#but oddly enough... they like it around her

[cressidagrey]

You are in Love

Summary: Emilie Abadie still didn’t care about Formula 1. But she may care about a specific McLaren Driver. 

Warnings and Notes: 

I promised and here it is. Second Spin off featuring Emilie and Lando.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Emilie hadn’t planned on arriving early. But the flight had landed ahead of schedule, her suitcase had actually appeared on the carousel like a miracle, and the driver had taken a shortcut that shaved twenty minutes off the usual paddock run. 

For once in Emilie Abadie’s chaotic little life, the universe was in fact cooperating.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Belle - just a location tag. No words. No fuss.

Classic Belle: elegant emotional manipulation dressed up as casual precision.

Emilie adjusted her sunglasses on her head and smoothed a hand over her linen jumpsuit as she walked. 

Singapore’s heat hit like a wall, heavy and immediate, but her nerves were louder. It had only been eight days… (Emilie knew that, she counted them)  but something about Lando in this particular city made her feel…things.

Lando liked night races. He liked dumplings and market stalls and neon lights reflecting off the marina. He always said the chaos of Singapore matched the chaos in his head, which she found oddly poetic for someone who once got stuck inside a beanbag chair and called it “the most humbling moment of my adult life.”

As she reached the edge of the McLaren hospitality, Emilie hesitated… just for a second.

She could see the terrace through the slats of the fencing. People scattered at tables, laughter in the air, that unique pre-race buzz humming through everything. And there - not far - was him.

Lando.

Animated. Talking too fast. Probably retelling his quali lap with hand gestures and self-deprecating flair. His curls were damp with sweat and he’d shoved his cap on backwards, like always. He was smiling.

But not with his eyes.

She knew that smile. It was the one he wore when he was trying really hard to pretend. The one that didn’t crinkle the corners or soften his face. Just teeth and noise and practiced charm.

It made her chest ache.

Her gaze flicked across the terrace, and found Belle sitting in the corner beside Max, looking deeply smug. She didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. Just gave the world’s tiniest nod. A signal.

Go.

Emilie moved.

She didn’t think. She just walked. Past the tables, past the sunlit terrace, cutting through engineers and junior drivers like they were static. It was instinct. Like orbiting back to gravity.

She caught the moment Lando noticed. Saw the flicker of confusion, the sudden stillness, like he was watching something impossible.

He turned. And froze.

His eyes went wide. His whole body locked like a system crash.

“Holy—” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

Her arms were around his neck before he could even breathe out the next syllable. He smelled like sweat and sunscreen and the detergent from his race suit. He was so warm and so very real, and Emilie felt the week of missed calls and longing texts collapse in on itself.

Lando’s arms wrapped around her like muscle memory. One hand curled at the back of her head. His chin tucked instinctively against her temple.

“Hey, idiot,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-choked. “You didn’t think I was missing night race dumplings, did you?”

Lando made a sound halfway between a choked laugh and a whimper, and Emilie felt the last thread of her exhaustion unravel in his arms. 

God, she’d missed him. His warmth, his scent, his chaotic aura and stupid jokes. The way he somehow made her feel like everything, everything, was a little more bearable, even when the world was loud.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

He looked overwhelmed. Damp curls clinging to his forehead. Wide eyes. That open, helpless expression she’d seen sometimes on his face when he watched her. Like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. 

Around them, the terrace kept buzzing. She heard Oscar’s voice, low and amused. A quiet laugh from somewhere to the left. Probably Belle, watching with all the satisfaction of a woman who knows she’s done something good and thinks she’s subtle about it.

“I thought you were in Denmark until Sunday,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I was. Then Belle weaponized her unborn child and guilt-tripped me into flying to Singapore”

Lando blinked. “That tracks.”

And then his arms were around her again, and Emilie let herself melt into it. Around them, the world kept turning…Oscar made a dry comment that made someone laugh, a camera clicked somewhere in the distance, Belle gave her a little wave from across the terrace, smug as hell—but none of it mattered.

Emilie didn’t care.

She closed her eyes and held on tighter, like if she let go now, she might not get another chance.

And maybe later she’d tease him about sulking. About dramatic sighs and sad-boy playlists and whatever nonsense he pulled while she was gone.

But not right now.

Right now, it was enough to be back. In his arms. In this stupid, sweaty, beautiful corner of the world where everything always felt like too much…and exactly right.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Lando Norris

Lando: hey just wanted to say thank you

Belle: for what?

Lando: for telling Emilie to come for making that happen i know you did. don’t pretend you didn’t

Belle: 😇

Lando: you’re terrifying and also the best

Belle:I prefer “emotionally strategic genius,” but I’ll accept “the best”

Lando: seriously though i haven’t felt like myself in a while not properly but when she showed up… everything clicked again

Belle:Good That’s what she does, doesn’t she?

Lando:Yeah she’s like coming up for air

***

The air-conditioning hummed low in the background, but the humidity still clung to Lando’s skin like a second layer. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot, damp curls falling into his eyes, fidgeting with the corner of a room service napkin like it had wronged him.

Emilie stood near the window, her linen jumpsuit swapped out for one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts she’d dug out from her overnight bag. Her hair was damp from the shower. Her face was bare. She looked at home.

And he was terrified.

Not because she was here…but because he knew, somehow, this was the moment. The line they hadn’t crossed. Not really. Not with words.

He didn’t look up when he spoke. “I missed you.”

It came out quieter than he meant it to. But true.

Emilie turned from the window. Her expression softened. “I missed you too.”

He let out a breath, short and sharp. “I thought I was fine, you know? Like…I’m a grown man. You went to work. Not Mars.”

Emilie crossed the room and sat beside him. “And yet?”

“And yet I was pathetic,” he muttered, glancing sideways. “Oscar caught me listening to your voice messages.”

She blinked. “You listened—”

“I was down bad, Emilie. Like, tragic. I think I even made a sad playlist.”

She gave a quiet, delighted laugh. “Oh, baby.”

Lando smiled, but it faded quickly. His fingers stilled on the napkin. “You’re the first thing that’s felt... steady. In a while.”

Her smile faltered. He wasn’t joking anymore.

“I know I’m all over the place,” he continued. “On track. Off track. I make dumb jokes and act like everything’s fine even when it isn’t. But when I’m with you… I don’t have to do that. You don’t need me to be anything except… me. And I don’t think I realised how rare that was until you weren’t here.”

Silence stretched between them, warm and heavy and full of everything he hadn’t said before.

Emilie didn’t interrupt. She just reached out and took his hand, threading their fingers together.

“I don’t want to be casual about this anymore,” he said, eyes still fixed on their joined hands. “Whatever we’ve been doing… halfway, undefined, letting everyone think we’re just friends… I don’t want that. I want it to be real. Official. Known. I want you.”

Emilie was very quiet.

Lando finally looked up. “If that’s not what you want, that’s okay. Just… don’t lie to spare me.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then exhaled. “You’re an idiot.”

He blinked. “That feels mean in context.”

“You’re an idiot,” she repeated, softer this time, “because you think you’ve been the only one scared.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I didn’t want to say anything first,” she admitted. “Because I thought… if I say it, and you don’t feel the same way, if I ruin the best thing I’ve had in years because I wanted more… then what? But the truth is, I’ve felt like this for a while.”

