyone behind you every time you jump, but none of it matters.

Not when Sevika is on stage, muscles flexing with every strike, jaw tight, eyes laser-focused on the set. She looks absolutely lethal. Every time you try to look away, your gaze snaps right back to her. It’s like she’s holding the tempo of your heart along with the song. Every beat, every drop, every filthy crash of the cymbals—it’s her.

And yeah, you're watching the whole band. But you're watching her the most.

The rest of the show barrels forward like a freight train, no breaks, no mercy. Hotwired barely pauses between songs, each one bleeding into the next with sharp edges and screaming vocals, the crowd more than happy to go feral with them. You lose track of the setlist and, honestly, your sense of time somewhere between song four and five, when Raven boosts you up and the crowd takes you.

You float above the chaos for what feels like forever, arms raised, cheeks aching from how hard you're grinning. Hands guide you forward, and for once you don’t care about the potential for bruises or that someone definitely copped a feel on the way down. You land near the barricade again, wild-eyed and breathless, just as Jinx reappears center stage holding a massive water bottle.

She grins like a devil. “Y’all look thirsty,” she purrs, then proceeds to douse the first three rows, including you and Raven. It’s a full-body splash, soaking your shirt and leaving your hair damp.

Raven bursts into laughter, slapping your shoulder and yelling, “Told you the splash zone was real!” while you push wet strands out of your face and try not to melt on the spot.

Things only get weirder from there. Midway through the set, a man in a giant inflatable t-rex costume lumbers out from side stage like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Jinx doesn’t miss a beat—she grabs a mic stand like a weapon and launches into a full-on choreographed battle with him. The t-rex flails, Jinx spins around dramatically, and the crowd eats it up. It ends with her knocking him down (gently), then dropping to one knee and serenading him with what turns out to be a surprisingly heartfelt punk ballad about falling in love during a Godzilla rampage. You laugh so hard your stomach cramps.

Later, they open up the floor for an all-girl pit. Jinx leans into the mic, hair stuck to her face, absolutely unhinged as she screams, “If you see a man in this pit, fuck his shit up!” and the crowd loses it.

You hesitate for half a second before Raven shoves you in with a wicked grin. It’s wild and a little terrifying but weirdly exhilarating. Everyone’s laughing and pushing and grabbing each other’s arms to stay upright, and when someone does spot a guy creeping in from the side, three girls immediately bodycheck him out like it’s a sport.

By the end of the set, your voice is half gone, your limbs feel like rubber, and you know you’ll be sore as hell tomorrow—but you’re still not ready for it to be over.

The lights flare brighter, the stage bathed in reds and purples, and Jinx struts to the edge of the platform with a wicked grin like she’s about to start a riot. Her hair’s stuck to her face, eyeliner smeared to hell, shirt clinging to her body like a second skin. She’s practically glowing with sweat and adrenaline and the kind of manic joy that only comes from setting a crowd on fire for an hour straight.

“This our last one of the night,” she says, breathless and grinning. “But I’m gonna need a few pretty girls up here to help us close it out.”

That’s all it takes. The front row surges forward like a wave, everyone screaming and reaching, girls practically climbing over the barricade in the hopes of being noticed. Jinx motions to the band behind her. “Vi, Sevika. Make sure they're cuties!”

Vi gives a mock salute and hops off the stage, already laughing. Sevika follows, more reserved but clearly amused as her eyes start sweeping through the front row.

They make a whole damn show of it, taking their time, dragging it out, pointing at random girls then shaking their heads like they’re not quite right, just to drive the crowd insane.

You’re crammed up against the barricade, half-smashed by girls on either side trying to crawl over you. One of them elbows you in the ribs and you wince, gripping the rail to stay upright.

Then Sevika’s in front of you.

She’s massive up close, towering and flushed from the heat, vest clinging to her body and dark ink gleaming under the lights. She looks right at you, eyes dragging down once—deliberate, slow—then reaches out and grabs you by the waist like it’s nothing. You barely get a word out before she hauls you up, slinging you over one shoulder like you weigh nothing at all.

The crowd screams.

You catch a brief flash of another girl being thrown over Sevika’s other shoulder, but you can’t see who it is—just that you’re both being carried through a sea of flashing lights and flailing hands. You’re deposited back on stage with all the grace of a sack of laundry, but when you right yourself, blinking against the brightness, you realize the other girl Sevika grabbed is Raven. She’s laughing, eyes wide, clearly having the time of her life.

Vi drops two more girls off, and Jinx bounces over, practically vibrating with excitement. “Alright, you guys,” she says into the mic, pointing with a flourish. “I want you to dance for your fucking lives. This one goes out to every pretty, punk girl in this crowd tonight!”

The band slams into the final song like they’re possessed. It’s dirty and fast and fun as hell, the kind of track you can’t help but move to, and that’s exactly what you do. You let it take you, let your body roll with the beat and the bass and the screams of the crowd. Jinx loops an arm around your waist at one point, dragging you into a messy, chaotic spin before grinding against you in rhythm with the chorus.

Vi makes a little show of guiding one of the girls down on her knees; she stands with her legs spread on either side of the girl's lap and starts in on her solo. She makes those string sing and the girl under her seems to be having the time of her life. The crowd fucking explodes.

You don’t even care how sweaty you are or what you look like. You just dance, laugh-singing the lyrics you half-remember, head tipping back as the lights pulse and the drums pound. When the final chord hits, the sound crashes down like a wave, and the entire venue moves as one—cheering, screaming, lights flickering wild and strobing.

Sevika stands as the last echoes of the drums fade. She pulls one of her sticks from the kit, the end cracked and splintered and walks it over to you. She presses the worn, warm stick into your palm and winks.

You don’t even try to act cool about it. You just stare down at it, dazed, while security helps you and the others off the stage and back over the barricade.

"Goodnight, you heathens! You've be a wonderful crowd!"

You and Raven slip out through the side exit marked Employees Only, the one she mentioned earlier, where the bands usually dip out to avoid the chaos at the front. The alley behind the venue is dimly lit and smells like smoke and spilled beer, but it’s quiet, tucked away from the thrum of the still-buzzing crowd. You’re both flushed and half-drenched in sweat, breathless in that post-show haze, riding the high and crash all at once.

Raven fishes a crushed cigarette pack from her purse and slides one between her lips. “Got a light?”

You open your mouth to answer, to say no, but let me check, but a voice cuts through the quiet, low and unmistakably rough.

“Here.”

You both turn.

Sevika’s standing a few feet away, cigarette tucked into the corner of her mouth, shoulders slouched like she’s been here the whole time.

Her leather jacket’s heavy with patches and pins, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and the silver zippo she’s holding out gleams in the streetlight, engraved with something you can’t quite make out. Her gaze flicks between the two of you, but then it lands on you and sticks.

Your breath catches. There’s no stage lights now, no distance, no wall of noise. It’s just her. Big as hell, close enough to smell the smoke, and somehow even hotter like this—casual, confident, not sweating a damn thing.

“You looked real good on stage,” she says, eyes narrowing just slightly, like she’s still sizing you up.

It's entirely possible that you might just float away. “Oh. Uh, thanks. You—you too. Sounded. You sounded good. The whole time.”

Raven coughs into her fist, poorly masking a laugh.

Sevika smirks, nods once like that’s all she needed to hear. Then she jerks her chin toward the drumstick you’re still clutching for dear life. “Want me to sign that?”

You don’t even hesitate. “Yes. Yes, please.”

She pulls a sharpie from her back pocket and scrawls something across the wood—longer than just a name. She caps the marker with a flick, hands the stick back, and says, “Keep it to yourself.”

You nod. Maybe too fast. Words are hard when she’s looking at you like that, relaxed and a little amused, cigarette smoke curling between you.

“Y’all have a good night,” Sevika says, slipping the lighter back into her jacket. She gives Raven a quick nod and you one last glance before turning and heading off down the alley, boots heavy on the pavement.

It takes you a second to remember how to breathe. Then you look down at the stick.

Sevika’s number is written right there in blocky print.

“Oh my god,” Raven hisses, grabbing your arm. “She gave you her number. You're so fucking in there, dude!”

“I—what do I do? Should I text her? What if she invites me to her hotel room? What if she actually wants to hook up?”

Raven looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “First of all, we’ve got our protocols. You text me your location, share your location, take the selfie timestamp, we do the whole checklist. Second—babe, you only get one life. And that woman just handed you a golden opportunity.”

You nod slowly, dazed. “I need a shower first.”

“Yeah, no shit. We’re going to my place. It’s closer.”

You pocket the drumstick like it’s breakable and follow her out of the alley, heart pounding harder than it did in the pit.

-

You’re sitting cross-legged on Raven’s bed, freshly showered, skin still warm from the water and nerves buzzing under the surface. Your hair’s damp, your hands are clammy, and your thumb is hovering over the glowing green call button on your screen. Sevika’s number is typed in. Still feels unreal. Raven’s already changed into her sleep shorts and an oversized tee, lounging beside you like this is all very normal and not a life-altering decision in the making.

“Just do it,” she says, biting into a granola bar like this is nothing. “She gave you her number. She signed it on a fucking drumstick. She wants you to call.”

You take a steadying breath, nod once, then hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Four.

“Yeah?” Sevika answers, her voice low, a little gravelly, definitely tired but not annoyed. It curls in your ear like smoke. “Who is this?”

You clear your throat. “Uh. It’s me. From the alley. With the drumstick.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then:

“Oh.” Her tone shifts, interest sharpening like the flick of a lighter. “I was wondering when you’d call. Wasn’t sure if you would.”

You smile, cheeks heating even though she can’t see you. “Why’d you give me your number?”

“Thought you were cute.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Felt like it was mutual.”

Your heart skips. “It was. Definitely was.”

Another pause, this one slower, more thoughtful. “You cool if I come pick you up?”

Your breath catches. You glance over at Raven, who’s staring at you with huge eyes and mouthing holy shit. “Are we...are we gonna hook up?”

Sevika laughs—a real one, low and genuine. “Only if you want to, doll.”

Your stomach flips and your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. “Yeah. I do.”

Raven silently screams, her hands waving in the air before she plants both fists into the comforter like she’s watching a playoff game.

“Send me the address,” Sevika says. “I’ll swing by soon as I can.”

You nod, then catch yourself. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll send it.”

“See you in a bit,” she says, then hangs up.

You lower the phone slowly. Raven grabs both your shoulders like you just won a gold medal. “SEVIKA is on her way to pick you up. What the fuck. You’re gonna have to tell your future kids about this one.”

“I’m not gonna have kids,” you mutter, dazed.

“You might after tonight!”

You groan and flop back onto the bed, phone clutched to your chest like some cheesy teen rom-com. Raven throws you a pair of lip glosses and demands outfit approval.

"What happens in that hotel room will be concerning to the general public," you say, grinning.

Raven squeals. "And I can't wait for you to get back here so you can give me every juicy, disgusting detail!"

The distant rumble of a motorcycle reaches you before the headlight cuts through the quiet of Raven’s street. You step outside just in time to see Sevika roll up—heavy boots planted as she kills the engine, the machine still humming under her. She’s wearing the same leather jacket from earlier, helmet tucked under one arm, and she looks unfairly good with her hair pulled back, a fresh cigarette behind one ear.

“Hey,” she says, voice low and unreadable.

You manage a breathless, “Hi.”

She holds out a matte black helmet. "Want help?"

You nod, and she steps in close, fitting it over your head and buckling it gently beneath your chin. Her fingers brush your jaw—intentional or not, it still makes your heart skip. She checks the strap, gives it a little tug, then nods in approval.

“Put your arms around me,” she says, already mounting the bike again. “Hold on tight.”

You slide onto the seat behind her, hands fumbling slightly before you wrap your arms snugly around her waist. Her torso is solid under the leather, the bike humming beneath you, and you can smell her cologne.

Then you’re off.

The city streaks past in a blur of streetlights and neon signs, wind rushing past your body, your heart pounding louder than the engine. You don’t know how long the ride lasts—fifteen, maybe twenty minutes—but when Sevika slows and pulls into a quiet hotel parking lot, you’re not ready for it to end.

She kills the engine and dismounts first, then helps you off like she’s done it a thousand times before. She pulls a cap from her jacket pocket and a pair of sunglasses from the other, handing them to you with a small smirk.

“Just in case there’s anyone waiting around,” she says. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of creeps who’ll sell a blurry photo for a couple hundred bucks.”

You nod and slip both on, grateful for the moment to compose yourself. Sevika reaches for your hand—no hesitation—and laces your fingers with hers like it’s no big deal. She leads you inside, her grip firm but steady, only releasing your hand once you reach the elevator.

She steps in first and turns you around so that your back is facing the small overhead camera in the corner. The doors slide closed with a soft ding, and you can feel her eyes on you as you pull the cap off, then the glasses.

“C’mere,” she murmurs.

You face her, and she lifts her hands to your hair, smoothing the parts that got windswept on the ride. There's a stubborn bit that refuses to lay right and she tucks it behind your ear, her knuckles dragging slow along your cheek.

The moment lingers.

Then Sevika leans in and kisses you—soft at first, her lips warm and unhurried, but the second you respond, it tilts hotter. Her hand slides to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist, and you melt into it, helpless against the way she feels. You lose track of time in the haze of it until—

Ding.

The doors slide open and Sevika breaks the kiss with a breath, but not a word. She takes your hand again, tighter this time, and leads you down the hall with singular focus. You pass a door that swings open just as you’re walking by.

Jinx steps out, half-dressed in a tank and cutoffs, hair a chaotic mess. “Yo, Sev, do we have any more—?”

“Fuck off,” Sevika says without slowing, without looking back.

Jinx laughs. “Rude.”

Sevika stops just long enough to unlock her door and yank it open, ushering you inside before pulling it closed behind you with a satisfying click. The lock turns, the sound final.

Sevika’s on you with a purpose, crowding you back against the door with the full heat of her body, her mouth claiming yours in a kiss that’s immediately filthy.

Hot and open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth, the kind of kiss that leaves your head spinning and your knees already getting soft.

You gasp into her, but she doesn't give you a chance to speak, her hands already gripping your hips like she owns them. You feel her smile, dark and dangerous, against your lips as you let your fingers explore—first the firm planes of her stomach, defined and solid under the hem of her shirt, then lower, to her ass, where your hands squeeze without hesitation.

That earns you a reaction.

Sevika groans into the kiss, deep in her chest, and grinds her hips against you, slow and deliberate. You feel everything: how solid she is against you, how good she knows it feels to make you feel this. Her mouth moves to your jaw, to your neck, biting and kissing like she wants to leave evidence.

“I see you're done with the shy shit,” she mutters, before grabbing you by the back of your thighs and lifting you clean off the floor.

Your breath catches with a startled sound that turns into a moan as your legs instinctively wrap around her waist. She holds you up with just one arm, effortless like it’s nothing. Her other hand slips up the front of your shirt, rough fingers dragging over your stomach and up to your chest.

She doesn’t even bother with the bra—her hand finds your tit and gropes, slow and possessive, her thumb circling your nipple until you’re arching into the touch.

She pulls back just enough to look at you. Really look. You’re panting, lips kiss-swollen and eyes already half-lidded, your makeup smudged from the ride and the kiss and her mouth all over your throat.

“Goddamn,” Sevika says, quiet, almost reverent. “You really are a pretty little thing.”

You smile, dazed, about to say something—

“Shame, really.”

You blink. “What is?”

She grins, teeth flashing as her eyes drag across your face. “That I’m gonna have to ruin all that pretty makeup.”

"Oh my god, please." It comes out a little more desperate than you intend for it to, but Sevika seems deeply pleased by the turn of events.

She slips her hand from under your shirt and steadies you against her hips before walking the both of you toward the bed. The way she moves is careful, but the heat in her eyes never dims. When she lays you down, it’s with a gentleness that throws you off after the rough edges of the last few minutes. Her hand lingers on your thigh as she still stands above you.

“You still want this?” she asks, voice quieter now, more grounded. It’s the most serious she’s sounded all night. “No hard feelings if you don’t.”

You shake your head so fast it’s almost pathetic. “I do. I—like, really do.”

Sevika’s expression softens, just slightly. “Then get undressed.”

You scramble to obey, stripping off your shirt first, then your shorts, both discarded over the edge of the bed without much ceremony. Her eyes never leave you. She watches the way you move, takes in every inch of exposed skin like she’s memorizing it, and the intensity makes heat rise in your chest. You fight the stupid reflex to cover yourself.

“I like the matching set,” she murmurs, stepping closer, the fronts of her thighs pressing into the mattress as she leans forward. She hooks a finger under your waistband and snaps it lightly against your skin. “Put this on for me?”

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “Yeah.”

“I appreciate the effort, doll,” she says, and leans down to kiss you again, mouth hot and teasing. She nips your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to pull a gasp from you. “Think you’ve earned a little treat, hmm?”

“Please,” you say, dazed and already too far gone to pretend otherwise. She could ask for anything right now and you'd probably give it to her.

True to her word, she climbs onto the bed, settling between your legs with all the casual confidence in the world. The sight of her down there—strong shoulders framed by all that jewelry, hair messy from your fingers, her mouth so fucking close—is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

Your hands slide into her hair without you realizing it, fingers curling, needing something to hold on to. She grins up at you, a slow, wicked thing that curls at the edges of her lips.

“You can pull,” she tells you, voice low and sure. “Bite me, scratch me, scream my name. I like it all.”

The mental image—her skin marked up by you, bruises blooming across her chest, fingernail lines trailing her back—makes your head spin. But then Sevika drags you out of that thought with the swipe of her tongue, slow and deliberate, straight through your soaked folds.

Your mouth falls open.

She doesn’t ease into it. Her whole mouth is on you, her tongue pressing in deep before she pulls back to suck your clit into her mouth, hard and focused. Loud, wet sounds fill the room, and every moan that spills from her makes your body twitch. She likes it, you can tell. Likes how wet you are, likes the way your hips buck despite yourself.

Then she’s burying her tongue inside you, her nose pressed tight against your clit, and it’s too much, not enough, perfect. You can’t help the way you grind down against her, chasing every ounce of pressure. Your grip in her hair tightens, probably bordering on painful.

But Sevika just groans, the sound rumbling straight into your core, and slides a hand up to your stomach to pin you in place.

“Just stay still,” she mutters, mouth brushing wet heat against you, “and take it for me.”

You try to stay still like she asked. You really do. But it’s impossible with the way her mouth is working you over, like she’s got something to prove.