Lando’s throat worked around a swallow. “How long?”

“Long enough that not saying it has started to feel dishonest.”

He laughed…quiet, awestruck. “So say it.”

She smiled, something a little shaky in it. But true. “I’m in love with you.”

Lando stilled.

Then he surged forward, hand curling around the back of her neck, mouth pressing into hers like he’d been holding it in for months.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, breath uneven. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “Properly. Now.”

Emilie smiled into his skin. “I always was.”

And just like that, everything slotted into place.

***

It was the kind of heat that didn’t just settle on your skin—it sank in. Thick, sweet, almost alive. Singapore didn’t do quiet. Not even at night. Not even after the fireworks died and the engines went still. There was always something humming—underfoot, in the air, inside her chest.

Emilie stood just past the barriers near Parc Fermé, surrounded by chaos, but strangely untouched by it. She had come down with the mechanics, badge clipped to her collarbone, her fingers curled tight around its edge like it was the only thing grounding her.

She hadn’t even thought about what she was doing. She’d just… moved. Like instinct. Like orbit.

And then she saw him.

Lando.

Helmet off. 

Still trembling, still breathless. He’d driven like a man possessed—like someone burning for something, someone. And when the checkered flag dropped, Emilie swore she felt it in her teeth. 

That kind of win doesn’t whisper. It shouts.

But what really unraveled her wasn’t the win.

It was the way he looked at her when he found her in the crowd.

It wasn’t just relief. It wasn’t just joy. It was recognition. Like his entire body had been straining toward something and now - finally - he could stop.

There was no hesitation.

One stride. Then two.

And then he was there, in front of her, hands coming up to cup her face like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like the only thing holding him together was the fact that she was here.

And then he kissed her.

Not a PR kiss. Not a cautious “maybe if we angle this right it won’t go viral” kiss.

No - this was reckless and real and right there in front of every camera lens in a ten-mile radius. His mouth against hers, desperate and tender and breathless. She tasted champagne and adrenaline and something wild, something golden. His hands trembled as they curled around her waist. Her nails curled into his shoulders.

The crowd exploded. Applause. Cheers. Someone whistled like they were at a wedding. Someone else yelled “GET IN THERE, NORRIS!” like it was the finale of a romcom they’d all been waiting for.

But Emilie didn’t hear it. Not really.

All she heard was the sound he made when he pulled back just slightly, forehead pressed to hers, nose brushing hers. That broken little laugh. That sound of disbelief and joy and love all tangled together.

“I won,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back.

And then he picked her up like she weighed nothing and spun her. Just once. Just because he could. Because the world was spinning anyway.

She could hear Oscar saying something behind them (probably deadpan and hilarious) and someone on the McLaren crew absolutely howling. But none of it stuck.

Because all she could think was: this is it.

Not just the win. Not just the kiss. But the moment. The shift.

There was no going back after this.

No hiding. No halfway.

This was his world, and he’d pulled her into it like she belonged there.

And for once, Emilie didn’t flinch under the weight of being seen.

She leaned into it.

Into him.

And as he kissed her again—softer this time, slower—she knew something else too:

This wasn’t the end of anything.

It was the beginning.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Lando: Mate.

Max: oh look who won a race and became the main character big night for you, rom-com boy

Lando: shut up

Max: no actually I won’t you kissed her in Parc Fermé with your HAIR doing that curly mop drama do you want a movie deal or should i start pitching it for you?

Lando: i blacked out okay

Max: you kissed her like she was oxygen and you’d been drowning sky sports is already calling it “the kiss that broke the internet” crofty said he felt emotions

Lando: he WHAT

Max: don’t worry i’m making a montage music options so far include: – “Can’t Help Falling in Love” (classic) – “Unwritten” (chaotic) – or just a slow-mo replay with crowd screams behind it

Lando: i will block you

Max: you kissed her and spun her around are you trying to get nominated for a Teen Choice Award?? do we need to get you a surfboard trophy?

Lando: it wasn’t planned i just… saw her and it was like. yeah. her. the win was hers too

Max: 🥹 okay fine that’s actually adorable still gonna roast you though

Lando: i’d be offended if you didn’t

Max: also oscar said you made a noise like a sick baby deer when she hugged you

Lando: i’m ending this conversation now

Max: love you too, parc fermé prince 💋

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Belle Verstappen

Emilie: so we’re official

Belle: you’re kidding

Belle: i thought you already were?? you’ve been attached at the soul for like two months

Emilie: we hadn’t said it you know? not out loud but now it’s real. like… capital-R real

Belle: i’m so happy for you and also going to start charging you rent for how often you live in denial

Emilie: you’re not wrong but he said it, belle he said he wants this us. publicly. completely.

Belle: you deserve it, Em all of it

Emilie: i didn’t think it’d ever feel like this like being wanted could feel safe

Belle: that’s what love’s supposed to be not fireworks not tension just… a soft place to land

you’re allowed to be happy and soft and loved

Emilie: i didn’t think i’d ever get all three

Belle: you got them in a boy with curls and questionable fashion sense

Emilie: god help me

Belle: yes. you can trust him. he loves you with his whole dumb, golden retriever heart

Emilie: okay thank you (for seeing it before i did)

Belle: always. now go be disgustingly in love

[randomusingsofalovesickgirl]

EPISODE 04 (PT. 1): LIFELINE

🎶 lifeline by sedona 🎶 bing bong love song by fig 🎶 shaking the can by peach fuzz

a/n: also!! i want to say that this is completely fictional. i do not think anyone in the show was particularly terrible or rude, but i had to amp it up for the story. please remember this is fictional !!

“Oh, so now you’re good!” Whitney exclaimed, motioning to George beside you, who had suddenly become suspiciously fluent in harmonica–a far cry from his struggling attempts minutes earlier. 

The tune was oddly cinematic, like a horror movie soundtrack building suspense before the kill, mocking your fates with every note. You knew someone was going, but you had no clue. Gently, you reached for his hands, slightly nudging the harmonica down. 

“Maybe, not the time,” you murmured. You were enjoying it, although clearly, not everyone was.  

No one noticed his sudden silence though. Not with Mandi spiralling over PK’s potential betrayal. Jason, of course, was fuelling the fire, instigating her further. “He could be manipulating you. One minute you're safe, and the next—poof—you’re gone. He could vote you out just like that.”

The others joined in, analysing PK’s trustworthiness (or, well, lack thereof) and guessing who Uncle P thought was dragging the team down. You, on the other hand, just wanted to know so you could either get out or go to bed. 

Whether you were on that chopping block or not, there’s nothing you can do to defend your spot. You can’t run into Room 19 and convince them to let you stay.

Still tied at the ankles, you and George had given up on the stiff dining stools and settled close on the couch, your head hovering on the sofa just above his shoulder. “Hey,” He whispered, loud enough for only you (and of course, the microphone). “Be careful going forward, okay?” 

You frowned, “Why? What happened?” 

He sighed, “You’re safe today, I hope, but when I was at the gym with PK this morning, he said he and Jason wanted to vote a girl out.” 