She’s relentless—no breaks, no mercy—tongue curling and flicking in a rhythm that feels obscene in the best way. The hand pressed to your stomach keeps you from squirming too much, but your legs are shaking and your fingers are locked in her hair now, tugging with each desperate half-aborted roll of your hips.

Your vision blurs at the edges. Your head falls back against the bed with a ragged sound that might be her name. And when the heat finally crests and crests and then snaps, it hits like a punch in the gut. Your whole body tenses, thighs locking around her head as you cry out, louder than you mean to, legs trembling with the force of it.

Sevika moans into it, like she's savoring every second, riding it out with slow, indulgent licks that make your stomach twitch.

You try to catch your breath, chest rising and falling fast, but Sevika doesn’t move away. She kisses your inner thigh once. Then again. Her hands stroke over your legs, gentle now, grounding. She lets you breathe. Just for a moment.

Then she’s back, mouth brushing against your still-sensitive clit with a teasing hum.

“Think you’ve got another in you, doll?” she murmurs, already kissing her way up your inner thigh again. Her voice is warm now, low and coaxing, like she already knows the answer.

You whimper, your hips giving a weak twitch toward her mouth even as your legs tremble with aftershocks. "Y-yeah."

“That’s what I thought,” she says, smug and soft all at once.

She takes her time now. Her mouth moves slow and deliberate, licking through your folds with featherlight passes and pressing gentle, wet kisses to your clit. The overstimulation hits sharp at first, your thighs jolting under her hands, but she soothes you through it.

“So fuckin' pretty,” she murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “Even when you’re falling apart.”

Her hands stroke up and down your thighs, lazy and tender. She palms the meat of them, lets her thumbs trace soft circles until you’re relaxing under her again, the sharp edge of sensation melting into something sweeter.

“You’re doing so good for me,” she adds, voice low and full of heat. “Just let go. I got you.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed and wrecked and somehow still burning for more. Your hips start moving on their own, rocking up into her mouth, and Sevika hums her approval. Her tongue moves with slow purpose, dragging you up and up again until your fingers are tangled tight in the sheets and you’re begging without even realizing it.

The second orgasm is softer. Like your body is unraveling instead of bursting. You moan her name as your thighs clench, your back arches, and your entire body goes loose under her hands.

Sevika kisses your pussy one last time—slow and warm—before finally pulling away, her face slick, her grin downright criminal.

“Fuck,” she mutters, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

You can’t speak. You don’t even try. All you can do is lay there, dazed and ruined, as Sevika presses one last kiss to your thigh before finally crawling off the bed. You hear her crack her back and exhale like a boxer between rounds.

“You still got more for me, or do you think you’re about done?” she asks over her shoulder, heading for the mini fridge tucked into the corner of the room.

You’re half melted into the mattress, still catching your breath, but you sit up enough to catch the water bottle she tosses your way. It’s one of those tiny ones that might as well be a sip, and you kill it in seconds. Sevika watches with a smirk, arms crossed over her bare chest.

After a beat, you mutter, “Give me, like, twenty minutes.”

She laughs, low and warm and amused by your commitment. “You sure? Not every day you get to wear out a groupie.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “It’s not every day you get to fuck a rockstar, either. I’m making it count.”

“Yeah, you are,” she says, grabbing the remote and flopping down on the bed beside you. She sheds her jeans and shirt in one smooth motion, leaving her in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of boxers that sit a little crooked on her hips. She doesn’t seem to care.

The TV comes on to some late-night rerun, but you’re not really watching it. You’re more focused on how Sevika leans back against the headboard and opens her arms like she’s inviting you in.

You take the invitation.

Your head ends up in her lap, and her hand finds your hair almost instantly. She scratches gently at your scalp, twirling strands around her finger, trailing soft touches down the side of your face. It’s lazy and warm and kind of unfair how good it feels. You could fall asleep like this, safe between her thighs with the dull buzz of the TV in the background.

But after maybe ten, fifteen minutes, your fingers start to drift.

You let your nails rake lightly along her thigh, aimless at first, but then you start tracing slow lines higher and higher. Sevika hums, a lazy warning you don’t heed.

“What are you up to?” she asks, voice low, indulgent.

You glance up at her from her lap and smile. “Can I eat you out?”

Sevika raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased by the request. “Fuck, yeah,” she says, already shifting her hips. She lifts up so you can tug her boxers down her legs and toss them somewhere across the room.

You get a little rush from the sight of her: already wet, glistening, the proof of her arousal slick on her thighs. Just knowing that she got like this from going down on you is enough to make your head spin all over again.

So you start slow, just for a second, before you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh and bite. Hard.

Sevika lets out a sharp breath and flexes beneath you. Her hand tightens in the sheets beside her, but she doesn't stop you. Doesn’t want to. You sink another bite a little higher, then lick over the mark you just made, feeling her muscles jump beneath your tongue.

Your hands grip her thighs tight, nails digging in, not gentle at all now. You want her to feel you.

“Fuck, that mouth,” she groans, hips twitching toward you.

You get to work for real, licking a stripe up the center of her, then circling her clit with your tongue just enough to tease.

“Don’t hold back, doll,” she tells you, voice ragged but sure. “C’mon. Show me how bad you wanna impress me.”

You do. You really do.

She groans your name, threading her fingers tighter in your hair as your mouth drags wet and firm over her clit. Her thighs bracket your face and you feel her start to grind into it, chasing the pressure, not shy about what she needs.

“You’re so good at this,” she murmurs, voice dipping into that same low register that makes your spine light up. “So fuckin’ eager. Knew you’d be like this.”

Your hips press into the bed without thinking. She keeps going.

“Keep that tongue right there. Just like that, yeah. That’s it, baby. You’re making me proud.”

You moan against her, desperate now, and she laughs, wrecked and fond.

“God, you like hearing me talk, don’t you?”

You nod, mouth still busy, and Sevika rewards you with a groan so filthy it vibrates straight through you.

“Then earn more of it,” she growls. “Don’t stop now.”

Sevika’s breathing gets heavier. The muscles in her thighs are twitching under your grip, her hand tight in your hair now as she guides you exactly where she wants you.

“Fuck, baby! just like that,” she growls, low and rough. “Don’t stop. Don’t even think about it.”

You keep going, your mouth locked on her clit, tongue moving in tight circles, your grip firm as you hold her in place. Her hips are starting to roll, slow and unrestrained, chasing the rhythm. Her growls turn to moans, strained and filthy, falling from her lips like she’s already on the edge.

“Gonna come all over that sweet mouth,” she grits out. “You gonna take it for me? Be good and take it?”

You answer with a desperate noise, nodding against her just enough to make her groan again. She plants both hands on your head and presses you harder between her thighs, grinding against your mouth.

“Ohh, fuck—fuck, fuck—”

Her voice cracks as she comes, body tensing hard around you. Her thighs clamp tight on either side of your face, and you can hear the breath rip from her lungs in a guttural sound that’s half curse, half praise. She holds you there, trembling through the high, hips stuttering against your mouth until the worst of it passes.

When she finally lets up, her hand slides gently to your cheek, her thumb rubbing over the damp skin. She strokes along the curve of your jaw, then drags that thumb over your bottom lip.

“Open,” she murmurs, watching you with heat still burning behind her eyes. You do. She presses her thumb inside, slow and deliberate, and grins when you suck it instinctively.

“Good girl,” she says, and you’re already shivering again.

Sevika pulls you up her body in one smooth tug, hands warm and sure as they slide up your sides. When your lips meet, it’s messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and hunger. Her hands trail down to your ass, gripping it in both palms, like she’s trying to ground herself with the feel of you.

She feels you humping against her thigh, subtle but obvious, your body already begging for more. She breaks the kiss with a crooked smirk. “Oh? You ready for me to fuck you now?”

You nod, breathless, flushed, still clinging to her.

“I figured,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something darker. “Get on all fours for me, doll. Be good.”

You do exactly as you’re told.

Hands pressed into the sheets, knees spread, chest lowered like submission comes naturally. The room is quiet for a beat, save for the rustle of fabric, the dull zip of a bag opening behind you. You hear the soft thud of something heavy being set down, followed by the low click of buckles, the faint stretch of elastic, and the subtle shift of weight as Sevika moves behind you.

You don’t have to look to know what’s coming.

Then you feel it. The press of something thick against the swell of your ass. It drags slow and deliberate along your soaked folds, the pressure of it undeniable.

“Feel that?” Sevika murmurs, one hand sliding across your hip. “You’re about to take every inch of it.”

Your breath catches as the tip nudges your entrance, slick already clinging to your thighs. She doesn’t give you time to overthink it—just starts pushing in, slow but steady, giving you the stretch inch by inch. You gasp, biting into the pillow, your body gripping around her as she fills you completely.

And then she starts to move.

Sevika fucks like a force of nature, brutal and relentless. Her grip on your hips is bruising, nails digging into your flesh with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room, matched only by the ragged moans pouring from your mouth.

“Look at you,” she growls, voice close to your ear now. “Taking it like you were made for it.”

A hard spank lands across your ass, sharp and stinging, and you cry out, the pain shooting straight through your core.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” she spits. “Dripping down your thighs. Bet I could slide another toy in and you’d still beg for more.”

“Sevika,” you moan, wrecked and breathless, clinging to the sheets. “Please—more, fuck, don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not stoppin’,” she promises, slamming into you harder, the snap of her hips making your arms buckle. “Not until we've ruined these fucking sheets. Not until you scream for me.”

Your moans pitch higher, blurring into sobs of pleasure as the coil in your belly pulls tight. You feel your climax crash through you—sudden, all-consuming—and Sevika doesn’t let up. Not for a second.

She presses one hand flat to your lower back, holding you down, keeping your chest against the mattress while she fucks you through it. Every thrust punches the air from your lungs, your legs shaking beneath her, your orgasm stretching into something messy and endless.

Sevika doesn’t waste time after that.

She flips you with ease, palms steady on your hips, and settles between your legs again, the strap dragging hot and slick along your sensitive folds. Your body jolts with the contact, overstimulated and twitching, but she doesn’t push in just yet. She leans down, eyes locked to yours, breath brushing your lips.

“You still with me?” she asks, voice husky.

You nod, a little shaky. “I—yeah. I just don’t know if I can come again.”

Sevika smiles, slow and devastating, and kisses your cheek. “Don’t need you to come, baby. Just need you to feel good. Can you do that for me?”

"Yes. Fuck, yes, Sev," you answer as she drags the toy through the slick mess you've made between your legs.

Then she lifts your legs, hooking them high over her shoulders. “Hold these up for me,” she says, guiding your hands to the back of your thighs.

You do, for a little while.

She presses into you again, deep and steady, sinking all the way in until her hips meet yours. You both groan in tandem, your bodies clenching around each other. The position drives the strap deep, dragging against that spot inside you just right. It’s too much, but somehow not enough.

Sevika’s pace starts slow, calculated. She's watching you the entire time, studying your face, your mouth, the way your chest rises and falls.

Her own pleasure is mounting fast: her breath growing heavier, her face flushed, brow furrowed in focus as she grinds into you with a rhythm that has you seeing stars.

You're whining now, panting, squirming under the weight of sensation. “Fuck, I can’t—can’t hold them anymore—”

Sevika shushes you, not slowing down. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

She takes your legs in her arms, folding you tighter, pressing you into a deep, delicious arch as her hips grind harder into yours. You're pliant under her, fingers gripping at her back now, clawing down her sides, holding on like your life depends on it. She fucks you slow and deep, chasing something now—her own release evident in the way her rhythm starts to falter.

You bite your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, eyes fluttering open just enough to watch Sevika. God, she’s a sight—head thrown back, jaw clenched, her abs flexing with each motion, a quiet string of curses falling from her mouth as she works her hips into yours like she’s trying to fuck you into the mattress.

And when she starts to fall apart, it’s all the more beautiful for how she keeps holding you through it. Still kissing you. Still murmuring filth in your ear. Still grinding into you with the kind of focus that says she’s not done giving you everything she has.

-

The sun's just starting to creep over the skyline when Sevika pulls up to Raven’s place, the low rumble of her motorcycle cutting through the early quiet of the neighborhood. The sky is still a little pink around the edges, and the world hasn’t quite shaken off the night yet. You’re tucked behind her on the bike, arms snug around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder as the engine dies.

Sevika pulls off her helmet and looks at you, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She reaches over and helps you undo yours, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary beneath your chin.

“You good?” she asks, her voice still that gravelly, just-woke-up tone that makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “Kinda feels like I dreamed all of that, though.”

She chuckles and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s surprisingly soft for someone who handled you like that only hours ago. “Nah,” she says. “I’m real. And so was all of that.”

Your fingers fidget in your lap. “So…is this like, a one-time thing? Or...? I gotta be honest with you, Sevika, I've never hooked up with anybody like you before.”

“Doll,” she says, cutting you off with a look that’s half fond, half amused. “You think I give my number out to just anyone?”

You try not to smile too hard. Fail.

Sevika taps the side of your thigh with two fingers, a wordless cue that it’s time to hop off. You do, handing her the helmet back and smoothing your hair down as best you can.

“I’ll call you,” she says, sliding her helmet back on. “Promise. This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

And with that, the engine revs back to life, and she peels off down the street, her silhouette disappearing into the city just as the sun fully crests the buildings.

You’re left standing barefoot on the curb, last night’s clothes still smelling like her skin and cigarette smoke, Sevika’s phone number burned into your contacts and her touch in your memory.

Raven opens the door for you, coffee in hand. “So,” she says. “You gonna tell me everything, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

You just smile and walk inside, cheeks still warm, heart still hammering

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

128. Photograph (2019) - a rewatch

[normal-thoughts-official]

I made a post earlier arguing that Higurashi is a horror story about child neglect and the premature loss of childhood, and I'd like to talk a bit about how I think this adds to the horror in Gou and Sotsu

Personally, I felt like Kai felt a lot more like a tragedy/mystery/action combo than psychological horror; I was never really scared, just sad. But Gou? Gou was horrifying to me, and definitely a lot more so to Rika too, and I think a good part of that reason is that in Gou she wasn't just being abandoned, but effectively targeted by the adults that were supposed to protect her

In Gou, while the horror is certainly also in the killings - I felt it was a lot more explicit and gorey than Kai -, it is mostly in the process of retraumatization. In Kai, Rika was more or less used to being killed, and numbed to it. But in Gou, Rika is faced with the horrifying reality that, even after being able to escape, she could be pulled back into the endless loop of trauma; so there was no way to escape that would be meaningful. This is all explicit text, so I won't waste a lot of time going into it. What I want to focus on is that this process adds an even bigger sense of helplessness that is typical to children trapped in abusive situations. Everything that happens is completely outside of their control, there is no escape, and the process happens over and over again. The unique vulnerability of being a child (both physical and social) is mirrored in that process of being trapped then and re-trapped in the killing cycles

Add to that the fact that Rika had gotten to grow up and was suddenly thrust back into helpless childhood, and things get even worse and more explicit in that sense. For a while, she had experienced what it was like to have at least a few more resources to help herself than before. She was not an adult, but she was a teenager, and she had a bigger support network. Then, all of a sudden, she was thrust back into being a child. Having to go back to the childish mannerisms she had left behind, which, as I pointed out in the original post, were always a performance that helped further alienate her; therefore, doubly so once she was able to leave that behind. Her desperation to be sophisticated, to act grown up, to go new places, was a form of rejection of the helplessness of childhood. To her, childhood was explicitly tied to trauma just as much as Hinamizawa was. Being shoved back into childhood was to have all her hard-earned agency stolen from her

Once again, this is explicit text, so I'm going to move on, but the point I'm trying to make here is that, if in Higurashi horror is tied to the loss of childhood, as I argued in the other post, to Rika, the horror is childhood itself. Once again, this is typical in children who endure abuse and neglect; an unsafe childhood only has the worst aspects of being a child - the dependance and weakness - without any of the best ones - the safety net, being taken care of, getting to play and be happy. Therefore, they don't see childhood as a good thing, but as something to escape in order to survive

So when Rika finds herself a(n even younger) child, she is again faced with the horror of having no choice but to rely on adults to take care of her. Which she's never had in the first place, but after the events of Kai, she at least knew some of them who could have helped her escape her terrible fate. I don't think it's a coincidence that the first two people who killed her in a way that made it clear these loops were different from the previous ones were Ooishi and Akasaka, exactly the two that most helped her escape fate in Kai. It really drove home that she had nowhere to turn to

When Satoko injected Rena and Mion, she ended up basically emulating the previous loops, and Rika never even knew it was different from the other times where Keiichi and Shion were the killers. It was when Ooishi killed her that she realized things were different, and, immediately, she decided that she would only go five more loops before she killed herself

And sure, the fact that this is the second time this happens certainly makes it harder to believe there's any getting out of it in a way that matters, but I don't think it's a coincidence that being betrayed by Ooishi is what finally makes her put a cap on how many times she's willing to try. Ooishi was once part of her safety net; one of the adults that helped change the game. Once he was the one who killed her, she was more alone than ever before. But she still had more people to turn to, so she decided she'd try more, at least a little

Then, of course, she was killed by Akasaka

Akasaka being next was just... Awful. Probably the most gut-wrenching death in Higurashi to me. While he couldn't be called a parental figure, he certainly was also the only adult she's ever had to take care of her. He certainly was the only adult she fully trusted. He was the only person, period, that she ever told she knew she was going to die before the final loop in Kai. Akasaka was her only ally, the only one she fully trusted, and the closest she had to a figure she could call a caretaker. So it's no wonder that, after he killed her, Rika stopped even trying at all; she was only counting down to keep her promise to herself, but she was no longer shown trying to change what would happen or making any kind of effort; she was merely counting down and dying again and again without respite. They didn't even bother showing us anything before the killings, because, to Rika, that was just white noise; she was just waiting out for them to happen. To lose Akasaka was to lose her last hope, and that's what makes the Gou deaths so much more horrifying than the Kai ones, because even the little miracles of respite she had before were out of her reach. For the first time, she was completely alone, without anyone at all to trust; and, as a child, if you have no one to trust and help, you simply die

The next ones are, obviously, hand-picked wonderfully (derogatory) by Satoko. Kimiyoshi may have never actually done his job, but he was Rika's legal guardian, and an adult she liked and felt she could speak to, even if she didn't really rely on him. Akane was literally the only present parental figure any of the kids had, and the one who first told them the Sonozakis would help with Satoko and her uncle, too. Keiichi was not an adult, but he was an older kid that she specifically believed was able to defeat fate. It might not have been the first time Keiichi had Hinamizawa Syndrome, but it was the first time he specifically turned against Rika, and that had to have been horrible. And Satoko, obviously, was her best friend, not to mention the only other person who came close to understanding Rika's situation as a child who had to be an adult in practice while still having to act and deal with the vulnerabilities of being a child, and the only one who was, literally speaking, always by her side

I think the fact that Satoko specifically picked adults and the two kids Rika trusted as capable of changing fate (coupled with the aforementioned helplessness caused by not knowing if she could ever truly escape even if she did escape this once) was what made everything work out so fast for Satoko. Altogether, it only took her 8 loops to convince Rika to stay in Hinamizawa. If she hadn't fucked up with the trap situation, Satoko would have probably been the looper to get what she wanted with the least amount of times in history. It took Rika over 100 just to be able to survive. And Satoko got what she wanted after only 8, because she knew exactly what she needed to do to break Rika: make it clear she would get no adults to rely on, and, therefore, would never be able to save herself. Because in Higurashi, the horror is in child neglect, and Satoko created a situation where that would be inescapable

[valentinesparda]

outfit from today uwu [ they/it pronouns only ]

[helianthus21]

best part about season 3 were the flashbacks to season 1<3

[yeah-yeah-beebiss-1]

in case you were wondering how things went down at the pokemon world championships this weekend:

-during the top 8 of the TCG masters division, chilean player fernando cifuentes was running a gimmick deck that consisted exclusively of four iron thorns ex and a whole ton of control-focused trainer cards in a strategy that either completely shuts down opponents or shits the bed entirely

-through skillful play and some good luck, fernando made it through 2 days in a tournament with over 1100 players to get to the quarterfinals

-fernando lost 2-0 to ian robb, who was running regidrago vstar (widely considered one of the best decks in the current format)

-in an overexuberant victory celebration, ian did what can only be described as a jacking-off gesture, on a stream with tens of thousands of viewers run by a company with very firm player conduct expectations

-the judges determined that this warranted a penalty of game loss, but for some reason, rather than applying it to ian’s next game in the semifinals, they applied it to the one he had just won in the top 8

-(it should be noted that the prize money for making top 8 is $15k while top 4 is $20k, so this jerking gesture cost ian robb $5,000)

-nearly an hour after fernando came to terms with his loss and the end of an impressive run, he was told that he was to get back on stream because he’s now playing in the semifinals due to winning by default

-the player he was up against in the semifinals was playing a deck (miraidon) that happens to get shut down hard by iron thorns’s gimmick, so fernando wins the semifinals

-said player, jesse parker, had notably had an undefeated run throughout the whole tournament up to this point, and likely would have continued that streak had his intended semifinal opponent not gotten a game loss penalty for miming a lewd act on stream

-meanwhile, the other semifinal winner is japan’s seinosuke shiokawa, running a deck (roaring moon) that players had largely written off as underwhelming months ago

-the grand finals are on the following day, so saturday evening was abuzz with a lot of people baffled by the absurdity of the situation

-come sunday afternoon, the grand finals are set to begin, with fernando cifuentes running iron thorns and seinosuke shiokawa running roaring moon

-it should be noted here that the roaring moon deck doesn’t rely very much on abilities, so iron thorns’s gimmick has very little effect - this is basically an even matchup

-fernando wins the first game of the set, and seinosuke wins the second

-the third and final game of the set is a bonafide cheek-clencher, with both players reaching a state where a single KO will win the game, but fernando manages to clinch it at the last minute

-and that’s the story of how a guy pretending to jork it led to the first instance of a pokemon world champion who also lost the quarterfinals

[arolesbianism]

There's a well 🎉

[ganondoodle]

(and for a few days now, apparently, one of the main guys is going around reddit and twitter and defending the show to anyone that voices criticism, making everything worse bc hes both saying the show is perfect and no ones every done it like them/him, telling people how they felt watching it -as in telling you how you are feeling about it(??)- and also said that viktor is asexual, not to add representation for ace people but in an attempt to invalidate the EXTREMELY popular ship of viktor and jayce bc he doesnt like it, .. haha ... )

arcane season two only had 3 writers left at the end ................. yeah it shows, the more i think about everythign the worse it gets

and if they fumble the whole class divide stuff of piltover and zaun THIS badly ... then oh boi are we in for a ride, cant wait what shit they come up with for the other regions (derogatory)

[lacedbykami]

⊹ ࣪ ˖౨ৎ softest place to land - (sukuna x black!fem bimbo reader)

Today was not your day.

The ribbon pink kitten heels you wanted had been sold out—even though you knew you reserved them. Your favorite bracelet, the one Sukuna gave you last spring in Santorini, had slipped off somewhere between the nail salon and that underwhelming café your friend begged you to try. And to top it off, your heel broke.

Thank God for the cute white backups you kept in your designated limo (because you were a bimbo, not stupid), but even still… you were done. Over it. Every little thing had felt off, and by the time the elevator opened to the top floor of the penthouse, your energy was threadbare. You just wanted to cry into your satin sheets and maybe scream into a matching pillow.

The first thing you saw when you stepped inside was the soft amber glow of the chandelier, casting gold across the marble of your penthouse. The faint smell of incense—his favorite—was swirling through the air. Sukuna wasn��t on his throne-like armchair that you always called him "my cute king." for sitting in. You didn’t hear his usual, amused “Back so soon, brat?” either.

Instead, you saw him already waiting in your bedroom.

The lights were dimmed low, warm. The blackout curtains had been pulled shut. Your favorite playlist—not the sexy one, the soft one—was playing low through the sound system. Candles flickered gently on the bedside table. And there he was: shirtless in silk lounge pants, lounging against a pile of velvet pillows waiting for his queen to rant about her day.

Instead, you dropped your purse on the floor, lip wobbling.

He didn’t say a word—just sat up opened his arms.

You kicked off your heels leaving them scattered on the wooden floor of the bedroom as you climbed into his lap without hesitation. Your pink frenchies pressing lightly against the inked skin of his chest as you buried your face in his neck.

Your baby hairs tickled his skin, soft and barely-there, but he didn’t pull away. The tears didn’t fall immediately—your throat just tightened, breath catching, and your lashes were already glistening with the threat of it all.

Looking down at your trembling form, Sukuna almost let a smirk tug at his lips. Part of him wanted to tease you—something about “trivial girl drama” or how you cried every other day over shoes, accessories, or broken nails. But the words caught in his throat, swallowed by something quieter. Gentler.

Because even if he didn’t always understand it, he understood you. And today, you didn’t need teasing—you needed him soft.

Again.

You really should thank him for being so good to you.

“Lost your bracelet,” he murmured into your hair, voice low and even, like he already knew every little thing breaking you down. “We’ll find it. Or I’ll have it remade—exactly the same.”

You shook your head slightly, clinging tighter. “My day sucked. Everything was just…off.” His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles into your plush thighs. “Then let it end here.”

He didn’t offer solutions. Or tell you to calm down. Just held you there—his big, warm body grounding you against the ache in your chest—until you melted into him completely.

Eventually, his voice came again, low and rough against your temple. “Don’t cry over shoes, doll. I’ll buy you the damn factory.”

You giggled, cheeks puffy, wet and eyes now tired. “I hate that that actually makes me feel better.”

“I know,” he said, kissing your cheek. “That’s why I said it, brat.”

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 14

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, suggestive version of truth or dare (non-graphic), mention of weed, coke and alcohol usage, physical violence (a punch to the face) & mention of bloody nose + description of bruise, ruthie being a bitch, reader feeling anxiety/discomfort bc of a dare and bc of chris reid, verbal tension/fight, rafe being an ignorant asshole, mild mentions of vomiting (non-graphic), kinda angsty but also funny and fluff

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ you were picked up by rafe for kelce’s party—he kept joking about you needing to get laid, and you finally snapped, calling him out but you ended up solving it. at kelce's you smoked a joint and immediately felt at ease, sharing a chill moment with both boys. later, after the party actually started, rafe left you alone in the kitchen to go sell/and do coke to/with chris reid, and you ended up playing beer pong with molly, topper and his surf friend robert lewis from wilmington. you actually had fun for once—rob was sweet and charming, and seemingly into you. meanwhile, rafe texted you while you were in the bathroom, asking for your location. he also spiraled over the idea that you’d left him to hook up with some random guy. he went to look after you, only to find you had just puked and were fine—leaving him confused and even more on edge. back in the kitchen, tensions flared again when rob reappeared with kelce, and you were clearly enjoying rob's company. rafe, pissed off, decided to join a game of truth or dare—fully ready to ruin rob’s night just to make a point.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 11.4k+ (oops)

✿ A / N ✿ i didn't think i'd still have that much left to say about the party, but the words just came and somehow we ended up with over 11k. i'm actually very anxious about the direction i went with and not completely happy with how i handled the rob-reader-rafe situation, feels a little underwhelming and i'm sorry if you expected more, but i hope you still enjoy the reader x rafe content and PLSLLSLSLS I NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS PART <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // F R I D A Y

The moment Ruthie Whitmore decided to join the game, you knew the night could go downhill real fast for you.

Because holy fucking shit, this? This wasn’t Truth or Dare. This was Strip or Humiliate Yourself. Either you did the dare, or you took off a piece of clothing for the rest of the game.

Great, right?

Even the setup was wild. Originally, it was supposed to take place in the living room, but Ruthie thought it would be so much better to play in a private room, so it could be just you guys.

Mhm. Fucking Ruthie Whitmore and her bestie Gracie Malone (very friendly reminder: Rafe’s ex-FWB or whatever) were in on this insane-ass game.

And of course, it had been Ruthie’s idea to play this specific version, and unfortunately, over half the group had been super hyped about it, so it was officially locked in.

So now ten people were sitting in the lower lounge room on a circular couch. The glass table that used to be in the middle had been carried to the side by Kelce and sleazeball Chris Reid (aka the asshole Rafe ditched you for to go deal coke).

And to make things worse: the room had a giant floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto the backyard—where the rest of the party was still going strong.

To sum it up: You were now participating in an absolutely batshit insane, borderline scandalous game. And not just you—some of the worst people you knew were in it too. Oh, and bonus: the room had the perfect view for any drunk watchers hanging out outside.

Mhm. You were fucked.

But getting up and leaving now? Nope. That would officially label you as the cowardly, prude, shy girl everyone probably already thought you were. Plus... you were pretty drunk, still riding the last warm waves of that joint, and even though your heart was pounding like crazy (note for next time: avoid Rafe’s JägerBull mix), somehow it all felt... kind of exciting.

I’m so fucking wasted holy shit.

Also, it was five girls and five guys playing, sitting alternately on the couch (another brilliant Ruthie idea).

And now came the sickest part: you were sitting between Rob and RAFE.

Like ???!!?!?, WHAT KINDA BELLA-JACOB-EDWARD SHIT WAS GOING ON????

Even funnier? After you'd sat down next to Rob (because obviously!), Rafe had taken the seat to your right. EVEN FUNNIER??? The couch, as big as it was, still had everyone sitting kinda squished together and guess what: Rafe manspread like a damn king, arms crossed, leaving you no choice but to shift closer to Rob—so close your thighs were touching and JSJCKSNDKSNCJS.

Let’s just say, your stomach was doing somersaults—and not because you needed to puke again.

Well… maybe a little, because Samantha had just finished her drunk attempt at a lap dance for the perv Chris Reid.

The worst part of that dare wasn’t even some pricks outside watching her—it was that Sam seemed to actually be enjoying it. Swinging her ass in that tiny skirt in front of that asshole, smiling all wide while Ruthie and Gracie cheered her on.

It was so sad and disgusting to watch. If you weren’t such a chicken, you’d go pull her out of there yourself.

“Bitch, that was hot as fuck!” Ruthie yelled, and Sam giggled as she flopped down next to Chris, his hand settling on her bare thigh and NO. Just. EW.

Judging by the look on his face, he couldn’t wait for this game to end so he could disappear with her for a few minutes.

“Ayy, my turn now!” Kelce said, clapping his hands with a big grin. “Hit me with some good shit, Ruthie.”

He was wasted too. Or maybe that was just Kelce being Kelce.

Ruthie smirked like a damn fox and tapped on her phone (mhm. she was the game master, using some weird app she’d entered everyone’s names into that generated these insane dares).

“For 20 seconds, put your hands under the top of…” Ruthie began, and your heart was thundering, nerves buzzing all over, “the person to your right.”

You exhaled in relief—but immediately held your breath again.

All eyes on Molly.

NOT HER.

Kelce raised his brows. “Ayo, that’s kinda sexual harassment, no?”

OH. Kelce Statter actually showing decency??? King shit.

Ruthie just shrugged. “Do it or take your shirt off.”

“I’ll gladly take your place, dude,” Chris chimed in and GOSH THIS ASSHOLE YOU WANTED TO UGHHHHH. Fucking disgusting prick.

Rafe scoffed beside you (YES, THANK YOU), and Kelce’s mouth tugged downward, opening his lips to respond but:

“It’s alright,” Molly said casually and WHAT. GIRL WHAT?! She shrugged with a sweet smile. “It would be consensual.”

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK OMG?!

YOU SNEAKY LITTLE OMGMGMFMM. Did cutie patootie Molly Crane have a thing for CRAZY-ASS LOUDMOUTH KELCE STATTER?? LIKE??? AND WHY DID THIS ABSOLUTELY INSANE SHIP KINDA MAKE SENSE?!!!

Kelce chuckled (yep, your head was fuzzy but you still picked up on the nervousness) and shook his head all cool (bro was 100% flustered). “Nah, it’s cool. I’m a gentleman, okay?”

With that, he reached back and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing some very well-defined abs and muscles (okay, Rafe had been right—Kelce really took the gym bro life seriously).

The other girls and Chris clapped and wooed him on. Except for Molly: she just smiled, all soft and genuinely amused, and KELCE TOTALLY NOTICED AND GOD, IT WAS WEIRDLY SWEET TO WATCH… if you ignored the whole raunchy setting for a second.

“Our dear Molly is next,” Ruthie said, her voice all fake-sweet.

YOU WEREN’T EVEN UP YET AND YOUR NERVES WERE SHOT.

Ruthie tapped her phone and: “Which two people here would you most likely have a threesome with, and why?” She furrowed her brows. "Ugh, boring."

OH. MY. GOD.

AND FUCKING MOLLY DIDN’T EVEN HESITATE. THIS GIRL HAD BALLS OF STEEL. Because in the most casual tone ever, she said, “Hm. Maybe Kelce and Y/N.”

GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!

OH MY… FUCKING GOD.

Molly pulled her legs up, smiled softly, and shrugged. “And I guess I’d just feel comfortable with them both.”

GIRL.

You and Kelce locked eyes for a second, both of you looking like you’d just seen a ghost because WHAT. OMG. LIKE GO GIRL BUT WHAT???

And while everyone else immediately burst into chatter and started debating who they would pick, you barely noticed Rafe’s knee nudging your leg. He glanced over at you, eyebrows raised just slightly, voice low so only you could hear: “You'd be down for that?”

OKAY WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?

The heat that had already crept into your cheeks after Molly’s answer spread to your whole face. “I…”

For a brief second, Rafe then looked at Rob, sitting on your left—his expression hard to read. “Nah, you’d rather swap Kelce for your new boyfriend, huh?”

Your brows twitched. Something about his voice sounded off, and you weren’t sure if it was just the booze messing with your perception or…

“Okay, this is getting boring, let’s move on!” Ruthie’s shrill voice cut through the air, and everyone quieted down.

Topper was already shifting in his seat—being on Molly’s right, he was next.

Ruthie’s grin twisted into something Joker-esque. “Ohh, I like that one. Send a nude to the last person in your chat history.”

Literally every guy in the circle started grinning like idiots, Kelce and Chris said some dumb shit, and Rafe muttered, “I’m sure his mom’s already seen his dick.”

Even Rob chuckled, shooting Rafe an amused glance. “Pretty sure he’s had her chat pinned since fifth grade.”

Rafe scoffed, appearing amused—but you knew better. You could feel how his whole body tensed beside you, and you were pretty sure it wasn’t out of some protective instinct for Topper.

Which reminded you...Rafe never faked things. He was blunt, direct, and always spoke his mind. But with Rob? There’d been this one-sided tension—like he'd been one second away from decking Rob in the kitchen just earlier. And you couldn’t help wondering if they had some kind of history.

“And?” Ruthie asked, brows raised. “Who’s the lucky recipient?” She pouted. “Or are you gonna chicken out?”

Gracie and Samantha giggled, and Chris laughed, nodding. “It’s fine, bro. If there’s nothing to show, better keep it to yourself.”

Your jaw clenched. Poor Topper looked genuinely trapped and uncomfortable. AND FUCKING CHRIS, THAT GUY LIKE DHFCSBCFHSJDNFCSKHCNDUIK GRRRRRRR.

“Ayo, dude, you sure you wanna be the one bragging?” Kelce chimed in, all casual and grinning, and holy shit, he did it so well. It was definitely a jab but Kelce had this bro-energy that made it sound like nothing.

And just like that, your respect for Kelce shot up by a mile. Him standing up for his friend? YES. KING.

Chris clearly tensed but laughed it off, pretending Kelce’s comment was absurd.

“I’m not doing this here,” Topper said—and everyone looked at him, surprised he even considered doing it.

Ruthie frowned. “Um, yes? That’s literally the whole point of the game. What’s the use if no one sees it?”

“Not everyone’s as public with their nudes as you, Ruthie,” Rafe said, and you had to bite back a smile. (Also, Rafe backing Topper despite their weird tension? Also king shit.)

Ruthie glared at him, then her gaze landed on you like she was about to say some unhinged shit but this time Rob spoke up, shrugging: “Seems fair,” he said. “I mean, he could show it to one of us as proof. Doing this and sending it off seems kinda unbalanced compared to the other dares, right?”

Jesus. A whole Topper Avengers team was forming here, apparently.

It was clear Ruthie didn’t like the direction this was going. Her smile tight and fake. “Sure, I guess, if y’all wanna play the boring version. But he should at least tell us who he’s sending it to.”

Topper, who’d already pulled out his phone, stared nervously at the screen. And it made you so mad that he felt like he had to prove anything here.

“Cara Hall.”

OH.

OH MY GOD.

OKAY, NO—THAT WAS. NO.