You wanted to scoff, of course, they see it as girls versus boys right now. Regardless, you leaned closer, trying to hear better as the noise at the table doubled, with Mandi now declaring that it’ll be her. 

“He was talking about how the girls are in little teams, like you and Milli.” 

Admittedly, they weren’t wrong. There were no strong bonds between the boys yet, while Whitney, Mandi, and Mya were practically inseparable. You and Milli were another pair, while Cinna and Farah floated between. 

“So, how do you know I’m safe?” PK is close to the trio, so the odds were that he wouldn’t touch them. Then again, you have been among the best savers, so it’d be detrimental if they got rid of you. That, and you and Uncle P were relatively close. 

George hesitated, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “He told me he wouldn’t vote you out.”

[Later, while watching the episode back, you’d realise that PK promised George, “I won’t mess with your girl, don’t worry”, and George had just…dabbed him up. Thanked him. No corrections, no clarifications.]

“And, he’s worried that the trio is going to turn on him.” George added, before you could question his hesitation. 

“Do you think they will?” You turned around to face him, not realising how close you two actually were–his breath hitting your face, his eyes glancing down to your lips. 

He shook his head, turning to face the wall in front of you now. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t really trust anyone here, can you?” 

Removing yourself from facing him so directly, you drop your head back to where it was, nodding. You let yourself process the new information. 

There is no doubt that it’ll be a girl tonight. If you could give immunity to anyone, it’d be Milli or Cinna. Although, you knew you were biased–they were smart, loyal, and played the game with a conscience. 

“I’m so tired of all this,” You huffed, dropping your hands into your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. “Maybe I should just get voted out, and spend the rest of the week at home.” 

George paused before deciding to test the waters. Slowly, he took one of your nervous hands into his, and let your intertwined hands rest on his lap. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Well, I want you to win. For your sister.” Your voice was barely a whisper. 

You decided to stop yourself from confessing that you wanted to be out so you could process your feelings for him, so you can avoid him a little longer. But even worse, you wished that both of you were eliminated, so the two of you can talk without all these cameras. “I just want us to talk…really talk.” 

“We don’t have to be voted out to talk,” He murmured, nudging you with his shoulder. 

You lifted your head, but made sure to keep your distance from his face this time. “You want to talk about it with all these cameras on us?” 

Despite the distance you created, he brought his empty hand to your face, brushing your hair behind your ear. Something he’s done a million times. But this time, it felt…charged. 

“I know a spot without cameras,” He said, “Just say the word.” 

Before you could answer, Whitney’s voice cut through the room. “What are you two whispering about, huh? Plotting something?” 

You pulled away from George and turned to face her. “There’s nothing we can do now. No point stressing.” 

“Oh, sorry for interrupting your little make-out session,” Whitney scoffed. “Some of us are actually trying to win.”

Rolling your eyes, you spoke without thinking–too tired and done to filter your words. “At least I’m trying to save money for someone to win.” 

“What was that?” Whitney shot back. You two have surely butt heads more than anyone else so far. “Just ‘cause Mandi said you’re the most boring one here doesn’t mean you can start acting sassy.”

George scoffed. “Okay, that’s not fair, Whitney. What the hell was that?” 

���It’s fine,” you whispered just to him. “This isn’t worth a fight.” 

You’d met girls like Whitney before. Sweet, but they can be immovable when they are convinced they are in the right. Turning around, you raised your hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. Just trying to nap.”

Cinna jumped in, trying to help you de-escalate. “Yeah, she’s been trying to nap all day, Whitney.”

That calmed her, luckily. It also gave you cover for the slip-up. 

Luckily, your distraction—or maybe your doom—arrived. PK and Uncle P walked in, looking sheepish and exhausted.

“Why are you smiling so much, man?” Mandi called out, eyeing PK’s suspiciously wide grin.

“I’m smiling ‘cause I’m nervous,” he said, his teeth nearly chattering.

Uncle P clapped his shoulder. “You wanna say it, or should I?”

“Together,” PK said.

You instinctively leaned into George again, feeling comfort despite all the things unsaid. He was always your lifeline, your comfort space. While your safety on the Inside may be up to debate, you knew you were safe with him. 

“We just wanted to make the game a level playing field,” they said, like a rehearsed breakup. “And that’s why the person we chose to eliminate is…”

You braced yourself. 

Whitney, maybe, due to her spending habits and temper. Farah could be an option, as she hasn’t gotten along much with PK or Uncle P until earlier today. 

“Mandi.” 

Your jaw dropped. 

The silence was deafening—until Whitney gasped, “Oh my god.”

“Snakes!” Mandi was on her feet, storming toward PK. “You are a snake! A two-faced, lying—”

You jumped up, joining the rest of the girls who were quick give her a hug once she slowed down. George, unfortunately, got swept into the hug too.

“You okay?” you asked, joining the rest of the girls (and George) around her.

While Mandi and you have had one or two minor disagreements, you actually enjoyed her company. She was honest (for the most part) about her spending, she was funny, and she brought people together. You were going to miss her. 

She sighed. “It’s alright. I know it is. But just... don’t trust anyone, okay?”

As she and most of the girls disappeared to pack, George asked to stay back. And you agreed, wanting to check in on the most tempered person on the Inside. 

George turned to Uncle P. “Hey, you alright?”

Uncle P sighed. “It’s tough, sending someone home. We really were just trying to balance the teams. And yeah… she was a big spender.”

George nodded. “No, I completely understand the thought process.” 

That’s when you noticed George still wearing his ridiculous party hat. You reached up and toyed with the string under his chin.

“Don’t think it’s the right vibe anymore, Clarkey,” you teased.

He laughed, pulling it off fast. “Yeah… this feels wrong now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone was sitting around the TV, dreading the inevitable gut-punch moment when the screen told you exactly how much money had been spent. 

“I think…” Uncle P clapped his hands together, scanning the room solemnly. Since Mandi’s elimination, the atmosphere on the Inside has changed. Even though the living room was still decked in birthday decorations, no one was celebrating…sitting in silence, hushed conversations, and a clear upset from what happened an hour earlier. 

Further exasperated as the production crew slowly brought everyone into Room 19 to relive what just happened so everyone can say their own opinions on it. 

“Let’s have a moment of silence for Mandi.” Uncle P suggested finally now that everyone has returned from their confessionals. 

“Nuh-uh,” Whitney cut in, shrugging him off as if she was offended. “We’re not doing that! What are you even suggesting?” 

PK looked like he’d seen a ghost, visibly shrinking into the couch, clearly still haunted by Mandi screaming at him earlier. He’s being smart enough to stay out of saying anything else incriminating. 

Thankfully, the argument hit pause as the number on the screen dropped.

673k. 

“No fucking way,” you muttered. Nearly a 90k drop. 

Whitney, of course, didn’t even blink. “We’re not doing a moment of silence—that’s a piss take,” she declared, brushing off the prize fund like it meant nothing. Maybe because at least 30k of that money was spent on her five-minute decision. “And Mandi? She’s a good vibe. We’re not gonna act like Mandi is a Dylan.”

You froze.

You were so fucking tired of the Dylan jokes.

Apparently, George was too.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” he asked sharply, sitting forward. “That’s mean.”