Cara definitely didn't want to receive a fucking dick pic right now while celebrating her mom’s birthday, holy shit. You could already picture her face—OH MY GOD.

TOPPER PLEASE DON’T.

Ruthie pulled a face and waved her hand dismissively. “Ugh, okay, then go do your thing. We’ll keep going in the meantime.”

Topper, cheeks flushed, stood up while Chris and Samantha cheered him on.

“Think he still has a shot with her after this?” Rafe said, leaning down slightly so his shoulder brushed yours (?!), his voice dipped in dry amusement.

Okay, WHAT. THE. FUCK. WAS UP WITH HIM???

First, he'd checked on you after your little puke episode (the fact he'd been looking for you in the first place???), then he'd been kinda touchy as he guided you back to the kitchen. Not to mention his insane mood swing afterward for literally no reason—was Rafe too drunk or high to even realize what the fuck he was doing???

You were far from sober yourself but his behavior had shifted so suddenly, it was like he was actively seeking out your—NOPE, YOU JUST DRANK TOO MUCH LOLLLLLZZZ.

“Aight, Ruth, don’t let it get boring,” Chris said, smiling all cocky as Topper left the room.

“Pfft, that’s not on me,” Ruthie muttered, clearly annoyed, and got ready to read the next dare for herself. And judging by the grin on her face, it played right into her hands. “Aww, sweet. Make out with the person to your right for 60 seconds.”

...

She can't be serious.

Yeah, funny. Real fucking funny that the perfect guy happened to be sitting next to her, and she was the one in charge of this whole damn game.

And even funnier, how she first smiled at you before turning to Rob with fluttery, fake-innocent eyes.

“That okay with you?” she asked, voice all smug and sugary and just—HNCDSUNFCJDSFUCKYOU.

Your heart thundered with rage because, for some reason, this just felt so unfair and wrong and AHHHH. Like—no, just NO.

HOW was it that you finally met a guy at a party who you instantly clicked with, who clearly liked you, AND THEN THIS HAPPENED? It felt like the universe had just sucker punched you in the face.

But yeah, sure, it’s cool, everything’s fine.

Would’ve just been too fucking wild if you were allowed to have one lucky day, hm. And you feeling jealous now? It felt so stupid and embarrassing because clearly Rob could do whatever the fuck he wanted. It was a fucking party and you two only knew each other for barely a few hours. There was NO point in getting riled up about this. This whole game was designed for this kind of crazy shit anyway—it was just…

Why Ruthie? Why not Molly? Or giggling Samantha? Or hell, even fucking Gracie? But WHY that bitch?

“Fine by me,” Rob said, and your stomach dropped.

Ruthie’s annoying little friends cheered them on as she and Rob leaned in to get ready to—yeah, no, you didn’t need to watch this shit.

While everyone else watched the two of them make out, your eyes locked on Rob’s back. Looking away entirely would make you seem like a little bitter girl, so you focused hard on the music blasting from outside, just trying not to hear the kissing sounds—or whatever else was happening right next to you.

“Shit, cheer up. You dodged a bullet with this fucker,” Rafe whispered, his shoulder brushing yours AGAIN, and when you looked at him—you had never seen him grin so hard. Like, dude was full-on gloating. Pupils blown wide.

You had no idea if this asshole was mocking you or actually trying to make you feel better.

All you could do was furrow your brows, anger bubbling up inside you—confused and irritated by this whole night. BY RAFE ACTING LIKE THIS?!

You just wanted to get up and go home.

Instead, you sat there frozen, letting the moment pass, subconsciously scooting a little away when Rob shifted back into his seat after him and Ruthie were done.

Now your thigh was touching Rafe's, but at this point, did it even matter anymore?

Gracie and Samantha giggled again, bickering over something, and honestly—could someone just throw them out already??

“Aww, no, you’ve got something right here,” Ruthie said all cheeky, pointing at a smudge of lipstick on the corner of Rob’s mouth.

Rob laughed, surprised. “Oh, thanks,” he said, wiping it away and throwing you a little sheepish smile.

The worst part? He wasn’t some pervy guy. He didn’t seem to have any bad intentions or shady motives. No, he was just genuinely having fun, enjoying the game and the whole social vibe—kind of like a golden retriever, oblivious to Ruthie's stupid shit.

Which made Rafe's apparent disdain toward him all the more ridiculous. Like, Rob was literally just existing and enjoying life. Then again, exactly this worldview was probably what pissed Rafe off in the first place. That guy was a hater.

"What’s taking Topper so long?" Shitface Chris said with a scoff. "Does he need help finding his cock or what?"

Do you need help finding your brain?

“Sounds like you’re volunteering”, Rafe said, scoffing amused.

This time Chris narrowed his eyes, leaning forward like he was ready to throw hands. And Rafe? He raised his chin like he wanted someone to hit him tonight.

O-kay. Two guys on coke? Not exactly the best combo.

"But the game," Samantha said, clinging to Chris’ bicep.

"Sammy’s right," Ruthie chimed in, and then she smiled in that way—and you knew it could only go downhill from here. "Let’s get back to the fun part."

Aaaand your adrenaline spiked the second she met your eyes, that fake-ass smile on her face.

"I think Rob should sit back for now. Catch his breath and all, you know? Then we can move on with you, yeah?"

BITCH.

"No, it's fine", Rob said, genuinely confused.

Ruthie shut him down with that sickly sweet smile of hers. "Aww, no, it's alright. You've already proven yourself plenty."

OH THIS FUCKING BITCH.

Your heart pounded, nerves buzzing, all eyes on you, and the awareness of your sweaty hands just made everything worse. Rafe bouncing his leg beside you didn’t help either.

But you didn’t give your brain time to react. You just nodded with a forced smile and said, "Sure."

"Great." Ruthie was grinning like a damn hyena. She tapped on her phone, the next dare loading, your pulse shooting into orbit, and when that disgusting sparkle lit up her eyes, you knew you were fucked.

"Oh, this one’s..." She giggled again, pretending to hesitate. "I mean, it’s not really bad but for you it might be a little too much..."

Samantha kicked her feet. "Don’t keep us in suspense, Ruth."

God, you hated these wannabe mean girls and whatever fake Barbie energy they were on so much. Like who even talked like that, all sugary and fake?

"Okay, okay, you’re right." Ruthie smiled, still staring at her screen. Then she said, "Play 7 minutes in heaven with..." Her brows twitched, then the biggest grin appeared on her lips. "Chris."

FUCKING HELL, ABSOLUTELY NOT. NOPE NOPE NOPENOPENOPE.

NO!

Just the thought of being in this room with that perv made your skin crawl—but being locked in with him for 7 whole-ass minutes??

FUCK NO.

You just stared at her, feeling Chris Reid’s nasty, filthy gaze on you, the way he chuckled—gross and suggestive—and Ruthie grinning with that awful glint in her eyes.

Your body felt dizzy, heart pounding in your chest, your ears, your head—NO. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t do this.

Not with him.

You didn’t even know what to say, afraid you’d come across as prude or—COULD RAFE PLEASE STOP BOUNCING HIS LEG??

Ruthie tilted her head, pouting. "Aww, knew it was gonna be too much for you. Well then, remove your top."

You pressed your lips together, too many thoughts and emotions boiling over, this whole thing suddenly crashing down like a massive wave of disgust.

"Ruthie..." Kelce started but the bitch just shook her head.

"What? Those are the rules."

Rob seemed to lean over to gaze into her phone, but she immediately turned it away, laughing like everyone else was insane. "Jesus, y’all are acting like this is some crazy dare. It’s just staying in a room with—"

"Okay!" you snapped, heat flooding through your entire body.

No—not heat. That was the suffocating weight of fear and panic at the thought of being alone in a room with Reid.

The room went silent. Only some shitty Travis Scott song kept playing through those obnoxiously loud speakers outside.

It’s just 7 minutes. And he’s not going to force anything, right? RIGHT?!

Heart thundering, adrenaline buzzing through your nerves, ignoring that perv's disgusting smirk across from you, you moved to get up—

And froze.

A warm hand had grabbed your wrist. Gentle but firm.

"That’s some bullshit." Rafe’s voice was low and calm. The way he stared down Ruthie—cold, disgusted—no, actually, there was something deeply unsettling in his gaze.

It gave you goosebumps.

Ruthie scoffed, raising her brows. "Yeah? And why’s that? Jealous she might enjoy—"

"Nah, that fucker’s just a fucking perv," Rafe cut her off, and the entire circle practically gasped.

Reid's brows drew together as he squared up in his seat. "What the fuck, man?"

"What?" A crooked smile spread across Rafe's face. "Am I wrong?"

And just like that, Chris was on his feet, his whole body and face radiating anger. The aggressive football player vibe? Very much present—and those blown-wide pupils? Danger.

A guy like that on coke was definitely not the best mix.

"You got a problem with me, Cameron? Get up and say it to my fucking face," Chris said, his face flushed.

Rafe’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and you could feel his whole body tensing up like he was about to rise and blow the entire situation up.

And your heart? Either it had stopped, or it was beating so fast you couldn’t hear it anymore.

"It's fine," you said, forcing a tight smile while a thousand thoughts raced through your head. "I mean, Ruthie’s right. Compared to the others, it’s an easy dare."

Agreeing with that bitch felt more humiliating than what the dare actually entailed.

Rafe looked at you with an intensity and disbelief like you'd just full on slapped him. His pupils were massive, and under the surface, you could sense the storm of anger brewing. He opened his mouth, but Ruthie cut him off.

"See? Your girl gets it," she said.

Chris chuckled condescendingly. "Don’t worry, dude. You know I'm chill. I’ll be soft with—"

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence. Rafe was on his feet—

— and caught a fist straight to the face.

"You’re a bitch, Cameron," Chris gloated.

With a groan, Rafe rubbed his bloody nose, a twisted grimace on his face.

But instead of backing off, he instantly grabbed Chris by the collar—Kelce and Rob jumped up too, rushing to intervene with a panicked, "Ayo, guys, guys!" while Ruthie was giggling like a maniac in the background.

She looked at you, her thumb gesturing toward Rafe. "Get your pathetic dog under control."

Oh, and you were this close to throwing hands with her because she was seriously pushing every button—but the chaos unfolding had you too stunned to do anything.

And somehow, in the midst of it all, Rob ended up the one in Rafe’s crosshairs. As Rob reached out to pull him off Chris, Rafe’s head snapped toward him.

Rafe shoved him hard. "Keep your fucking hands off me."

"Hey, man, come on, you need to chill," Rob said, raising his hands, eyes wide with genuine confusion, like he had no clue why all this anger had suddenly been directed at him.

"Guys, come on," Kelce said over Ruthie's manic giggles.

But Rafe was locked in on Rob, didn't even react when Kelce grabbed his shoulder.

"Oh my God, guys, why are you even fighting?" Ruthie suddenly piped up, her voice all fake-innocent (Rafe was legit about to swing at Rob). "I was just joking."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Everyone turned toward Ruthie now, who was grinning and soaking in the attention like it was the best drink of her life.

She flipped her phone around for everyone to see but held it up toward Rafe specifically. "See, Cameron? You can relax your balls. Lucky for you, the dare actually included your name." She laughed. "I was just messing around a bit."

"You're a bitch, Ruthie," Molly said from behind—and that sentence coming from sweetheart Molly? Lowkey, the craziest part of this whole messed-up night.

Rafe’s face was tight, blood smeared across his nose and lips, a bruised mark blooming on his cheek from Reid’s punch. He locked eyes with you for a split second—his gaze cold, brows twitching like he was waiting for you to say something.

But you couldn't.

He slapped Kelce’s hand away and said, "I’m fucking done with this shit," before pushing past Kelce and Chris and stormed out of the room.

Ruthie sighed, fake sadness plastered all over her face. "Aw, game’s over I guess."

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Seriously, why does all the crazy shit always happen when I'm not present?" Cara said, frowning as she watched Topper mix her a non-alcoholic cocktail at the bar outside.

After that whole completely unhinged mess earlier, Kelce had—very nicely, actually—kicked Ruthie and Chris out of the party (thankfully, Gracie had left on her own), and then even apologized to you for their “uncool” behavior.

And not only that, he'd asked if it would be okay if he left you behind to go check on Rafe. Like… dude, you felt SO bad for ever having judged Kelce even a little.

You’d just said, "Of course. I hope he’s doing okay." Even though you kind of really wanted to follow him but you were too afraid of coming off clingy, especially with how done Rafe had seemed with you tonight.

Besides—BESIDES asidefromfuckingbesides—CARA had finally shown up.

Topper (thank GOD the guy hadn't sent her a dick pic) had indeed vanished to the bathroom but instead got into a long texting back-and-forth with Cara, which led to her showing up earlier than planned.

Yep. There was definitely something going on between them.

WHEW.

A LOT had happened tonight.

Which was why the bar in the backyard was the perfect place to stop your brain from sobering up and spiraling.

You’d have enough time for that tomorrow HAHAHAHAHHELP.

"Be glad," Topper said at Cara’s disappointed tone, placing the finished pink drink in front of her. "I didn’t experience the whole mess that went down but Ruthie really lost her shit tonight."

Molly nodded, sipping her own drink. "That’s always how she is. Tries to make up for her insecurities by playing power games." Then she glanced at you. "Sorry she took it out on you."

You shook your head with an awkward smile (suddenly feeling weird about Rob's presence so close to you). "It’s okay. I mean, it was kinda obvious this would happen if she joined and took charge of the game."

"Nah, next time call me right away," Cara said firmly. "I’m not afraid to throw hands with a bitch like that. I’ve been wanting to punch her for years."

You all laughed.

Then Topper’s expression turned serious. "I just hope Rafe’s alright. I mean, taking a punch from a monster like Reid? I’m surprised his jaw’s still intact."

"Right? I thought we were gonna have to call 911," Molly added. "But I guess he got lucky that Chris held back."

Rob nodded with a baffled laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I'm also lucky Rafe held back as well. I seriously thought he was gonna give me a matching bruise."

"Yeah. He's been on edge since this afternoon", Topper said with a frown. "I'm not saying he deserved that punch, but maybe this humbled him for once."

"Okay, we nearly got a crazy-ass fight, which is cool and all but... how did that even happen?" Cara asked—and funny enough, all eyes turned to you.

PLSSSS.

You smiled awkwardly. Even you couldn’t deny that the whole situation had kind of escalated because, well...

"He stepped up for Y/N," Molly said, her voice gentle, her smile amused. "Saved her from playing 7 minutes in heaven with Chris. Very heroic."

NAHHHHHH MOLLY PLEASE DON’T.

Your face flared up instantly—AND FUCKING CARA AND TOPPER SHOOTING EACH OTHER SIDEYES WASN’T HELPING.

"It was just a nice gesture," you said but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling a little as you thought of how gently he’d grabbed your wrist.

"GIRL, what?! He literally took a punch for you." Cara was shaking her head like a maniac, looking from Topper to Molly. "Please, can one of you just tell her that he likes her? She never listens to me."

CARA OMG.

Molly chuckled and gave you an amused look. "I feel like he would’ve killed someone for you in that moment. Just saying."

"Yeah, me", Rob chuckled and took a sip of his beer.

DGFKHBJKVJKCSLFICJKSAJDFHXKNDSK GUYS.

And to top it all off, Topper chimed in with a deadpan expression: "Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen for this idiot."

OKAY THIS WAS GETTING OUT OF HAND.

You shook your head, your whole face burning. "No!" you laughed nervously. "I mean—"

Someone’s phone rang (a miracle anyone could even hear it over the music), and according to Topper's expression, it was his.

"Kelce," he muttered and answered. "What’s up?"

A weird feeling spread in your stomach. What if Chris’s punch had actually done more damage to Rafe's face? Reid could’ve easily caused a concussion and—

"And why can’t you get it yourself?" Topper frowned as he listened to whatever Kelce was saying on the other end.

"Yeah, sure, I guess. Be there in a sec." With an annoyed sigh, he hung up and stuffed the phone back into his shorts pocket.

"Rafe died?" Cara asked, sipping her drink.

Topper shook his head. "Kelce thought it was more important to smoke a joint first instead of looking after Rafe’s busted face, and now they’re both too stoned to get off their asses."

"There's no better painkiller than a fat J", Rob replied.

Molly chuckled, and you also had to smile, relieved that Rafe seemed to be okay after all (plus huge props to Rob for being so cool about Rafe's almost crashout).

"So now you’re playing sexy nurse or what?" Cara asked Topper, raising a brow in amusement.

Topper shook his head, a faint blush on his cheeks, and walked around the bar. "Nah, they just want some ice for Rafe’s face." He pulled a medium-sized bag of ice cubes from the freezer. "Be right back."

"Wait!" Cara said, grabbing his arm. NO, you did NOT like the look on her face. "I feel like Y/N should go."

Topper raised his brows.

You frowned. "What? Why?"

"Think of it as the perfect chance to thank Rafe for his little hero moment."

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

This is ridiculous.

You stood in front of Kelce’s bedroom door. The music wasn’t nearly as loud up here in the hallway. In your hands: a bag of ice and a towel Topper had handed you.

Why were you even nervous? Seriously?

You were just bringing Rafe this stuff and then heading back down again. That was all. UGH—no, the problem was that YOU were the one standing here instead of Topper.

Before you could spiral with a thousand overthinking thoughts, you shoved down every anxious nerve and the obvious heat in your face, and knocked on the door.

Your brows furrowed when no one answered.

Okay, no big deal. I’ll just go in, drop off the ice, maybe ask if everything’s alright, and then dip. Rafe won’t think I’m clingy.

Ugh. Maybe you really should’ve taken more of Topper’s shots.

You opened the door and peeked inside.

And what the actual fuck—Kelce’s room was way cleaner than you'd expected. The bed was made, posters of athletes and boxers were hung in perfect symmetry on the walls, everything on the desk was neatly arranged... and it didn’t smell like gross boy.

Nope. Instead, a sweet scent of weed drifted in from the half-open balcony door, Kelce and Rafe’s muffled voices outside.

You bit the inside of your cheek. I got this.

You walked straight to the glass door and knocked like a little idiot.

Kelce smiled right away and stood up. Rafe had his back to you, not bothering to turn around (probably expecting Topper—and let’s not forget they still had some weird beef going on).

"Yo, Y/N. Oh wait, the door’s kinda heavy," Kelce said, voice slightly slurry (yeah, he was totally wasted—eyes half-lidded and red), and slid the glass door open.