Your heart kicked up a beat. George was someone who liked to stay out of confrontation, but he wasn’t scared to call someone out when they’re doing something wrong. It’s one thing, among many, you admired about him; his strong moral code. And that is exactly how you knew Whitney had genuinely fucked up, and it wasn’t just you being close to Dylan. 

“We’ve been taking the piss out of Dylan all day, but why? What’s he actually done to any of you?”

Whitney scoffed, “It’s not a mean thing to say. Let’s clear this mean girl narrative the two of you are trying to spin.” 

“We’re not spinning anything,” George snapped, his voice becoming sharper. “But what the fuck is that language?”

She just shrugged, indifferent as ever. “Mandi added to the vibe. Dylan didn’t. It’s not personal.”

“It is personal,” George spoke fast and deliberately. “I know jokes happen, I’m not dumb—I’ve made a few myself. But you could’ve said literally anything else. Instead you chose ‘Mandi’s not a Dylan’? That’s just unnecessary.”

Whitney raised a brow, and smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry—didn’t realise you were going to defend the guy who asked your girlfriend out. Didn’t realise you were into being a cuck.”

You stood to your feet now. 

That was it.

George didn’t deserve this. 

“No. Whitney, no. I know we’ve had our disagreements, but that? That’s not it.” Your voice shook with frustration. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re sweet. And yeah, you’re fiery. And I admire that, but fire doesn’t give you the right to burn people down.”

The room was dead silent now, not quite expecting this full-on outburst from you. 

The only thing stopping you from being face-to-face to her was George remaining seated, keeping the two of you planted in your corner. 

“George has been nothing but kind to you, even when you didn’t deserve it. Dylan? He’s done nothing but support this group. Hell, he even earned us back 10k. You don’t have to like everyone here, but we have to work together and respect each other.”

No one moved. It felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

Whitney didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. The look on her face was enough…something you’d describe as a mix of a bruised ego and something that was akin to guilt. 

Then, from the corner of the couch, Uncle P exhaled loudly and stood up.

“Aight, enough.” he said. “Look. We all got our friends, and we all got people we don’t click with. Not everyone’s gonna mesh—and that’s cool. But especially here? With cameras, competition, money, pressure? It turns people inside out. I’ve seen some of my kindest teammates say and do shit they’d never dream of because of the heat of the game.”

He looked straight at Whitney. “But just remember: there’s a line between banter and disrespect. And once you cross it, no amount of jokes can walk it back. And that doesn’t just make you look bad, it hurts people who don’t deserve it.”

He let that sit.

“You don’t gotta be besties with everyone,” he added. “But treating people like they’re disposable? That’s not fire. That’s just cold.”

The room was dead silent. Then Uncle P gave a quick nod towards the dining table. “Anyway. I’m going to get some more cake. Anyone want to join?” 

“I wasn’t trying to throw him under the bus,” she muttered, eyes trained somewhere between the wall and her nails, as people started to disperse around the room. “It’s not that deep.”

“It is that deep,” You didn’t miss a beat. “You just didn’t think anyone would call you on it.” And especially George. But, you also know him. He’s someone who wouldn’t let shit pass. 

Whitney didn’t respond to that. But she didn’t argue again, either.

Instead, she sank back into the couch, quieter than usual. 

While guilt overcome you about saying the wrong thing or potentially overreacting, the later support from George, Milli, Cinna, Farah, Jason, Uncle P,  and DDG was enough to remind you that you did the right thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The note taunted you from the nightstand, scrawled in JJ’s unmistakable handwriting:

“We combined your beds to make sleeping easier for you two while you were tied up…sleep well xoxox. 

P.S. There’s a condom in the top drawer, if you need it.’ 

And yet, as you two laid in the dark–your ankle tied to George’s, his hand barely brushing yours, and the freezing cold chill throughout the room–that stupid note was the least of our problems.

You were hyper aware of everything…the rise and the fall of his chest, the warmth radiating off his skin, and the weight of all the words you hadn’t said. 

The room was quiet now…finally. After the emotional circus of the day, everyone had finally passed out. 

Even Whitney, who had muttered a rushed and vague apology to you and George before lights out. 

(It was as if she was tired herself, and just registered what she said. You didn’t bite back, and instead, you thanked her. You know she was close to Mandi, she was likely reeling from the news. But that still didn’t excuse the disrespect on Dylan.)

You turned slightly, careful not to wake the others, to face George. His curly mullet fell back onto the pillow, messy as if he’s ran his hand through it a dozen times. 

“George?” You whispered, checking if he was awake.

A low hum. He was awake.

“Two people went home today.” It could’ve been him. 

He hummed again. You weren’t sure if he was half-asleep or just waiting for you to say more. 

You rolled back onto your back. The rope tugged gently at your ankle, a quiet reminder that you couldn’t escape this, even if you wanted to. And to be honest, you didn’t. You’re tired of swallowing all these words down. 

“I don’t want you to go home,” you whispered. 

While you were willing to go home, you wanted George to come back with that prize fund. To support his sister. That’s what he came for, and you know he deserves nothing less. Yes, you came to win too, but you’ve won enough of the Sidemen’s challenges this last year.  

He turned toward you, his blue eyes staring into the side of your face. “I don’t want you to go home either. I don’t want to be here without you.”

Something in your chest burst. Testing the waters, you reached out and carefully threaded your fingers through his. He didn’t move away.

“Are we okay?” you asked, trying to stop your voice from cracking–although it failed. 

George didn’t answer right away. Just a shrug, subtle but intentional. “You tell me.”

You sat up slowly, glancing around the room—everyone else was out cold. He followed your lead, but his eyes remained trained on you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. “What’s going on?”

You tucked your hair behind your ears, suddenly shy under the weight of everything between you. “Would you be ready for a chat now?”

A pause.

Then, without a word, George nodded.

You both quietly stood, making your way toward the door, the ankle rope tugging gently between you. You whispered a request to a production assistant monitoring the set, asking if you could get some air on the roof, at the spot everyone who vapes goes during the shoot—just for a few minutes.

They nodded, eyes tired, already pulling a walkie to confirm with security. 

For safety as you go up the stairs, they untied your ankles and removed your mic packs.

And just like that, for the first time since the challenge, you and George were free to move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night air bit at your skin, but it felt easier to breathe up here than there. Away from the cameras, away from the drama, and away from everyone else’s noise. 

Right now, it was just you and him and the silence between you, thick with everything you hadn’t said. 

George sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, watching you like you might run…again. You leaned against a giant plant pot, arms crossed tight over your chest, trying to hold yourself together. 

The silence wasn’t peaceful, but heavy. Unforgiving. And you knew, he wouldn’t be the one to break it. It had to be you. 

You exhaled, “I’ve been pretending it didn’t happen. “Like everything’s fine. Like that night was just…a blip. But I still remember the way you looked at me, and…” 

His jaw twitched, but he didn’t interrupt, even as you trailed off into silence. He was going to let you speak. Grounding himself, his hands curled tighter around the edge of the bench.  

“It’s not fine. I can’t keep pretending. I’ve tried to act like nothing’s changed…but it has, hasn’t it?” You were scared to look him in the eye, to see his answer, so your eyes remained on the ground. “I can’t go back to being your friend and pretending not to hurt every time you look at me like that.” 