You smiled gratefully, doing your best NOT to meet Rafe’s eyes as he finally turned around. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem," Kelce said with a grin and gestured to the outdoor couches. "Come on, sit down. Guess you needed a break from Ruthie’s madness too."

You shook your head gently. "Oh no, I was actually just..." You held up the ice pack and towel. "Topper said you’d asked for this."

Kelce raised his eyebrows like he’d just had a full-on epiphany. "Ahh, shit, right. Forgot about that."

Dude was gone.

"That idiot too scared to bring it himself or what?" Rafe said, his tone dry.

You finally dared to meet his eyes—and the bitterness in his stare didn’t even register because all you could focus on was the big red bruise on his right cheek that tightened your chest.

He looked wrecked, and guilt crawled up your spine.

"Nah, he probably just didn’t want to miss the chance to lock down Cara," Kelce cut in, flopping back down on the couch across from Rafe.

You used the laid-out opportunity and nodded with an awkward smile. "Seems like it."

"Understandable. That chick's a bombshell."

That actually made you chuckle. "I know."

"Then let those two do their thing and come chill with us," Kelce said, gesturing toward an empty armchair.

You clenched your teeth. As much as you'd love to join them, Rafe probably didn’t want—

"Okay," you said and sat down in the chair between the two of them. You held the ice pack awkwardly in the air, eyeing Rafe with a sheepish smile.

He simply gestured toward the table in the middle. "Drop that shit there."

... Was he really too proud to hold a damn ice pack to his clearly busted face?

"Dude, that looks bad. Just take the damn thing," Kelce said, bless him.

Rafe scoffed and winced (clearly from pain). "Nah."

"You're stupid," Kelce shot back, shaking his head.

GRRRRRRRR, why was he so fucking stubborn? You wanted to smack that ice pack against his cheek yourself.

Well, girl, like he said, he wasn't your stupid boyfriend—so who cared, right?

You placed the towel and ice on the table.

This is all so awkward for no reason.

"So, psycho games aside, how do you like the party so far?" Kelce asked, eyeing you with a half-lidded grin.

Hmm, aside from being ditched by Rafe, finding a new guy who you'd lost interest in after his make-out-session with Ruthie, getting dragged into some gross dare, possibly becoming Ruthie’s next target, being the reason Rafe’s face was bruised to hell, and not to mention the absurd amount of mixed signals he'd thrown at you tonight?

You smiled. "Pretty good. I had fun."

"Glad to hear it." Kelce nodded with genuine satisfaction and slumped deeper into the couch, staring up at the stars for a moment. "I think the highlight for me was Molly choosing us for a threesome."

A baffled laugh slipped out. "Yeah, I guess."

Kelce turned to look at you, warmth in his eyes. "You think she meant it?"

Aww, did he catch feelings because of that? LMAO.

Rafe let out an amused breath and shifted in his seat. "Shit, she was probably just being nice ‘cause you didn’t grope her tits."

No, bro, YOU don’t get to play anti-cupid.

“I think she likes you,” you said to Kelce, ignoring Rafe’s glare. “I mean, sure, not going through with Ruthie’s stupid dare was definitely part of it, but even before that, she didn’t seem, um... turned off by you touching her.”

AM I PLAYING MATCHMAKER FOR KELCE STATTER AND MOLLY CRANE HOLY SHIT?

Kelce sat up straight, nodding. "Holy shit, you’re right." He smiled like an actual kid. "I think she’s the coolest girl I’ve ever met. So chill and unbothered. And her freckles move when she laughs. Can't believe I've never really talked to her before."

DMJWSKBCFJFSDBCHSKJD PLSSS JUST MARRY HER.

"Dude, you're wasted," Rafe said with a condescending scoff.

What the fuck was his problem, like BE FR—be happy for your bro.

Maybe if you played this right...

"I think she’s still with Topper and Cara at the bar," you said, looking at Kelce with a smile (intentionally leaving out Rob), shifting a little as if you were about to stand up. "I should probably get back to her so she’s not stuck third-wheeling them."

“No, no, it’s fine,” Kelce said, jumping up like he’d just sobered in 0.2 seconds. “You deserve some chill time after all this chaos. I’ll go save her from Topper’s tragic flirting attempts.”

With that, he walked past you, flashing the biggest idiot grin, and closed the balcony door behind him.

...handle facing down.

Shit.

Now you were stuck with Rafe, which had kinda been your plan, because something deep inside you wanted to work through the tension between you two—but um... there was no way out now if things got messy.

Cool cool cool cool. Now you actually were playing 7 minutes in heaven with Rafe after all.

Or hell, depending on what kind of mood he was in.

Rafe furrowed his brows, probably having come to the same conclusion, and slouched deeper into the couch. "Don’t tell me you actually think he has a chance with her."

You frowned. "Why not? As a girl, I can tell she genuinely likes him."

"Shit, if you say so," Rafe muttered, tilting his head, eyes glassy and red from the weed and probably leftover coke. "What about your new boyfriend? That fucker ditched you to chase Ruthie?"

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s your problem with Rob?"

No way in hell you'd feed his ego by telling him you'd ditched a chance at...something, for him. Because guess what, Rob had actually seemed pretty sad and disappointed that you'd leave him behind by bringing Rafe the ice (wow, you'd actually pulled a Rafe on him).

Didn't matter anyway. Him having exchanged saliva with Ruthie was such a turn-off—even if he didn't mean any ill by it—that all the butterflies you'd felt for him had died almost instantly.

Rafe nodded with an amused, almost triumphant expression. "So I’m right."

"No, I’m serious. The way you nearly started a fight with him, even though Chris was the one who punched you," you shook your head with an irritated smile. "What the fuck was that about?"

Rafe shrugged, eyes tired. “Shit, he’s a fucking asshole. Would've deserved a good beating.”

Wow, going straight to a beating...they definitely had some kind of history.

"An asshole? That’s not the impression I got," you said, fed up with his bullshit. "He was polite, respectful, and tried to save you from getting your ass beat by Reid."

"Oh, yeah he's a real hero for throwing himself at Ruthie", Rafe said with an irritated smile. "Is that why you're here now? Trying to get back at him or some shit?"

What the fuck was even going on in this guy's head?

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Seriously, your passive aggression toward him is so fucking weird."

"Did you want me to kiss his fucking ass or some shit?" Rafe sat up straight, gesturing to his chest. "I don’t see you thanking me either for saving you from getting harassed by a fucking perv."

Oh, the audacity.

"I didn’t ask for that," you shot back sharply, even though—fuck—you were indeed very thankful for his interference. You didn’t even want to imagine what that creep Chris might’ve tried.

Rafe leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You’re fucking kidding me, right?"

"I’M the one feeling played here," you snapped, then instantly pressed your lips shut—those shots from earlier were definitely kicking in. Your mouth now faster than your brain.

Rafe's whole posture shifted, with almost the same intensity he'd looked at Ruthie earlier. "The fuck is that supposed to mean, huh?"

I thought I’d at least earned some of your attention tonight.

But actually saying that out loud? Fuck no—then you’d sound like a psycho, crazy, clingy bitch.

"Your behavior tonight is confusing," was all you managed to say.

And Rafe? His whole face twisted like you’d just said the dumbest shit imaginable.

"I’M confusing? That’s rich—coming from the girl who complained about not wanting a hookup tonight, then throws herself at the next best fucker.”

Fuck that.

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t complain. I asked you not to make fucking jokes about me needing to fuck my brains out,” you snapped. “And second, there is no reason why I should justify anything to you. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”

Rafe scoffed. “You act like you’re this perfect little girl but in reality? You can’t even handle being at a fucking party on your own.”

“Wow. That’s low, even for you”, you said dryly.

“Is it? I left you alone for thirty fucking minutes and where do I find you? Puking your guts out in the bathroom after letting Prince Charming pour you drink after drink.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Rob treated me with more respect than you did all night.”

“You’re an ungrateful brat,” Rafe spat bitterly. “’Cause guess what? Fucking Sunshine Robert wasn’t the one making sure you were okay after you puked your soul out, and he definitely wasn’t the one who took a punch in the face for you.”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “Right, so caring leaving me behind to go snort coke with the same prick who gave you this bruise.”

Rafe smiled irritated, gesturing at his chest, frustration visibly bubbling over. “What the fuck did you expect me to do, huh? I asked you to come along and you declined.”

You clenched your jaw. “I know, but—”

“But what? You expected me to go run after you? Beg you to stay with me and act like some stupid boyfriend or some shit? Is that what you were hoping for tonight?”

You wanted to snap back. Call him out for being an ignorant asshole, a dick for inviting you and then leaving you behind, then suddenly seeking your presence for whatever reason, and for being a fucking loser for pulling this whole I-don’t-give-a-shit act.

But unlike him, you had decency.

"Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your fucking problem with me all of a sudden?" you asked, trying to steady your voice. "You’ve been off since this afternoon, switching personalities every two seconds, and it obviously started right after you've found out that I was joining you for Topper's ride."

Rafe's brows furrowed, probably having expected you to actually snap back, throw some insults at him like he’d done, and you could tell by his whole posture that he was about to say some bullshit to twist the blame and come out on top.

But not this time.

"Don’t even think about throwing some fucked-up comment back at me," you said before he could open his mouth. "I’m actually trying to talk this out because I’m sick of you deflecting everything like an ignorant asshole."

Rafe scoffed condescendingly and tapped his temples like a maniac. "I seriously can’t make any fucking sense of you. One second, you want me to be this unbothered guy; the next, you're desperately looking for confrontation. What kind of crazy-girl-bullshit is this?"

"Okay, let’s get this straight," you said sharply, emphasizing your words with a hand gesture. "When I said I appreciated you not making a big deal out of things, I did not mean you should avoid confrontation altogether. I appreciate you not making fun of my anxiety—yes—which, by the way, I’m taking back because you did just earlier. But I do want you to take shit like this seriously."

That actually shut him up for a second. His face scrunched up like the idiot was trying to make sense of your words.

You took the chance and continued, voice now more controlled: "I don’t want you pushing your own feelings aside just because you think I can’t handle confrontation."

And Rafe was back with an offended smile. "My feelings? Holy shit, do you—"

"Oh my fucking god," you groaned, giving him a look like he'd never heard of basic communication. "Concerns, issues, feelings, okay? Stuff that’s bothering you. Seriously, stop acting like I’m attacking you all the time, I’m just trying to solve a thing here. And right now, it seems like something about me is bothering you, the way you’ve been acting all night."

For a second, something in his expression shifted. Very subtle. Could’ve been your imagination—because right after, he was back in defense mode (or attack mode, since with Rafe, it was always offense as defense).

"Why the fuck would you think I've got an issue with you?"

Literally what. This guy? Zero brain activity.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" You scoffed in disbelief. "The way you'd reacted at school when Topper announced I’d be joining your ride? Pretty damn clear I wasn’t welcome. The way you got all pissed with me in the kitchen earlier for no damn reason? I mean, what the fuck. And now... whatever this is."

Rafe leaned forward, shaking his head with squinted eyes, gesturing to his chest again. "Then why the fuck would I even bother picking you up in the first place?"

"Yeah, no shit."

"What?"

"Exactly: what."

Rafe's lips stayed parted like his brain was trying to connect the dots—but he wasn’t connecting shit by the looks of it. He leaned back, sank into the couch, and closed his eyes, face scrunching up. Out of anger, frustration, or pain, you couldn't tell.

Motioning with his hands to his temples, he said, "I can't listen to this shit anymore. You’re giving me a fucking headache."

Perfect. You’d been crushing on a full-grown toddler all these years.

You sighed and rubbed your eyelids with both hands, frustrated with how incapable he was of holding an actual conversation.

And the worst part? You actually felt bad for him because clearly, he wasn’t used to someone actually trying to solve things with him.

"You’re an idiot," you finally said, surprised with how soft it came out.

Rafe opened his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, ready to reply some bullshit—then he winced, a hand snapping to his cheek as if he’d been hit again.

Something tugged at your chest. Pushing the anger down for a second, you said, "You really should put that ice on before the bruise swells up or gets worse."

"Shit probably looks worse than it feels," Rafe muttered, though the pain was written all over his face.

"You look like shit."

"I don’t need that fucking ice."

You clenched your jaw. This was the biggest, dumbest, most stupid idiot alive with the communication skills of a baby. How the fuck had he ever seemed intimidating to you in any way?

God, I’m the idiot for seeing him as this untouchable crush. All he is... is a fucking dumbass.

Somehow, in this moment, that realization flipped a switch in you. Instead of the years-long crush you'd built up in your head, all you were seeing now was a stubborn idiot with the temper—and brain—of a 13-year-old Fortnite kid.

…and a poor idiot who had never learned how to express real emotions — either because he was never taught or never allowed to.

And because the alcohol and frustration had shredded your filter and restraint, you grabbed the damn ice pack, wrapped it in the damn towel, and got up to sit beside that damn idiot.

He just gave you an irritated look. "What? You actually wanna make out now?"

"Jesus Christ, that bruise looks even worse up close," you said, ignoring his stupid comment.

Because it did—a blotchy mess of deep red and the first hints of purple creeping in around the edges, the skin over his cheekbone already swollen, dried blood still crusted, and you could feel the pulsing pain just by looking at it.

"You’re lucky he didn’t dislocate your jaw with such force", you said, unable to remove your gaze from his bruise.

That made Rafe chuckle in disbelief. "That fucker just hit a lucky shot. He wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight."

Oh my god, we get it. You’re the strongest, coolest guy in the world.

"Yeah, I’m sure," you said dryly—and then gathered every last bit of courage you had, pushed down your own ego, and raised the cool pack to his cheek.

"Shit, stop that, I don’t need you nursing me," he said with a strained smile, pushing your hand away.

And the fact that you were making him uncomfortable almost made you laugh out loud.

You allowed yourself a smirk, holding the pack out to him. "Well, you clearly need it. So do it yourself."

He eyed you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

"Oh fuck that," you said and pressed the cold towel against his cheek.

And well, the alcohol hadn’t just lowered your inhibitions—it had also messed with your coordination which meant you basically hit him.

"Fuck," he winced, pulling away, face twisted in pain.

You chuckled. "If you don’t cool that now, you’ll be walking around like Quasimodo tomorrow."

"You almost gave me a concussion with that", he replied, his amusement finally returning.

"Oh my god, shut up and hold still." With a suppressed smile, you reached out again. This time, you tried to be gentle, carefully dabbing at the dried blood on the corner of his mouth.

To your surprise, he actually stayed quiet, jaw tense, letting out small groans every time the towel stung—but he endured it with a frown so dramatic, he could've played an extra in Bridgerton.

Your heart was racing in your chest, the heavy bass from downstairs syncing with its beat, head slightly dizzy from the alcohol, and the smell of weed in the air mixed sweetly with his cologne.

The silence between you two (aside from his suppressed groans) felt heavy. Not with tension, not with anger—more like... something else. Something you didn’t dare name, not even in your head.

You scooted closer to get a better angle, but in your dizzy state, you accidentally bumped him with the pack again.

"Fuck. Give that shit to me," he said, taking it from your cold hands, his tone lacking any real bite. "You’re a horrible nurse."

"And you’re a pussy," you shot back with an amused smile, nerves buzzing.

Rafe scoffed, eyebrows drawn together, and turned away to rewrap the ice, but in his profile, you saw him trying to suppress a smile.

You leaned back, pulling your legs up to the side, elbow resting on the couch arm. A warm feeling spread in your chest as you noticed how soft his features actually appeared when he wasn’t in his usual you-piss-me-off mode.

And somehow, seeing him like that—with that big ugly bruise, the little smile on his lips, the obvious pain he was feeling—made you put your ego aside, pushing away the remnant anger from your fight.

"I need to correct myself," you said.

Rafe looked at you for a moment, irritation written on his face. "What?"

"Earlier… when I said I didn't ask you to step up for me," you said, voice quieter now. "I am thankful for that. More than I’m able to express.” You shifted your gaze for a second. “Obviously, I know the dare itself wasn’t even that crazy compared to the others, but…" You played with your fingers and frowned. "The thought of being locked in a room with him… I don’t—"

Rafe waved a hand dismissively. "That fucker's a disgusting perv."

"Yeah, I know. I just…" Your eyes wandered to the awful bruise on his face. "I’m sorry that happened."

Finally, he looked you in the eyes, something softer behind the tension in his gaze. Something hesitant.

Then he shrugged and sank back into the couch again—finally pressing the damn ice pack to his cheek.

"I’ve been through worse shit," he muttered—and you didn’t dare ask what or from whom.

You just nodded, the air between you suddenly heavier than before. The dull thump of Mask Off by Future playing downstairs, some drunk guys shouting along to the lyrics.

Rafe shifted in his seat, jaw clenched like there was still frustration in him bubbling beneath the surface.

And then the craziest fucking thing happened:

"Shit, okay, guess I’m sorry too," Rafe fucking I’m always acting nonchalant Cameron said, glancing at you with those big tired eyes before staring ahead again like he was afraid of holding your gaze. "If I made you feel like you weren't welcome or some shit."

His brows pulled together, face scrunching like his idiot brain was still searching for the right words. "And shit, I don't know—I guess it was also stupid to leave you behind with all these pervs and gossiping bitches around." He let out a pitiful scoff. "Pisses me off I dealt coke to the same fucker that smashed my face."

Okay, scratch everything—your crush just went nuclear again. Your heart was back in the race, and the butterflies in your stomach were basically tearing themselves apart from excitement.

His blue eyes locked with yours again. "You are fucking weird and crazy," he said, a crooked smile tugging at his lips, "and your anxiety overthinking whatever bullshit you have going on definitely drives me fucking insane. But I don't know..." He let out an amused, almost awkward (!!!) breath, his voice containing a nervous (!!!) edge. "I guess I fuck with that."

...

OH.

MY.

HOLY.

FUCKING.

GOD.

LIKE WHAT. WHATWASTHATWHATTHEHELLWHAT?!?

Your brain couldn’t even process it. What he’d just said. The fact he'd said it. Him finally showing some sincerity. And the way he looked—so stupidly sweet with that busted face and crooked smile.

I CAN’T OMG.

You didn’t even care that he was probably just saying this because he was stoned as hell, maybe even had a mild concussion that cracked his emotional firewall (seriously, dude should see a doctor tomorrow), and some chaotic mix of sketchy drinks in his system.

It was the fact that he'd actually made the effort to communicate his thoughts at all, letting himself show some vulnerability despite all that fucking ego.