Silence.

He didn’t look away.

And it made everything ache worse.

Facing your fears, you looked down at him; his blue eyes that you used to be able to read so well were suddenly unreadable. 

“I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, George, longer than I even admitted to myself.” You confessed, voice cracking. “But by the time I thought I should say something…it was too late. Chris was talking about your Hinge profile and these girls you’d bring home from the pub, and…I thought I missed my chance.” 

He let out a dry laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hide something deeper. 

You panicked. He didn’t feel the same. Is that why he was laughing? Maybe that night was a mistake for him. He’s laughing because I’m being ridiculous. Within the millisecond, a thousand of your worst fears seemed to come to life in your mind. 

“If I’d known you liked me, I wouldn’t have touched that app. Jesus.” He finally looked up at you, eyes burning. And warmth spread throughout you, the butterflies in your stomach erupted. “I went on them because I thought I didn’t stand a chance with you.”

You took a step closer, voice trembling, and decided to tell-all. “I thought you didn’t want me. And I didn’t want to risk us. You were–hell–you are my safe place. I can’t stand the idea of losing that.”

“But you already pulled away,” he said, standing now, voice raw. “I called. I texted. And you ignored me. Were you really going to leave in the dark for a week?”

You laughed nervously, wanting to shrink into yourself. Out of guilt, out of shame, out of regret. “I thought we both said we were on off-the-grid family trips, remember?” He didn’t look quite impressed by your answer. “Honestly, I wanted to buy myself a week to figure this out…alone. I haven’t had a day without you since we met. And I was scared I didn’t know who I was without you. I needed to remember I could figure it out alone. And mainly, I thought we both wanted space.” 

His voice cracked. “Well, I didn’t want space. I wanted you. I was ready to talk. I needed to talk, and you disappeared.” 

You looked down, ashamed. “I didn’t know how to face you. Because if I said it out loud—if I told you how I felt—and you didn’t feel the same… I couldn’t come back from that. It would’ve broken me.”

You thought of all your movie nights, your friendships with Chris and Arthur and heck, even the Sidemen. This wasn’t a light crush you could forget about, this could impact everything and implode everything that was normal in your life. 

“I do feel the same,” he said, stepping forward, like the words were waiting to explode. “I’ve felt the same for so long. You think I would’ve kept calling if it didn’t matter? I was losing sleep over you, and you were acting like we never happened.”

Your voice broke. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

His hand found yours, gently, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. It was warm, compared to the cold air hitting you. “Then let’s not ruin it. Let’s start something. Because I can’t go back to pretending I don’t want more.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “I don’t want to pretend either.”

He brushed your hair from your face, the gesture so soft and so familiar it made your throat ache. “Do you think we won’t work out?”

“I don’t want to think that,” you whispered. “I was scared to risk it. But now... I think you’re worth the risk.”

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ve always been worth it to me.”

A silence. A beat. Your breath hitched and your heart thumping. 

You smiled back. “Then make the move.” 

He kissed you then—slow, tender, warm, but most of all, certain. Not testing the waters, but like he knew. Like he has been waiting. His hand curled around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like he was scared you’d disappear again. Forget the cold air of the night, you had George to warm you up. You kissed him back, your fingers tangled in his curly hair, trying to tell yourself this wasn’t a dream. 

When you finally pulled away, your breath was still caught in your throat.

“You’re such a silly goose for thinking I didn’t have feelings for you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. You let out a breathless laugh, your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“So what now?” You asked hesitantly, tilting your head to stare straight into his blue eyes–something you’ve been stopping yourself from doing since Day 1 on the Inside. 

“Well, what do you want?” He asked, nudging you slightly. 

“I want you.” You said, without hesitation. Without question. Without concern. 

He let out a breath, the kind you only let go when you’ve been holding it in too long. “Then that’s all I needed to hear.” Smiling, he said your full name, slowly, like each syllable mattered. “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

Your breath hitched, heart pounding like it was about to leap out of your chest. 

So you didn’t answer, at least not with words.

You just kissed him again—firm, passionate, smiling against his mouth—and this time, it wasn’t to test the waters. 

It was to say yes. To him, and to everything that once scared you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @rubyskies @edgyficuselastica @gmontaguesbitch @sundarksposts @canyouseethesainz @lovingaphroditesworld @maggie-readss @liz140569 @lmaowhathaha @moofilms @lalisasrealwife @courtjjade @bowielovesyou @raekensluver @cuntessaii @theresglittleronthefloor @isabelle-2934 @smzyyx @wroetominter @madforgeorge @megan-jane02 @lottiewills @cheesystylesig @suspicious-stain-in-spain @kneelforloki @wherethezoes-at @clarkey4life @madsclarkey

[ashlovesfood]

Run Bunny Run ♡

Tags ┈➤ Wolf!Bruce Wayne x Bunny!fem reader, predator/prey relation, preying, tears on a withered flower inspo, mating, fucking, bite marks, hickies, kissing, plot what plot?, rough fucking, pounding, p in v, huge ass dick, petnames, horny animals, heavy love,overstimulation, clit rubbing, pheromones, cunniligus, fangs, spit play, multiple orgasms!（ ´∀｀）☆

S/N - In another alternative universe, your a bunny and Bruce is a wolf. You work at a small flower shop and encountered him, having to make a bouquet of fresh roses for him. When you went to deliver, it was oddly quiet..

Bunny Fucking¡!

Maybe the world was cold, ruthless to people who tried their best in life, especially to you. You were born a bunny, floppy ears with a small fluffy tail at your bottom, mostly standing out from most species. There were many different hybrids out in the world, but somehow bunnies stood out the most due to their size and ears. The attention wasn’t harsh enough to make you cower and hide, but sometimes the gazes were a lot to handle , luckily people in Gotham never seemed to care much.

You walked into your workplace, immediately seeing one of your employees. “Hey fluffy! Listen, I need you to pretty pleaseee take over my shift. I’m going out with the gals and I already covered what I needed, pleaseee!” Your worker gave her big puppy eyes, making her lips pout as she waited for your response. “Ok, fine.. I’ll cover you but you have to pay back the favor, okay?” The two of you locked pinkies, swearing upon your hearts that she would repay the favor. “Eeek! Thank you so much babes love ya!” She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before running out of the building, going into a different direction. You chuckled, realizing how childish she was but it was cute.

The list of work wasn’t as hard, you worked as a florist in a small known shop near the corner. People come and go, most buying bouquets or flowers for loved ones. On occasion, a man or two decided to flirt with you, but you turned them down knowing that your mind wasn’t really set on dating, well not until you really feel comfortable. Today, your tasks were to make three bouquets for special occasions, clean the storage, and to sweep the floors.

The ding of the bell brought you back, making you look up. “Hi. I, can I get a bouquet of red roses tied together in black ribbon?” You tapped the screen, calculating how much his order was. “Yes of course, how many roses would you like?” There was a silent pause, the sound of breathing awkwardly filling the gap. “50, please. Could you also make sure they smell fresh?” He took out his leather wallet, shuffling through the cards to place a black American Express card on the counter. You caught a glimpse of the name ‘Bruce Wayne’ embedded into the card, where have you heard of this name?.. “I’ll make them extra fresh for you. It’s $85.27.” Your eyes were focusing on his ears, big wolf ears that twitched at the slightest movement. Wolves were known for their keen sense of smell, hearing, speed, and breeding. He handed the card to you, watching the titanium slide through the machine, a small beep approving the transaction. “Thank you so much- Here, drop these off at this address around 5:30 P.M. I’ll be waiting, fluffy..”