OH MY GOD THIS IS TOO MUCH. (Also, yeah, let’s ignore him having called you crazy again—you honestly didn’t care right now.)

"That... I appreciate it," you said quietly.

Rafe raised his brows, a smile tugging at his lips. "Shit, no crazy-ass monologue? That's an improvement."

Your smile widened. "Well, I’m just gonna assume you’re not saying all that just so I don’t go up to Mr. Smith and ask him to kick you out of our project."

Rafe scoffed, his smile lazy and half-lidded. "Did it work?"

"Nah, I’m not that easy to buy," you replied with a smirk.

"Shit," he muttered with a low chuckle, "guess I gotta change my strategy then."

And then—everything in you froze.

Because if your eyes didn't betray you, his gaze dropped to your lips. Just for a second. LITERALLY A NANOSECOND.

Barely noticeable. But enough.

Almost instantly, panic hit you like a freight train.

Full red alert blaring in your body.

Your brain shutting down.

Heart rate? Through the roof.

Internal monologue? Screaming.

AND THEN THAT FUCKER HAD THE AUDACITY TO LEAN FORWARD, REMOVING THE TOWEL FROM HIS CHEEK—

—only to get a better look at something that caught his attention behind you.

"Holy shit", he said, brows raised. "That fucker actually did it."

Still dazed by whatever the hell was happening, you forced yourself to turn—and oh god—bathed in Kelce’s neon lights, two silhouettes were making out.

Oh god.

OH GOD.

"I don’t think he knows we’re still locked out," you mumbled, awkwardness creeping in. You did not want to sit here with Rafe and accidentally witness Molly and Kelce doing… that.

Rafe raised his eyebrows, amused. "You really wanna interrupt them now?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Might learn a thing or two," he said, and immediately raised his hands with a boyish chuckle when he saw your glare. "Shit, okay, sorry. I’ll handle it."

With a frown, you watched him get up, toss the coolpad onto the couch, and knock on the glass door.

Somehow, this was all so embarrassing and you weren’t even sure why. PLUS YOU WERE STILL SHAKEN BECAUSE OF THAT MAYBE-ALMOST-LEANING-IN-FOR-A-KISS-MAYBE-JUST-HIM-TRYING-TO-GET-A-BETTER-VIEW-OF-THE-SEX-SCENE-BEHIND-YOU-MOVEMENT.

Kelce opened the balcony door, grinning like the luckiest idiot on Earth. "Ayo, you guys still here?"

"You fucker locked us out," Rafe replied.

Kelce rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh shit, my bad. Didn’t notice." He gestured behind him. "So, if you could—"

"Yeah, yeah," Rafe said, already pushing Kelce to the side.

You quickly got up too, snatched the coolpad, and slipped past Kelce with an awkward smile.

Molly, sitting on the bed, gave you a little wave as you and Rafe walked by.

JESUS.

In the doorway, Rafe turned around, about to throw a stupid comment at you (probably something like "you sure you don't wanna stay and watch?"), but you pressed your hands against his back and pushed him out of the room, cheeks burning.

You quickly shut the door behind you and met his eyes with an oh-my-fucking-god look.

Somehow, that made both of you laugh.

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"You sure you wanna dip already?" Rafe asked, watching you slip into your jacket in the entrance hall.

It wasn’t even cold outside, but that flimsy excuse for a jacket didn’t look like it’d keep you warm at all.

You raised your brows at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. "‘Already’? It’s 4am."

Too fucking early for a Kelce party, Rafe thought, his chest still feeling warm from the last three hours.

After you two had fled from Kelce’s room to give him some peace and quiet to have his fun with Molly, you’d dragged Rafe to the bathroom first (which had excited a very specific part of him more than he was ready to admit), but all you made him do was play security outside the door (much to his dismay) while you went in to pee. When you came back out, you both ended up chilling with Cara and Topper in the living room.

Too fucking high and sore from the throbbing pain in his face, Rafe had pretty much collapsed against your side on the couch, nearly crashing into your hip. You’d just giggled and didn’t even seem to mind how close he was sitting (not that he'd been able to move away anyway, even the tiniest movement was draining all the strength out of him).

Then he had to endure listening to Topper and your friend getting loud over some absolutely uninteresting bullshit, and he couldn’t figure out how those two even vibed like that. He only started paying attention when the conversation somehow turned to weird sex stuff, but then again, he absolutely didn’t want to picture Topper doing any of that, so he’d just pulled you into a side convo, letting you ramble about random shit you were excited about.

And somehow, Rafe found himself listening—which was fucking strange because normally, he didn’t give a single shit what some girl was babbling about. Especially when he was only giving her his attention for a shot at getting laid.

With you, it was different, but he didn’t know how exactly. Like sure, if you’d actually dragged him into the bathroom earlier to go down on him, he definitely wouldn’t have said no, but the actual crazy part was that he hadn’t even wanted to leave after it hadn’t happened.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

So there he was, slouched next to you on that stupid couch in Kelce’s living room, idiot Topper trying (and failing) to win over your best friend with some of the worst flirting Rafe had ever witnessed, and the bass from the music vibrating through his skull.

Somehow, three hours just passed like that. And Rafe didn’t even need another line.

But now that you and your friend had decided to dip, that familiar pull in his chest was back again—the one that told him the high was fading, and the low was creeping in.

"Yeah, and? You got plans tomorrow or what?", he asked, almost feeling offended by your question.

Cara scoffed. “Girls need their sleep. And unlike some people here, we don’t snort a line of white and bounce back like it’s nothing.”

Idiot Topper chuckled beside her.

Rafe wasn’t sure what to make of your friend. She had the mouth of a boxer, was more eager to throw hands than any guy he knew, but still didn’t fall into the same category as someone like Ruthie.

Honestly, as long as she didn't get on his nerves, he could tolerate her.

And since he didn’t feel like getting into some dumb argument with her, he decided to let the comment slide. "That’s what Saturdays are for. You’ve got the whole damn day for spa girl shit or whatever."

Your soft laugh next to him made something warm bloom in Rafe’s chest, and he had to suppress a smile.

"No thanks," Cara replied dryly, turning to Topper with a blank stare. "Next time Ruthie starts any shit, text me right away. I’ll put the bitch in her place."

Topper chuckled. "That the only reason I’m allowed to hit you up?"

Rafe locked eyes with you, face deadpan, and you both internally gagged. That idiot was so bad at flirting it hurt.

"If you don’t want me to block you, then yeah," your friend replied, tone serious (her weird sense of humor very much questionable), and grabbed her bag. She then pulled Topper into a quick goodbye hug. "Well, tell Kelce ciao from me. Party was cool and all. I assume he’s still busy."

All four of you chuckled, and when Cara moved to hug Rafe goodbye too, he tensed slightly, not having expected that, pulling back quickly as soon as she stepped back.

"Thanks again for the invite or whatever," she mumbled impatiently to no one in particular, then turned to you. "I’ll wait in the car. My feet are killing me."

With that, the crazy girl you called your best friend left.

Topper eyed you with an uncertain smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't tell if she likes me or not."

"Trust me, you'll know if she doesn't," you replied with a cheeky smile, and Topper nodded like the dumb idiot he was.

Then he stepped forward to pull you into a hug as well, and the way your arms slid around his neck for a second itched Rafe in all the wrong ways—but he figured it was just the sight of Topper that got on his nerves.

"Glad you came," Topper said with one of his usual, butter-up smiles. "Hope you had fun, despite... well, you know."

You nodded with a chuckle. "Yeah, it's all good, no worries. Thanks for looking out for me earlier tonight."

Rafe couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you and Topper had been up to while he'd been gone. And because he couldn't stand whatever this thing between you two was, he just nodded impatiently and said, "Yeah, yeah, great job. He deserves a gold medal. Can we wrap this up now?"

Topper gave Rafe a frown and for a second, Rafe expected that idiot to bring up that stupid driver argument in front of you—something he was lucky Rafe had already decided wasn’t worth his time anymore.

But Topper just turned back to you with a smile. "Get home safe."

"Thanks," you said, and with that, the idiot left.

Finally, Rafe felt like he could breathe again. And yet—something tugged at his chest at the thought of you leaving now.

"You two should fix this," you said, your tone firm.

Fuck no. Not again.

"Still no clue what the real reason behind this beef is," you went on, softer now, "but I guess that doesn’t matter. He’s your friend."

Rafe frowned, but he was so done with this topic and somehow didn’t want to snap at you again, so he just shrugged. "By Monday, that idiot's gonna have calmed down."

You raised your brows, expression dry. "With 'idiot,' you mean yourself, I assume."

God, Rafe would have loved nothing more than to shut you up. And the way he'd do it startled even him.

"Shit, just a few drinks and suddenly you're all bold, huh?", he replied, fighting the urge to look at your lips.

"I've always been bold," you said with a sly smile. "Right now I just don't care how it comes across."

Rafe gave a lopsided smile and tapped his head with a finger. "Nah, I think the minions in your head are just finally comfortable around me."

And shit, it was the truth. Rafe didn’t care to describe it but since your stupid little fight, you seemed to be more… at ease around him. No more uncomfortable smiles and nervous energy bullshit radiating off you.

Which meant: he’d been right all along (as expected).

Bringing you here had helped to shut your crazy-ass brain finally down, and that, in turn, promised no more project sessions in which Rafe felt like he was holding you at gunpoint because of the tension you had going on in his presence.

Mission accomplished.

"Actually, they’d love to beat up the minions in your head. But kinda hard to do when it's empty", you replied.

Rafe laughed and ignored the sharp pain shooting through the right side of his face. "Aight, I think you’ve ran your mouth enough."

You chuckled, and suddenly the question was on the tip of his tongue—whether you maybe wanted to stay, whether he should walk you home instead, whether you’d like to crash at his place.

Fuck, no. Rafe swallowed that ridiculous thought down fast.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," you said, and Rafe drank in your smile. You stepped closer and he half expected you to reach out to him but you just tapped your finger against your cheek. "And you should definitely get that looked at. It’s looking worse by the second."

Rafe chuckled. "Already had a nurse check it out. Her hands were about as gentle as the Hulk's, but I guess it’ll do."

"Sounds like she should’ve beat you up instead of looking after you."

Rafe raised his chin, the corners of his mouth tugging down. "What if I was into that shit?"

You gave him a deadpan look but he could definitely see your brain short-circuiting which only made him feel all the more cocky.

"Then I’d say, keep your kinks to yourself," you said. "Because I’m heading out now."

A laugh slipped from Rafe’s lips. He saw the hesitation in your eyes and decided to save you from your misery, stepping forward with an "Aight" and pulling you into a goodbye hug.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as he pressed himself against you, feeling like he’d just done two back-to-back lines—your scent taking over his mind, almost making him act on instinct and letting his hands wander. But that thought sobered him up REAL quick, and he kept his fingers where it was considered appropriate.

When you pulled away, his chest clenched hard. Again he found himself debating whether he should ask you to stay.

Fuck that shit.

Coke and weed never made him this fucking pathetic. He'd definitely need to talk with Barry about his new formular because what the actual fuck?!

A soft smile curved your lips, your whole presence suddenly glowing. "Thanks for... everything," you said, stepping back and pulling your flimsy little jacket around your shoulders. "Then I’ll see you Monday, I guess."

Rafe nodded and walked you to the door. "Should be enough time for your brain to recover."

You gave him a mock frown. "And for you to discover yours. I still haven't forgotten that you've called me an ungrateful brat."

"Alright, you better dip before you actually start getting on my nerves," Rafe said as he opened the door, his eyes landing on the Bentley waiting outside. "I'm just gonna assume your friend had the sense not to drink tonight."

You slipped past him with a bratty smile. "I'm not even sure she has a license."

And with that, you turned and stumbled your way toward the car.

Rafe’s eyes trailed after your dimly lit figure, and before another one of those insane thoughts could creep into his head, he closed the door.

Suddenly, the same emptiness settled in—the one he’d felt the last time you'd left Tannyhill. But he was too tired, too hazed from Kelce’s fat joint, his head pounding too loud with the echo of the bass, to really process the reason behind it.

Even all the rage he’d felt earlier toward that fucking perv Chris and that surfing bastard Robert Lewis had dulled. Rafe would’ve definitely thrown hands tonight—he’d even offered Kelce a baggie of coke to stir Lewis up, just to have a reason to punch his jaw in (not that Rafe ever needed a reason but it was more fun if the other bastard was boiling inside).

Which reminded him never to leave a task like that in Kelce’s hands again. The idiot had clearly failed.

But even that, Rafe could forgive—because that fucking victorious feeling he’d felt on the couch with you, that deeply satisfying sense of winning, fuck—seeing that bastard Lewis at the end of the night, sitting outside with a bunch of other losers by one of the hookahs, almost felt better than any punch to this bastard's face ever could have.

Shit, still Rafe would have loved to give that bastard a good beating. Wipe that smug, annoying grin right off for even thinking he could make a move on the girl Rafe had brought with him.

And as soon as Rafe so much as lifted his hand, that pussy backed off instantly (shit, in a way, Rafe actually had Ruthie to thank for that opportunity).

Because that was the thing with assholes like him: They’d try some shit with Rafe, push their luck, but the second he only threatened to beat the crap out of them, they’d back off and crawl back to whatever crowd of nobodies they came from.

It was all just about playing the game right.

But to Rafe’s deepest confusion... that feeling of victory was overshadowed by something else in this very moment.

A deep low settling in his body. The only thing buzzing in his mind—the one thought that somehow sobered him up—was the fact that he wouldn’t see your crazy-ass head for two whole days.

Why the fuck that bothered him? Who the fuck knew. At this point, it felt easier not to fight against these insane thoughts. Because somehow, just like you, they seemed to drive him crazy in all the right ways.

So maybe it was that bit of clarity the universe decided to reward—because when he spotted your forgotten bag sitting on top of a cabinet in the living room, it almost felt like fate.

But since Rafe didn’t believe in gods, fate, or any kind of hippie bullshit, the only explanation that made sense to him was that you’d left it there on purpose—for him to find and bring to you tomorrow.

And that thought alone sent such a rush through his chest that he even greeted backstabbing-ass Topper in the kitchen... with a grin.

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A/N: So I hope you guys enjoyed this part even though you may have expected something different. Maybe more drama and not Rafe and Reader actually solving some issues and getting closer but I felt like they deserved a moment of true sincerity (after 14 chapters lmao). Don’t worry, from here on, there’ll only be more tension hihihhi

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[felassan]

David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

[7ndipity]

Limbo

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have been friends for over a year, but when Yoongi realizes that his feelings for you might be something more, he pulls away, fearing the pains of the past will repeat themselves. You just want to give him the love he deserves; can he accept it, or will he hide away from you?

Word Count: 3.5k(whoops lol)

Warnings: 18+ mdni, angst, mutual pining, mentions of drinking, swearing, mentions of bad/toxic past relationships, eventual smut at the end, handjob, subby Yoongi bc I said so, not proofread

A/N: I got several requests while I was gone wanting some angst to fluff/smut with Yoongi, so I kinda combined them all into this mess hehe. It def got away from me, but I hope you'll all enjoy it!

Masterlist

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It’s strange how little things that seem almost insignificant at first glance, take on so much more meaning to us than we ever expect them to. Songs on the radio, a specific perfume or food, random little trinkets that can be found in almost any gift shop. Like the keychain that Yoongi fiddled with absentmindedly as he rode the elevator up to his friend Hee-jun’s apartment.

The tiny bear figure was nothing particularly remarkable on its own, but it had come to hold a certain sense of peace for Yoongi whenever he held onto it, like his own little good luck charm, something to help keep him centered when he was feeling overwhelmed, much like now as he stepped into his friends crowded apartment.

He quickly found his usual place, tucked safely into the corner of the sofa, steering clear of the noise and chaos of the main group as they talked and drank.

His friend was always encouraging him to come over for his weekend hangouts, insisting to Yoongi that all the energy and music would help clear his head and give him inspiration for work. Yoongi wasn’t particularly in the mood for this much noise and stimuli though. He’d spent the better part of the past week holed up in his studio working several new songs, though his results had been underwhelming by his standards. He was tired and had half a mind to just slip back out the door and go home without saying anything.

His mood however perked up instantly as he caught sight of a familiar figure slipping through the front door, his eyes following you as you grabbed a drink and glanced about the room, your face breaking into a huge grin as you spotted him watching you.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming this week?” You asked, taking the empty seat next to him. “What happened to “I’m too busy being a musical genius” or whatever?”

“I was persuaded otherwise.” He replied dryly, ignoring your growing amused grin.

“I’m glad.” You said.

“Didn’t say it was you, I’m just here to get back the whiskey that Hee-Jun owes me, one glass at a time.” He responded, tipping back the last of his drink as he spoke, making you laugh.

“Whatever you say, bro.” You relented.

“Yah! I’ve told you not to call me bro.” He complained.

The two of you fell into your usual routine of conversation and bickering, much the same as every other night you had spent together since you’d first met over a year ago, when Hee-jun had invited you to a group dinner and introduced you to everyone.

Yoongi had found himself instantly charmed by you, your friendly but sarcastic attitude matching his perfectly. He had spent the majority of that first night talking eagerly with you, much to the surprise of the others, not used to seeing this side of Yoongi.

Your friendship had quickly grown after that. He had found himself completely drawn in by you, finding it remarkably easy to talk with you and wanting to learn every little thing about you. Yoongi’s friends loved to tease him about his being whipped for you, pointing out things like how he always claimed that he was too busy to hang out with them, but he somehow always managed to make time for you, but he didn’t pay them much mind. He was happy around you, really truly happy. He felt safe and comfortable with you, which was something that didn’t come very easy for Yoongi.

There were times though, usually on late nights when you were still hanging out long after one of you should’ve gone home, when he would wonder if there was some truth to his friend’s jokes, feeling a faint but insistent twinge in his chest, as if something were struggling for freedom, but he quelled it down, passing it off as just a passing thought, a flicker of something that didn’t really mean anything… Right?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of drinks and talking to you and his friends over the too loud music until late. He was in the middle of a discussion with one of the members when he felt a sudden weight against his shoulder.

Glancing down, he was met with your sleeping figure, your face nuzzled against the material of his jacket, 

All at once, that twisting feeling in his chest had returned, far more pronounced and forceful than usual, his heart stuttering like the moments before the drop on a rollercoaster. His mind went blank as he stared down at you, a familiar warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system.

Fuck, he loved you.