He gave you a subtle smile, turning around and walking out the door. Your face was heating up like a tea kettle, the way your nickname rolled off his tongue made your thighs clench with need . “Oh my goodness..” The loud sound of your heartbeat echoed in your ears, a slight thump of your foot against the wooden floors bringing you back to reality. Right, focus.

Your hands got to work, stripping the thorns off the stems making them prickly free. You cut them at an angle, placing together different ranges to make it look aesthetically appealing. The first bouquet was done, a pink and white tulip bouquet with baby’s breath placed in between. 1:36 P.M. Three bouquets were finished within a matter of time, leaving you to clean the storage and to sweep the floors. In the back, storage wasn’t always easy to clean. There were always random items placed inside, or withered petals from previous flowers sitting on the shelves. You managed to remove every misplaced item and cleaned up the petals, losing track of time in the small room. The sun was still shining, but the sky looked gloomy, like the Gods were punishing Gotham. Today wasn’t as moody, but the sky thought otherwise, rain trickling down onto the streets. 3:45 P.M. Last task was to sweep the floors. Thankfully, the floors were never that dirty. Usually, there are some dried up flowers on the floor or scraps of ribbon strewn around. You sweeped, hearing the door open as customers came in to pick up their bouquets.

There was the bouquet of roses you had to deliver, a small note written with an address on top, in neat handwriting. 4:28 P.M. It wasn’t five yet, but it never hurt to be earlier right? You grabbed the roses along with your keys, turning off the lights and flipping the open sign to close, shutting the door behind. The rain was starting to become heavy, forcing you to sprint towards your car. The door opened with a click, the pitter patter of rain against your windshield blurred your vision. It was warm in the small space, special warming built in as soon as you got in. The drive towards the address felt shady, seeing how the road disconnected into a pathway of pine trees, followed by a black iron gate at the end. Your car approached the gate, expecting to put a code in or something, but it automatically opened..

The house was gigantic, a gothic architectural manor surrounded by a huge driveway, a fountain being the centerpiece. Never, in your entire life would you think you would be driving to this sort of house. You placed the gear shift into park, turning off the engine and opening the door to get out. You ran towards the house, looking at the outside, it was so.. empty . There were no signs of anyone else, except a few black cars parked neatly throughout. I n your mind, alarm bells rung signaling you to get out, to turn around and get the fuck out of here, but you were always determined. The bouquet laid in your hand, a beautiful case of 50 roses with black fabric surrounding it. Figuratively, your heart almost came out of your ass when you heard the large door creak open, the small knock you thought wasn't hard enough managed to pry open the antique door.

Inside, the decorations and interior were absolutely beautiful, keeping the gothic vibe with variations of furniture. Your eyes were bulging out of your sockets, amazed with how big the inside was, hearing your footsteps pad against the marble tile. “Hello? Is there a Mr.Wayne here?” You shouted out loud, your voice bouncing around the walls, hearing no reply but empty silence. The rain slightly dampened your fur, making your floppy bunny ears heavier than usual. Then, a wave of musky cologne hit like a brick, the air stained with an intense aroma. “Bunny?.. You- shit! You can't be here bunny, or I'll hunt you down… ” His voice boomed throughout the manor, making your heartbeat pump kicking in your fight or flight mode.

Before you could register, your feet were already picking up, dashing towards a room near the hallway. You shut the door behind you, sliding down the wood to block him from coming in. Your hand clamped down on your mouth, trying to silence your breathing, focusing on the pitter patter of his footsteps. They were getting quieter, but then a loud boom was heard. You covered your eyes with your floppy ears, praying that he wouldn’t find you. It was too late, the door sprang open making you tumble out on the floor, looking directly at his face. “Found you…” His ears were bigger and more alert, he looked more hot, handsome, fucking delicous. He grabbed you gently off the floor, throwing your body over his shoulder like a potato sack.

His smell, it was addicting like a drug to your mind, making you feel all hot and needy . “Wait, hah- P-put me down! Please Mr.Wayne-” “Bruce. Call me by my first name, please.” He reached the master bedroom within seconds, throwing you onto the plush sheets on his bed. His smell made you clench around nothing, your panties dampened, forming a wet spot . “Bunny.. I could smell your scent ever since I entered that damn shop.. You looked so cute.” Bruce grabbed your ankles, sliding you down to the edge of the bed, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Please bunny, can I?” He leaned down towards your stomach, looking at your eyes for consent. “Yes, Bruce..” He was rock hard, lengthy dick pumping precum through his briefs, growing even more at the sight of your body . His hands removed your shoes, ripping your pants to shreds with his strength. He was blessed with the sight of your panties, cute lacy pink ones with a pink bow sitting on top. You shivered at the sudden chill, closing your thighs to prevent the coldness creeping up your thighs. Bruce placed his hands on top of your plushy thighs, holding them open as he looked down at his meal .

The fingertips of his hands yanked your panties down, face moving in to lick a long wet stripe down your pussy. “Hngh! B- Sensitive!..” You mewled, clenching the sheets with your paws, trying to stabilize your body. He growled into your folds, sending shocks of desire through your core, making you arch off the bed. He was devouring you, long licks of your slick fulfilling his thirst. He flicked your bud, making you come instantly. “Oh shitttt.. Bunny, couldn’t hold it in anymore?” He chuckled, grinding his boner against the mattress. You could come from his voice alone, panting as you tried to recover from your blissful orgasm. He nipped at the inside of your thighs, leaving a large bite mark with his fangs, sucking on the delicate skin making a purple spot. He sucked on your thighs, practically eating you up without hesitation, making you shake with desire. “Please Brucey.. Put it in..” Your hips bucked into his face searching for any hint of touch, trying to get off on him.

His mind crumbled in an instant, standing up to look at your body. You’ve removed your hoodie, leaving your top in a cute matching bralette, the same tiny bow on top. His hands latched onto your boobs, feeling the hard buds through the fabric, groaning at the squishy flesh. “You're perfect, so damn perfect bunny… ‘M gonna have to knock you up with my seed now, do I?..” He removed his cock from his boxers, the sight of a hot cherry red tip dripping with precum, making his shaft glisten. He was a whopping 11 whole inches, the sight of his length hitting the top of his defined abs, a sticky mess of pre rubbed onto his stomach. You gasped, realizing how much of a monster he was, with his large ears and sharp fangs, but his dick? R.I.P to you, cause of death from Bruce Wayne's dick! He leaned down slowly, opening your thighs to show your meaty pussy.