He loved you, with your dumb jokes and peach flavored lip balm, your terrible playlists and your quiet little hums when you're nervous, and the way you hid behind your hands when you laughed. He loved every little thing about you and he suddenly can’t breathe as he stared down at your sleeping form, taking in how perfectly you fit against his side. He stayed there for a while, not quite sure what to do now.

“Y/n?” He whispered.

“Mhm.” You stirred, shifting closer, but not fully surfacing from sleep.

He was quiet for a second, mind whirring as he tried to decide what action he should take.

He could just tell you, nudge you again gently till you woke properly, blinking up at him all drowsy and confused and utterly adorable.

“I think… I love you.” The words were simple enough in theory, mumbled out as his dark eyes bore into your own, begging for this to not be a mistake.

For a moment you didn’t move, staring as if unsure of what you’d heard, before suddenly pushing yourself up, seeking out his lips.

He wrapped his arms around you, savoring the taste of you as he pulled you closer, letting out a soft groan as your hands found their way into his hair, nails scratching over his scalp and raising goosebumps over his whole body-

The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen behind the two of you shattered the moment, ripping Yoongi roughly from his daydream.

“Yah, you see?! This is why I don’t let you help!” Jin scolded loudly.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Joon snapped back, equally loud.

“How was that not-?!”

The chaos from the kitchen had pulled you from sleep, sitting up quickly and blinking around in confusion and concern.

“What happened?” You asked groggily, shaking off the last hints of sleep.

“It’s just the guys being dumb-asses, don’t worry.” He assured you, but he shifted away subtly, a strange sense of relief flooding his system.

Mumbling out a faint excuse, he ducked down the hall to the bathroom, catching sight of his expression in the mirror as he splashed some water on his face in an attempt to clear his head. 

His cheeks were flushed a deep rosy hue, his eyes slightly too big, pupils blown wide.

What the fuck was wrong with him?! He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t say those things to you. He’d fallen down that hole before, letting his feelings get the better of him confessing, only to be viciously rejected. Or worse yet, having his feelings falsely returned, and ending up with his heart twisted into something he didn’t even recognize for the other person's benefit and pleasure, leaving him to pick up the warped pieces when they had used him up.

He couldn’t let that happen with you, he couldn’t risk ruining one of the best friendships he’s had in years over some stupid infatuation.

Taking care not to be noticed, he silently slipped out the door and made his way home, sending a half-assed text to you and his other friends about not feeling well before turning his phone off and flopping onto his bed.

He would fix this, he promised to himself, he just needed to give his little crush some time to run its course and get out of his system, like a cold or the flu. In the meantime, he decided it would be best to put some space between the two of you, try and wean himself off the dependency that he had developed with you. It wasn’t good for him to ‘need’ someone as much as he did you, it would only lead to regret if he wasn’t careful.

He could do this, he tried to convince himself. He could correct these feelings and go back to how your friendship was before.

He had to.

For the next few weeks, he did his best to avoid you without being too obvious, claiming things like busy schedules as why he was suddenly never around.

He tried to convince himself that this was necessary and the better of two options, but the full truth was that he was miserable.

He hadn’t realized just how much you had been seeped into his day to day life until he tried to go without you. There were no silly texts convos to keep his spirits up during the day, his evenings dull and quiet, no warm laughter or teasing jokes to pull a smile out of him, no encouraging touches on his hand when he was feeling frustrated or random little backhugs that brought more peace and comfort than he ever thought was possible.

He knew he could easily remedy the situation and just face his feelings and talk to you, but the ghosts of his past kept creeping up on him, whispering in his ear that he would ruin everything if he dared open himself like that again. 

His heart argued however with him constantly in your defence. This time it could be different, you were so different from all those people in his past, so kind and warm and patient.

He knew deep down that you would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, but his fear left him in a constant state of limbo, frustrated with himself and confused about how to move forward.

He decided to take Holly on a long walk to try and help clear his head, fidgeting with the tiny bear charm on his keyring in his pocket as he often did when he was frustrated.

Even this made his thoughts circle back to you. You’d given it to him not long after you’d become friends, having taken him out for dinner one evening when he had been having a tough week. You’d wandered around the city without any real plans, eating snacks from street vendors, talking and goofing around till he felt his chest finally begin to lighten. You’d won the keychain charm in a random gatcha capsule machine and had insisted that it resembled him, dropping it in his hand and saying that he should keep it as a good luck charm.

He’d humored you somewhat reluctantly at first, but he’d found himself toying with the charm whenever he was anxious or uneasy, a sense of comfort and certainty creeping through him whenever he held onto it, your words echoing through his mind.

Apparently the universe was as fed up with Yoongi’s bullshit as he was, deciding that since he wouldn’t make a decision on his own, it would give him a push in the form of you on his doorstep as he returned home with Holly from their walk.

The tiny dog rushed to greet you, having missed your presence almost as much as his owner had the past few weeks, excitedly bouncing around your feet as you tried to pet him.

Hi buddy.” You giggled before glancing up to meet Yoongi’s eye. “Hey Yoongs.”

“H-hey.” He swallowed nervously. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hi.” You said, still playing with Holly.

He watched the two of you, a tiny smile making its way across his face as he took in the way your expression lit up as you cooed over the little poodle, your smile warming him more than the lingering hints of summer in the air, instantly weaving your way back into his heart.

“You wanna come in?” The words had a slight wobble as they left his mouth, as if he was asking himself more than you.

You nodded. “I’d like that.”

He let the three of you into the house, debating awkwardly on what he should do before settling next you on the sofa.

It was quiet for a moment, neither of you quite knowing where to start.

“So, how’s the new album going?” You offered.

The two of you talked for a while, quickly falling back into your usual routine, talking about everything from work to friends to the new project you’d been working on, but there was clearly an unspoken ‘something’ hanging in the air between you, Yoongi gradually losing himself in just listening and watching you, the way your eyes flashed as you spoke, the way you talked through your hands. 

It was several minutes before you noticed the way he was staring at you, his eyes distant, an almost dreamy glaze over them.

“What?” You asked.

He shrugged.

“You just look happy.” He replied.

“I am happy.” You confirmed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

Your words sent a quiet thrill through him, warm and hopeful, but your next words also triggered a twinge of guilt.

“I’ve missed this, you, the past few weeks.” You admitted, playing with your hands on your lap. “I was honestly starting to think you were avoiding me.” You laughed nervously, trying to lighten the weight behind your words.

He was silent for a moment, the decision that he’d been avoiding hanging in the air again.

“Actually… I kinda was.” He admitted. “No, I know I was.” 

Your expression fell. “Why? Did I do something-?”

“No no, it wasn’t anything you did.” He quickly assured you. “It was-, it was a ‘me thing’ I needed to figure out.”

“What kind of thing?” You asked.

He hesitated.

Fuck it.

“The fact that I haven’t been honest with myself, or you, about a lot of things, like the fact that I like you… as more than a friend.”

Your mouth fell open at his admission, but Yoongi pressed on, fearing that if he stopped now, he might never get it out.

He laid everything out, his feelings for you and his fears and scars from the past and why he pulled away from you, his gaze never straying from the ground in front of him as he spoke.

“Through all of this, I realized a couple things.” He said. 

You waited for him to continue.

 “I could live without you, but I would fucking hate it.” He finally glanced up at you, his eyes unusually vulnerable. 

“I hated not seeing you, hated not hearing your laugh, not smelling your perfume of your stupid coffee order in my car after driving you to work. I hated it, but it was all my own fault, because I was too much of a coward to admit that I liked you more than I thought was possible, more than I should. “

“Yoongi-” You tried. but he kept going.

“And you can tell me to fuck off and that you don’t feel the same, and I’ll gladly leave you alone, or go back to being just friends, but I just wanted-”

“Yoongi, shut up.” You said, not harshly, but firmly enough to snap his mouth closed instantly. 

His heart pounded loudly in his chest, the silence stretching between you deafening as he waited for you to speak

“You really think you’re the only one who’s been feeling like this? Who’s been afraid?” You asked quietly, your voice trembling with emotion. “You think I haven’t thought about if we?... If I told you…” You took an unsteady breath, Yoongi staring at you in disbelief. “Why did you say something before-?

“I was afraid,” He admitted, feeling tears beginning to prick at his eyes. “Afraid that you wouldn’t want this. Or worse, that you would.”

Your eyes saddened as you reached out, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Why would that be worse?”

“Because I don’t wanna break this, I don’t wanna lose you” He whispered, his voice cracking. “Not when you mean so much to me.”

Suddenly, the distance between you felt unbearable, the space filled with the weight of thousands of unspoken feelings.

Before he could think, you closed the gap, leaning so close you could feel each other's shaky breaths, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“Say it,” You whispered, the words barely audible. “I won’t hurt you… just say it.”

For a moment, you thought he might retreat, that he might hide behind the walls he’d built around himself again. But then his gaze softened, a quiet resolve settling into his chest.

“I love you,” He breathed, the words falling from his lips easily, soft and unguarded. “I love you so fucking much.”

He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against yours, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if you might disappear if he held on too tightly. 

But you weren’t going anywhere. Not when you’d just been offered the world in his hands.

You couldn’t find your words. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing against his in a way that felt both brand new and familiar all at once, like finally coming home.

The world around you melted away, his arms wrapped around you tightly, shielding you from everything that could ever dare try to distract from this moment, pulling you close, feeling how perfectly you pressed against him.

His lips were soft and warm on yours, his touch achingly tender, every brush of his fingers against your skin like a spark of electricity.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, his eyes stayed scrunched closed, as if trying to savor every ounce of this feeling.

His fingers traced gentle paths up and down your arms to your shoulders, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t know-,” He whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and need, drawing away slightly. “Fuck, I want so much, but I don’t know if we should-”

“Don’t hide away from me again, please.” You begged, following him to keep close, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, sending shivers rippling through him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but don’t be don’t hide. Show me what you need. Please.”

At your words, Yoongi felt the last remnants of his fear crumble away, replaced only by a deep craving and need for you. 

Crushing his lips to yours again, he gave himself over to the kiss fully, gripping your waist and pulling you to straddle him properly.

His lips trailed down down your jaw to your neck, sucking marks on the sensitive skin as he went and causing you to writhe and squirm in his hold, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants.

He let out a pained groan. 

“Touch me, god please, touch me.” He begged into your neck, bucking up into you desperately.

There was a blur of fumbling with buttons and zippers, your shirt thrown away somewhere behind the sofa, leaving your heaving chest bare for him to paw amd suck at hungrily.

You snaked a hand between you to stroke his aching length through his boxers, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he bucked up into your touch, moaning into your skin.

“Please.” He begged, for what he didn’t even fully know.

You shifted back just enough to free him from the confines of his underwear, his cock springing up against his abdomen, the tip red and leaking, desperate for any sort of relief.

As he watched through glazed-over eyes, you let your spit drip down onto his cock for lubrication, wrapping your hand around him and stroking him slowly to spread it over him, reveling in the way he twitched and whined under your touch.

“Fuck, Y/n, m-more please.” He moaned, his hips bucking up to chase your hand.

You sped up your movements, twisting your wrist just right as he clung to you, your foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. The whole thing almost felt more intimate than if he were actually inside you.

”I-, fuck, I’m gonna-” He panted, pulsing in your grip.

“Let go baby, I got you.” 

He came with a shuddering groan, curling into you as he painted your hand with streaks of white that dribbled back down onto his twitching length, making him shiver with oversensitivity.

“Fuck, Y/n, that was, I-” He struggled to catch his breath, leaning against you heavily.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” You kissed his lips lightly, moving to detangle yourself from him so you could clean the two of you up, when he caught you by the waist, pulling you back down on the sofa, pinning you under him, his eyes dark as they stared into yours.

“Where do you think you’re going, darling? We’re just getting started.”

“Now it’s your turn.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[badguyswin]

”I dare you… to wear this MAGA hat for the rest of the evening!” 

Toby’s heart sank as he heard the dare, yet he begrudgingly accepted the red cap being offered to him. He was attending a house party being thrown by one of his coworkers and, being new at the job, Toby wanted to impress the people he’d be spending much of his time with, so he’d agreed to play Truth or Dare even if it seemed a bit childish for a group of twenty-somethings. A few of them had already picked up on the fact he was not only a bleeding heart liberal but a closeted gay, including Jonah who had been the one to both make the dare and provide the MAGA cap. The item filled Toby was utter revulsion, yet all eyes in the room were on him and he dreaded the thought of being labelled a pussy, so he accepted the cap and resentfully placed it upon his head.

As soon as the garment was firmly wrapped around his skull, Toby was suddenly overcome with a number of sensations that robbed him of his ability to think rationally. Rather than pulling the MAGA cap from his head, Toby sunk down into the sea of new thoughts being installed in his malleable mind: Republican supremacy, traditional gender roles, heterosexual domination, a love of guns and a hatred of the liberals trying to take them, distrust of the mainstream media, and above all else, hero worship of President Trump. Every single thought was foreign to the previously progressive Toby’s mind, yet they had entered his brain with such a tidal wave that all of his previous convictions had been completely washed away.

The changes to Toby’s physical form were almost as dramatic as those to his mindset. His body, once slender and pale, was pumped full of muscle until he could proudly show off a six-pack of abs and a pair of solid pecs, not to mention arms that looked capable of ripping a tree in two and thighs that could crush a watermelon with ease. His feet grew by at least three sizes too and developed a musk that immediately filled up the room. A number of tattoos even appeared on his chest, back and legs while the rest of his skin grew the kind of tan expected of somebody who spent most of their time working on the land under the hot Southern sun. Thick hair sprouted from Toby’s armpits while a goatee formed on the previously clean-shaven man’s face.

There was only one part of Toby’s body that didn’t end up bigger and more traditionally masculine: his cock. Toby had been pretty well-endowed at eight inches, although being as deep in the closet as he was, it was only his hand that had ever gotten any use out of it. He might have been able to use that mighty length to dominate some slutty MAGA chicks if it wasn’t for the fact that the pole was rapidly shrinking, leaving Toby with a measly two inches and a pair of balls the size of peas. It was an emasculating sight, one that filled Toby with the need to overcompensate and assert his dominance in other ways. He’d struggle to ever satisfy a woman with his severely underwhelming manhood - if it could even be called that - but it wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

He was a straight MAGA man and that meant he deserved everything in the damn world!

[obliviouscxnt]

His Shadow Azriel x Reader

a/n: quick little idea/drabble i had (that could honestly get turned into another series) idk if this has been done before, if it has let me know please, I'll probably delete this. I hope you enjoy :)) <333

synopsis: azriel takes you for granted

Warnings: angst

pt.2

He thought it was poetic, the way the shadows disappeared around Mor. She brightened up his life, literally.  

Never did he think he’d find someone else capable of doing such a thing. Until he met Elaine. 

The change was gradual, so gradual he hadn’t even noticed. 

They stayed with him, at first, treating the once-human girl like any other person. But then she was turned fae, and Azriel’s visits with her began. With each visit, less, and less, shadows joined him. 

He was completely unaware, she stole his focus. 

He felt protective of her, like a precious flower he had to keep from wilting. That protectiveness slowly became something more, a yearning. Even more so when Cassian discovered he was mated to the eldest Acheron.

Though the night Elaine kissed him, everything changed.

They’d sat outside, in her garden, and even though the sky was already dark they’d stayed. Getting lost in conversation. She told him about things she cared about, and he listened. She asked him about himself, and he answered.

 At some point she ended up in front of him, gazing up at his lips. 

She looked so beautiful, illuminated by the stars, surrounded by her lovely garden. A sight he felt lucky to witness. 

When she leaned forward he couldn’t stop himself. He met her halfway, so softly, so gently. But as soon as his lips touched hers, all those feelings for her died. He felt nothing.

The switch in emotions almost gave him whiplash. It was dizzying. 

Underwhelming didn’t feel like the best word for it, but it was the only thing he could come up with. Nothing was exciting about the kiss, nothing revolutionary. It wasn’t like it felt wrong, but it didn’t feel right either. 

Disappointment was what Azriel felt. A little part of him was hoping that maybe the Acheron sister would be his mate. 

It seemed fitting, right? Three brothers, three sisters. But now that her lips were against his, he knew it wasn’t right.  

The spymaster pulls back, taking a step away. Looking at the beautiful woman. Any feelings beyond protectiveness had vanished from his body. Not even a tickle of butterflies when she smiled at him, so obviously delighted with the kiss they shared.

It wasn’t her fault, any male would be lucky to have Elaine. But it was clear to him, that male couldn’t be him.

“It’s getting late, we should head in.” Her face drops at his words, he doesn’t even look at her as he begins leading her inside and back to her room.  

He should say more, apologize, and tell her how he feels so she at least has a reason. Not just silence. But his brain was still reeling from the drastic change in emotions—or lack thereof. No words leave his mouth.

He walks Elaine up to her room. Bidding her a short goodnight before leaving the frowning woman to her own devices.

He kicked himself for hurting her, for allowing it to get that far. Elaine was just so tempting, and he was so hopeful. He kicked himself for that too. 

Of course he wouldn’t have a mate. 

He couldn't even give the poor woman an apology.

It wasn’t until he made it to his room, all the way up in the House of Wind, that he realized no shadows were with him. Not even a whisper reached his ears.  

They’d been with him as long as he could remember, and now they were just gone. 

He couldn’t place the feeling they left in their absence. But he knew he didn’t like it. 

*****

You knew it was unfair of you to be jealous. He didn’t know how deep your devotion ran.  He didn’t see life the way you had, you didn’t even think he saw you as anything other than a servant. 

It wasn’t unfair of you to feel sad about that. 

You’re nothing but shadows to him. When he’s always been everything to you. From the moment he first called to you, when you were barely a flicker of darkness.

But he would never see that. 

Azriel is sound asleep when you slip through the cracks of his door and into his room. 

He hadn’t even called to you. Did he even care you were gone? 

You find yourself taking form, a form of something he could relate to. A beautiful woman, someone like Elaine, or Mor. But you knew you looked nothing like them. Your darkness couldn't captivate beauty like that. Bold and enchanting, like the Morrigan. Pure and innocent, like Miss Elaine.

A sigh leaves your mouth as you curl up in your designated corner, looking at the hands that felt alien to you. Even if you showed him this form, saw him face to face, would he see you any differently?

You doubt it. You’d always be shadows to him.

You were so busy wallowing to yourself in the corner you didn’t see the shadowsinger stir at your sigh. Didn’t see him blink awake, or sit up and look around. 