He spat on your clit, leaving a wet glob that dripped down your slit, making you moan. “Nghhh- Put it in already, pleasee!” You were sobbing, tears running down your cheeks, you were running off the feeling of need and pleasure. “Bun.. Don't cry, please.” He rubbed the flaming red tip onto your pretty little clit, using his spit and your slick to lube his shaft. He lined his dick up with your hole, thrusting all 11 inches in slowly. “Ohhh- You gotta relax f’me..” Your body was on fire, the feeling of being stuffed with his massive cock made you almost pass out. Your mouth breathed his name like a mantra, repeating the same word like there was nothing else in your brain besides him. He moved forward, the tip kissing your cervix sending chills down your spine. Bruce grunted, pulling back leaving only his tip in, jolting forward to feed you all 11 inches.

“Fuuuckkk!!!” You cried from the sensation, his hips fucking you like there was no tomorrow. Your bones were clattering from how rough he could fuck, pleasure and pain frying your brain. You came around his dick, clenching the sides of his length . “Hahh– Just came f’me? Oh good girl.. ” He started to speed up his pace, fucking your body into the mattress, his fingers leaving crescent moon marks on your thighs. He leaned down towards your boobs, ripping off your bra and throwing it behind him. He gripped one thigh while using the other one to stimulate the bouncy breasts, sucking and nipping on one of your nipples while rubbing the other one. His thrusts were getting sloppier, maw open heavily panting . Bruce felt it coming, placing his hands next to your head as his hips met yours. “Bruce Bruce Bruce! “M cumminggg-” He groaned loudly, plopping down to bite you on your pulse point, a mark meaning that you were his . The combination of your orgasms left both of you breathless, needy for each other in a deep sense. You looked up into his big milky eyes, grabbing his face with your hands, kissing his lips. Your kiss was basically the signal that made him reharden, the feeling of his tip spurting deep ropes of cum into your womb, his knot plugging your pussy to prevent anything leaking. “Guess your mine forever now, bunny.”

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

A/N - oops this is an old work but why not post it now teheeeeeee also i lucid dreamed (kinda) for the first time bc apparently u can feel everything and i got fucked in roblox form??? also i wasnt in control of my dream sigh

[xxmcr05xx]

When the Sun Hits | Anakin Skywalker x f!Reader

Summary: Anakin doesn't know how to cope so he goes to his fwb.

Warnings/Contains: Friends with benefits, virginity loss, flashbacks, making out, groping, dry-humping, hickeys, cunnilingus, fingering (f! receiving), orgasm, nipple play, nipple licking, friends to lovers, dacryphilia, praise kink, doggy style, cowgirl position

WC: 3,877

Originally posted: 02/06/2025 on AO3!

Title Song: When the Sun Hits - Slowdive

18+ MDNI

Divider by @uzmacchiato

Anakin was curled up in bed.

He had been feeling quite low for the past couple of days now, war was looming and he know he shouldn't be scared - he's a Jedi for fuck sake! Nonetheless, he still felt paralyzed in his bed. Anakin just wanted one girl: his best friend F/N. The two had been friends ever since Anakin was a young padawan - the two first meeting on Naboo as the queen's younger sister.

After their initial meeting, the two became inseparable, talking to each other almost every week and when they were lucky enough, spent their free time together doing who knows what. That was years ago now and the two have grown older, both 23 to be exact. There was a shift in their relationship, and it happened when they were celebrating F/N's 19th birthday.

"Happy birthday, F/N!" Anakin cheered, walking up to the girl and giving her a big hug.

"Ani! Aah I was wondering when you," F/N greeted back, keeping her arms wrapped around his waist, "everyone is in the main hall partying right now, but I don't want of that. Honestly, it was Padmé's idea to host the party, oddly enough, Sola was also enthusiastic as well about the party," F/N sighed out, letting go of the hug, "honestly, I wanted to just have you over put she insisted."

Anakin let out a small chuckle, "You're a very lucky girl, F/N. C'mon, let's go say hi to some people then maybe we can go up to your room, 'kay?" Anakin suggested, F/N pouted but gave a nod anyway, walking together to the main hall. When they arrived, music was playing loudly, the decor was F/N's edgy taste of darker colours - with some lighter decorations sprinkled in thanks to her sister's.

In the distance, Padmé spotted the two and perked up, walking over and waving, "Anakin! A pleasure to see you," Padmé greeted, giving the man a small side-hug, "F/N does NOT shut up about you, y'know I think she'd like you for her bir-" Padmé was interrupted with F/N slapping her hand over her mouth, clearly embarrassed. Anakin raised an eyebrow at Padmé's statement, but didn't think too much of it

"That's enough, Padmé, shut up," F/N growled through her teeth, "anyway.... can I go to my room now? Everyone's been her for like five hours now; I'm extremely tired," I whined out.

Padmé gave her younger sister an empathetic look and nodded, "You guys are free to go up, I just hope you're having a good birthday, sister," she said softly, rubbing F/N's arm.

"I am, Padmé, thank you."

F/N then grabbed Anakin's excitedly and waved goodbye to her sister, Anakin was taken aback a bit with F/N's sudden gesture, but just followed her anyway. "Man, I am just so glad you're here, Ani, this party was just a bore," F/N complained as they made their way to F/N's room.

"Mmm I'm sure it is, F/N. It was all you were complaining about for the past couple of days," the boy replied, rolling his eyes a little with a small grin.

"Excuse me, Anakin, I NEVER complain," F/N replied back with a matter-of-fact tone that made Anakin snicker a little.

The pair finally made their way to F/N's room, it was decorated with a lot of posters, as well as a lot of water colour paintings that the girl had done. F/N went to her vanity and started to take out her hair pins, "Can you believe what they did to my hair, Ani? I would never allow myself to have it all pinned up and curled, but Padmé HAD to insist I have it up - she even asked her stupid servants to do it up..." The blond man nodded softly, he was sat on F/N bed, looking over at the girl as she casual-fied herself.

F/N talked nonstop for about thirty minutes about the party as she changed out of her party attire and into something more comfortable. She walked behind the room divider to change, complaining about her sister and how she found it annoying that her parents had told her to live in the palace with her queen sister, but her other sister got to stay at home.

Moonlight peered out of the windows, it was at just the right angle that Anakin could see F/N naked silhouette. His eyes widened slightly as he could see her undress, unaware that Anakin could see her so well while she continued to chat. Anakin had these thoughts about F/N before: when he was just hitting puberty he saw her at a different angle of teenage lust. As a Jedi he couldn't do anything and tried very hard to suppress those feelings - ultimately failing at some times.

Anakin cleared his throat to clear his mind as F/N walked out from the divider, dressed in her pyjamas now. "- and so I'm just deciding not to talk to them again. Such a lazy coward," F/N huffed out, sitting on the bed next to Anakin, "I hope that you're enjoying yourself, Anakin," the girl asked, crossing her legs and laying on her back.

"O-Oh yeah I'm okay. Actually, I did get you a gift," Anakin replied back, F/N looked up and pouted, "I know I know, you didn't want a gift but I felt bad... you are nineteen now, after all," Anakin reached into his pocket and held a jewelry box in his hand. F/N gasped a little and sat up, looking at Anakin. "Happy birthday," Anakin whispered, giving the box to F/N.

When she opened it up, the box revealed a gorgeous gold chain, in the middle that gold continued to weave over a polished chalcedony crystal. "Wow, Anakin, I don't know what to say..." F/N looked up at Anakin with soft eyes, "thank you." Anakin smiled back as F/N took the necklace out of the box, wearing it over her neck.