But you felt it when his eyes settled on you for what felt like the first time. Heard the gasp that left his mouth. 

Your heart stops, frozen in fear for half a second, before it starts again, and you collapse into clouds of darkness.

*****

It was the middle of the night when Azriel woke Rhys up, shouting at him from outside his mental barriers. The worry in his voice was what had the High Lord jumping out of his mate's arms, waking Cassian, and heading to the abode carved into the top of the mountain. 

Azriel paces around the office room, running a hand through his hair. If he wasn’t so stressed he would’ve noticed that his shadows don’t try to comfort him like usual.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asks as he and Cassian walk into the room. Both are in different states of undress with looks of concern on each of their faces.

Cassian immediately notes Azriel’s distressed state, a rare sight considering the spymaster had long ago mastered staying calm and stoic in the face of trouble.

Cassian almost doesn't want to know what has the male so bothered.

“There was something in my room.” 

“What?!” The reactions are simultaneous. Any sign of sleep was immediately gone from both of their faces.

“I think it was a woman… I don’t know I didn’t get a good enough look. It disappeared right after I woke up.”  His fingers grip his hair. Heart still beating fast from the interaction. No one has ever snuck up on him like that. 

He's usually the one doing the sneaking.

His shadows, which had returned sometime after he’d fallen asleep, hadn’t even noticed the stranger, if they had they certainly didn’t warn him. He tries not to feel the nerves that fact struck in him.

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?” Cassian asks.

“Exactly what it sounds like, Cass. One second it was sitting in the corner of my room, the next it was gone.” Which made absolutely no sense, the wards surrounding House of Wind forbid winnowing of any kind. 

This was obviously a serious issue, the wards could either be faulty or someone could have found a way around them. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a vivid dream?” Cassian asks, just trying to come with any better explanation.

“Was your encounter with Bryaxis just a vivid dream?” Azriel snaps. There was no way he imagined it. No way.

Rhys diffuses, stepping in with hands raised in surrender. Silently telling Azriel that they were on his side. “What did it look like when it disappeared? Did it look like it was winnowing?” 

The spymaster thinks about it. No. No, it didn’t. 

It was like its body blended with the darkness. Became the darkness. Almost like… Azriel’s eyes widen.

A shadow. 

“What? What is it, Az?” Rhys asks, probably noticing the revelation he was having from the look on his face. 

The shadowsinger's face becomes neutral, as calm as a person with his features was capable of looking. He shakes his head. “Maybe it was nothing. Sorry for waking you guys up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Then he left without another word.

Rhys and Cassian share a look. A mix of bewilderment, concern, and exhaustion filled their features.

Azriel waits till he reaches his room to say anything, making sure to close the door behind him before a single word can leave his mouth. “Are you jealous? Is that it? Is that why you always leave around Elaine and Mor? Why you thought it would be fun to scare me and my family? Because I don't give you enough attention?” 

His shadows scatter, detaching from his body, hiding under his bed and in the darker nooks of his room. 

“Don’t hide now. I know it was you, that’s why you didn’t warn me.” He gazes into the dark corners of his room, glaring. How could they keep something like this from him? Hide the fact that they could take form? “Show yourself.”

There was an eerie pause, Azriel’s heart began beating faster. Then the fae lights started to flicker.

With each flash more and more shadows gathered before him. Building on each other. The lights went out completely.

When he turned them back on you stood before him.

The most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Pure darkness rose from your body, looking like black smoke. It encapsulates you, different from the way it encapsulates him. The darkness wasn't an extension of your body, it was a part of you, was you, moved with you like it was just another limb.

“My intention was not to scare.” You spoke in a whisper he’d heard many times. A whisper that was most loyal to him. That fulfilled his every beck and call.

Azriel was at a loss for words. You were stunning, a word he'd not known the true meaning of until he laid eyes on you.

“For years, centuries, I’ve followed you. I chose you as my singer. I answered your call.” Tears fill your eyes, but when they fall they dissipate into smoke. Blowing away with a wave of your hand. “I have shown you nothing but loyalty, and care. I’ve sat back while watching you love others and I’ve made peace with it, I’ve accepted our differences.” You suck in a deep breath and steady yourself. “But when I leave, you don’t care, don't even notice.” Your lips tremble, voice breaking as you ask him a question he couldn’t even think to answer. “After everything I’ve done, how can I mean so little to you?” 

Azriel’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He has so much to say but his vocal cords are tied. He did care, though it was clear he hadn’t shown it enough. He found himself thinking about all the little times the shadows had been there for him, comforting him, caring for him. And now he could put a face to those moments, it wasn’t just shadows, it was you that’d been there for him over the years.  

“So yes, I was sad and mad, and maybe a little jealous... But I wasn’t trying to scare you. I was just- I don’t know! Imagining? Yearning for a life I can’t have?” 

 The fae lights began blinking again making his heart jump with every flicker. He doesn't want you to disappear yet. He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. 

“You don’t have to say anything, I don’t want an apology.” You lift a shadowy hand, wiping your face and steeling yourself. “Don’t fret, shadowsinger, I’m still your faithful servant. I couldn’t refuse your calls even if I wanted to. And I’m okay with that, it’s what I chose. Just don’t expect me to be there for you in moments where you can't even acknowledge my existence.” 

The lights flicker again and you're gone. 

Leaving Azriel to wonder if he’s lost you. Although, he never really had you in the first place.

next->

[keyaho]

Summary: His duality is confusion, disorienting, but there is a moment of connection with a promise for more.

Authors Note: 1. I know this is shorter than what I would normally post for this series. This isn't a smut heavy chapter. I allude to most of it. So I apologize if it is underwhelming! I really wanted a neutral stopping point. 2. This serves as the end of R.E.L.Ls and the beginning of Regulations. 3. This is the first story/series I've completed since returning to fanfiction! Thank you to all that read and commented and interacted. It means so much that you enjoyed it. Because I enjoyed writing it and I loved being able to share it with you.

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites  @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove  @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo  @virgomess  @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @megamindsecretlair 

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch @zillasvilla @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @zillasvilla

Insertcatchynamerighthere writingsbytee pocketsizedpanther @blckblossom @solunaseira @sisinever @saturnthehumanoid @fakxmbj @beenathembo @summwerella @nubiagurlll @onherereading @harmshake @clar-ese @star017 @cocooned-butterfly @madamedantes @dezzy154 @blossom3010 @mitruscity @I-write-what-i-love @ranikyani @shurisleftearring @kyemarazack @secretlifeoofmarpessa @marshmellowtotts @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @youthfuldiatribes

Nami realized she had slept way longer than usual. She was in Terry’s guest room curled into a ball. The door was open, she assumed so he could check on her. As she rolled to her side she noticed a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. Her body did ache and as she stretched, she cried out in shock from the pain that spasmed through her body. 

“What’s up, sweet cheeks!”

A hand swatted her ass after the blankets were ripped from her body. 

Nami flinched and rolled to her back. Terry stood there with a big smile on his face. His eyes gave him away. Terry was still present. 

“I feel sore.” She whispered. 

“Is your throat hurting?” He asked.  He could see the marks from their session last night all over her body. 

Nami shook her head. 

“Good. Because I want it first. Sit on the floor. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes. Get cleaned up..” 

The only sound between them was their forks tapping against their plates. Nami was counting the moments for the pain killers to kick in and she could stretch the way she wanted to. Her body was tight and when she woke up to the dark bruises covering her body she immediately thought back to how she got them. The way her legs burned from being bound, her run through the maze, and the way he kept them pressed to her chest as he had his way with her, she didn't know if they still worked. 

Nami reached for her glass of orange juice, the flavor tart as she swallowed. She winced from the stretch. When she had woken up Terry had left some aspirin and a bottle of cool water on the bedside table. It took her a moment to peel herself from the soft bedding and when she did it felt like a semi-truck had crashed into her. 

"About last night," Terry speaks slowly. "If that was too much,-'

"It was a lot." Nami whispered. 

"Was there ever a moment you wanted me to stop?" He saw her eyes wander away from his. "Don't lie to me either." 

"It was so much," she replies. "That was unlike any experience I've ever had." Her fork dropped to her plate as she rubbed her temples. Flashes of who he was last night were hard to escape. It was like He was still there, taunting her. Her eyes flickered to him. 

A grin. 

Fuck. 

"The scene didn't end properly." He says while standing. "That's why you are so tense. No closure. CNC requires it." He rubs a hand around his stomach, scratching slightly. "I'll make it a bit more comfortable for you." 

She began to speak when he shook his head. "No talking. Just listening." 

Using two fingers, he motioned for her to get up. She pushed her chair back and watched him point to the spot in front of him. "Knees." 

Nami let out a long slow breath as she approached. She looked up at him and lowered slowly to her knees, keeping her eyes on his. This man liked to be looked at an admired. He lowered to his haunches in front of her. Pinching her chin between his fingers, he made her look at him. 

"I'm going to enjoy you today." He says. "You know the basics, no touching, no cuming unless I say so, no talking." He stands back up. "As a matter of fact, don't make any noise. You screamed enough last night. I just want you to lie there and let me taste you." 

It could all be so simple. She thought. His expression was too giddy. He might not have tasted her before but the man in front of her knew how wet she got at the thought. 

"Because I don't want you speak, I'm giving you a few hand signals to use." 

Nami nodded and He took a few steps back, plopping down in the chair he had just left. 

"Three taps for permission. The only thing you should think about is not letting yourself cum. This is beyond edging. I'm a hungry man, Mimi, and I just want to eat some pussy so….' he kissed his teeth loudly. "Go get in my bed."  

Her eyes darted up to his face as if she hadn't heard him. Her mouth dropped open like she wanted to ask him to repeat himself. She lifted her hand and pointed towards his room instead. 

"I will change my mind," he snapped. "Go get in my bed. On your back, hands above your head, legs open." 

Nami went to stand, but He stopped her. Pushing her back down, she nearly falls backwards. Catching herself she looks up at him confused. 

"I'm still that nigga, crawl." 

He followed behind her, tugging off his shirt as he walked. He picked up her cuffs from the table as they passed, the lights shutting out as he turned them off. The dark curtains in his room shrouded the room in a layer of darkness. The bedside lamp was just enough to see but not ruin them noir like mood. Nami crawled onto the bed, flipping over to her back and tossing her hands above her head. Terry grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the side of the bed where the light was. It casted a golden glow on them, making the ambience in the room movie like. If it wasn't Him she'd call it romantic. 

He walked to the other side of the bed and bound her writs, tugging them backwards as he hooked her in. He knelt on the bed behind her, placing his knees on either side of his head. He lowered his sweats and she watched his dick slide out, tapping against his stomach once, before hanging just above her face.  His hand dipped between her legs and like he knew, he pushed his dick into her open mouth. 

"Keep it warm." 

He leaned forward and she tugged against her binds. Her legs were pushed apart before two fingers wiggled their way into her pussy. As he leaned, his dick slid further down her throat. He pushed breaths out her nose rapidly, trying to gather herself so she could breathe properly. His fingers began to move, pumping slowly as his thumb stroked her clit. 

He pulled his hands out and she could hear how wet she was. He leaned up just a little, wiping her wetness from his fingers on her inner thighs. He straddled Nami's head and pulled her legs backwards. Throat constricting around his dick, Nami felt so exposed. However, her pussy throbbed. The anticipation made hr clench around nothing. 

He felt her breathing hard through her nose and he drew his hips backwards just a little. Spit was running out the side of her mouth, making it slick just like her pussy. He began to move his hips. The lust came over him and her legs dropped from his hands. Instead, he put one hand on her throat, holding her still so he could fuck her throat properly. Only this time he was deeper, churning up spit he had to pull out so she didn't choke on it. 

"Spit it out." He ordered. 

He rubbed it down her chest before tapping the tip of is dick against her lips. 

"Open up." 

Nami's eyes widened as he pushed forward. This time he began stroking himself with her throat. Back and forth as she swallowed around him. The noises she made wanted to come out so badly. The moans were stuck in her throat and she knew better than to make a sound. Clenching her eyes shut, she did what he told her to earlier. 

Don't cum. 

However, just as much as she liked the feel of his dick deep inside of her, the thought of it also brought out the same explosive feelings. To much 'what if' and she was creaming whatever toy she could find at home. Though he didn't need to know that. So she focused on him. The sounds He was making as he had his way with her mouth. She wasn't able to see but she could imagine his blue-green eyes were closed, his mouth parted just enough for him to let out a shaky breath. He was vulnerable in his passion. Planting her feet on the bed for stability, Nami lifted her head and he instantly grabbed it. Terry held the back of her head in one of his hands. 

He came unexpectedly, the salty liquid mixed with her spit and oozed from between her lips as he pulled out her mouth. Her head turned to the side as she gasped for air, an involuntary motion she hoped he didn't hold against her. Stepping back, he admired his work. 

"You suck dick like you were made for it, Nami." He praises. "Good fucking girl." 

"You can come as much as you want baby," he cooed in her ear. His hips churned between her legs as she gripped the back of his shoulder. Her nails dug into his skin, the permissible area marked up by crescent shapes. "Make all the noise you need to," he whispered, granting her permission He had taken away earlier. 

"Oh shit," she cursed, finding her voice hoarse and broken, but to him the moans sounded symphonic. 

Heavy handed, Terry places warm oil into his hands. He rubbed them together before grabbing her calf. He worked the oil in slowly. Her bath had been long, the water warmed periodically to keep Nami comfortable. He had bathed her, murmuring how proud he was of her for dealing with Him. Between the praise and sensual touch, Nami melted like ice cream in Daddy's hands. 

Now, face down on the bed, she groaned as he worked the soreness from her body. If his hands were this magical on his legs, she knew by the time he got to her back she'd combust. 

"Can I ask you something," Nami says while turning her head to the side. 

Terry was working his way up her thigh when he stopped. "Yes." 

"Why won't you let me touch you?" 

He was silent for a few minutes. His hands worked up her back, then back down, stopping at her waist. He dug the heel of his hand into her muscles, loosening them and making her pliant. 

"Whatchu cryin' for, baby," he asks. 

He notices the tears on her cheeks and softens his gaze. "I'm hitting that spot huh," he gloats, hips thrusting at an angle that made hr see stars. 

"It's not about you." He states. "I want you to touch me." 

She was confused but didn't say anything. Instead, she focused on his hands. How skillful he was with them. How he could be restrained or unhinged or both if the moment presented itself. 

"How does it feel when I finally let you cum?" He asks. 

She turned her head as much as she could to see his face. His expression was neutral, slightly annoyed she had moved, but their eyes met seconds later. 

"When you touch me, like that, I feel like im going to nut all over myself." He admitted. "I'm just sensitive to it." Especially to you. He thought. 

"Look at that pussy," he admired aloud. "Fucking up my sheets, pussy more than soaked," he drew his hips pack, the tip barely poking at her wet hole. 

"Can I touch you like that one day?" 

You can do whatever you want. "Maybe someday." 

He reached beside him and into his bedside table. Pulling out the familiar diamond, he hooked Nami's collar around her neck. He didn't like it worn during their sessions thinking it would break with one wrong move. Instead he wanted it worn as a reminder and a warning. 

He rolled her to her back, his eyes on the collar as the diamond sat against her brown skin. "Perfect." 

They kissed briefly, but it felt different this time. He wasn't rushing, he wasn't trying to take control, he was gentle and giving. Nami brought her hands up slowly, muttering against his lips she was going to touch his arms. A safe place. He deepened the kiss, permission granted as he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. 

She smoothed her hands over his arms. Dragging them towards his shoulders, stopping to give him time to push away. Instead he lowered his body between her legs, resting against her. Hands landed by his neck, her hand attempted to wrap around his. It earned her a laugh as he easily pulled it away and pinned it above her head. 

"You still play too fucking much." 

"I see how much you enjoy it when it do." 

"That's why you got turned out last night," he flicked her nose. "After dominating you like that, there's no going back." 

"I know." She pressed her fingertips to his chest, just barely touching, and saw his stomach clench. "I don't want to. I'm here until you get tired of me. And then I'm here after because I'm your girlfriend."

Over the past few weeks he noticed a difference in her confidence. Her personality was shining and he knew he was giving her exactly what she needed. The longing she had in her voice their first meeting was replaced with comfort. 

"Then I need my girlfriend to roll back over so I can finish massaging her back." 

"You better not touch my butt."

The same eyes that could stun her into submission rolled in humor. He placed a hand between her shoulder places and moved her side to side, getting her to unfold her ams and lie flat. When he had her where he wanted, his hand palmed her ass before shaking the cheeks back and forth. 

Nami laughed, swinging her hand around to try to hit him. Terry's laugh followed and for a brief moment he allowed himself to indulge in the playful dynamic. The nonsexual play was new to him. He felt awkward chasing her around the house whens he fled the bed. However, the gleam in her eyes as she went back and forth behind the table explained exactly what she wanted from him. Just him. 

Wanted in that way scared Terry, though he wouldn't tell her that. However, he was willing to expose himself to her and only her. 

[theweirdwideweb]

Today was my 5 year sobriety date. I had planned to start drinking again, but ultimately have chosen to remain sober due to my recent bipolar diagnosis. I was disappointed, though. I had this vision in my head for years of holding a cold drink on my 5 year and feeling like, "I did it. I did exactly what I said I would and I can have this drink now." So I decided---even if I'm sober going forward, today I will have that drink. I want the novelty of tasting alcohol again and getting drunk off one beer. I've been looking forward to this and it was snatched away by a last minute manic episode.

SO. I asked my sister to babysit me and I drank 3 drinks. One beer, two gin and tonics. You'll never believe what happened---It didn't do anything. Completely underwhelming experience. I joke a lot in real life about how I'm a tank. I can hold substances with the best of them. Even so, I really thought after 5 years that I would get drunk easily. I didn't. I felt a little tipsy after the first drink. But that quickly faded. It didn't increase with the 2nd or 3rd. It just drained out of me. After a while I just drove home. I have no doubt that I'm sober right now.

It's not the lesson I set out to learn, but it's a good one. I can't drink in moderation because drinking in moderation does nothing for me. I drink to get drunk. I don't want 1 beer. I want 10 beers. I don't want to drink in a safe way, because to me there's no point in that. So, back to sobriety I go, which is what I was always going to do. I didn't die. I didn't get rapidly readdicted. I was just underwhelmed and felt like the whole experiment was pretty stupid in the end.