"It looked gorgeous on you, F/N," Anakin mumbled, playing with the sleeve of his robe as F/N admired it.

"Where did you even get something like this?" F/N asked, looking closely at the crystal.

Anakin chuckled and looked away nervously, "Don't worry, F/N. As long as you're happy with it." The girl looked up at Anakin and smiled softly, she wriggled a bit closer to him and hugged him tightly, repeating another quiet thank you as they hugged. Anakin was taken aback a bit but hugged her back anyway. He could feel her breath on his neck and the smell of her perfume strongly.

The two moved away from the hug and stared at each other, Anakin looked into her eyes with a deep compassion while F/N had a strong sense of need. "Anakin..." F/N whispered, she had a small crease near her eyebrow - Anakin knew that look, she would do that subconsciously when she wanted something.

"Yes, F/N?"

F/N gulped and looked to the side, suddenly feeling extremely hot and bothered when looking at Anakin. "Thank you for making my birthday special... I... I don't know what to say or do," She let out with a small voice. Anakin could sense it on her, something about the situation they were in right now made their usually relaxed relationship suddenly tensed up.

"Can you feel it?" F/N asked.

She looked back up at him with desperate eyes, she was feeling things that she shouldn't about her best friend but Anakin could sense it in her head. F/N wanted Anakin in a more-than-friendly way and Anakin could sense it. The blond gulped and looked back at her, "I can't... I'm a Jedi," Anakin muttered back, but he didn't care, he knew that he was lying - they both knew that he was lying.

"We can still be friends, I still want to be your friend, Ani."

The use of his nickname in that moment flooded Anakin with a sense of stronger lust.

"Still friends?"

"Still friends."

Anakin moved closer now, he basically entrapped F/N between his legs, his hands moved to her cheek, feeling her warm face. Neither of them had ever been close like this before, they hadn't even been like this with another person. "Tell me to stop..." Anakin whispered, his other hand grazing down her arm now.

But F/N didn't.

She shook her head and moved her own hand over his own that was on her cheek, "I need you right now, Ani."

It was all Anakin had to hear, he slowly guided F/N to lay down on her bed and crawled on top of her, basically caging her with his arms and legs. F/N had this insatiable look in her eyes as Anakin stared down at her - they both knew it was wrong but it wouldn't change anything, right?

Anakin leaned down at moved the hair out of her face, whispering 'thank you's' and how much he's thought about this. His lips trailed from her jaw and right near her lips. He looked back at her with permission, but she had that look in here eyes that said 'just take me' - so Anakin did that.

Their lips met softly, kissing passionately as Anakin held her face. The two friends moaned out softly so Anakin took that moment to slip his tongue out to graze against F/N's lips, she opened her mouth slightly and let Anakin taste her. The taste and sensation of F/N against him was overwhelming, he had never felt this turned on in his life.

Small moans left F/N's mouth as Anakin's hand moved down her shoulders now, teasing her as they neared her tits. Anakin could sense that she liked that so he moved his hands to her tits over her pyjama shirt, his hands groped her ever-so slightly which made F/N moan a bit louder in her mouth.

His hands trailed underneath her shirt, feeling her bare chest now with both his hands.

The scene in front of him was overwhelming when he moved away from her lips: her shirt tugged above her tits, hair sprawled and messy, and her face pink and flustered. Anakin stared at his hands and sighed, rubbing her chest again with his thumbs. "Fuck, I really just want to take you..." he whined out.

"Just take me, Ani."

And that's what they did.

Anakin and F/N were each other's first that night.

They continued as friends with benefits after that night.

Years had passed since then and Anakin was now a Jedi knight, he was still best friends with F/N but their relationship was slightly changed now. They were more intimate with each other. Anakin whined out F/N's name sadly, no one was in the room but he was hoping that she would arrive any minute. Just before he laid in bed, he called F/N and asked her to come over.

Five minutes had passed and Anakin heard a knock on the door, the man got up straight away and basically ran to the door. In front of him was his best friend, she was much more mature looking than the first time they were together and it drove Anakin to insanity, he loved her so much. "What's wrong, Ani? Are you okay?" F/N as she walked into the room, he shrugged and closed the door, sitting back down on his bed.

"I'm a Jedi knight and I feel scared," Anakin cried out, he covered his face with his hands and groaned, "I'm a failure of a Jedi knight; what is wrong with me?"

F/N sat down next to Anakin and sighed, placing a hand on his thigh, "You're gonna be fine, Ani. You're the best Jedi knight ever, Anakin. I know that you can do this, we'll make it out in the end." The brunette sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, feeling a lot more calm now.

"Thank you, F/N. I'm a bit embarrassed now," he confessed, looking to the side in embarrassment. This made F/N giggle, she laid down on Anakin's bed and looked over at him.

"We all get like that sometimes, it just makes us human."

Anakin shrugged and muttered an 'I suppose so' under his breath, he looked back up at F/N and frowned with that same need in his eyes. "I just need to get my mind off of it," Anakin mumbled. F/N knew this was a code for 'please just let me fuck you,' so she laughed and sat up.

"Oh, yeah? How so?" F/N teased.

The man pouted and sat up, "You know how..." Anakin muttered, he bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed about her teasing. F/N grinned and shifted close to Anakin, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"You just missed your best friend, didn't you?" F/N whispered into his ear, grinning still. Anakin let out a deep sigh and placed his larger hands over hers.

"Maybe..."

Anakin stared into her eyes and kissed her nose, "Just lay down, let me love you tonight," Anakin begged, rubbing his hands down her shoulders. F/N obeyed his command and laid down on her back, smiling as she kept her eye contact with Anakin. The Jedi groaned softly at the look in her eyes, he could tell that she wanted this just as much he wanted it.

His lips smashed against hers in almost an instant, a total opposite of the first time he made love with her.

They were a total horny mess.

F/N wrapped her legs around Anakin's waist, grinding herself onto the Jedi, which made him whine out loudly. His hands undressed her quite fast, removing his own clothes as well while they still made out. Saliva was dripping down their faces now as their lust for one another grew, Anakin's hands were all over F/N's body now, groping and slapping her tits as his mouth moves down to her clavicle. He couldn't help himself. Anakin bit small love bites on F/N's breasts which made the woman cry out.

"Hhgh, oh my fucking hell, Ani... it's so much!..." F/N whined out.

Anakin growled and sucked harder all over her chest, which started to look like a watercolour painting of purples and reds. "Just let me eat you out, precious," Anakin moaned out, he kept eye contact with F/N as he kissed further down her tummy, close to her aching cunt now. "Fuck, I can smell it from here," Anakin moaned out, looking down at her cunt now, "it smells so sweet and delicious, baby."

The Jedi pulled her panties down slowly but surely, "I love you," Anakin confessed, he wasn't even thinking at that moment as his tongue attached to her lips straight away. F/N's eyes widened both at the sudden feeling as well as Anakin's confession, not once during their 'situation' have they ever said 'I love you' to one another.

F/N covered her mouth with her hands and moaned out, Anakin's tongue was deep inside of her now, his arms over her thighs and his thumb rubbing her clit harshly. Anakin kept his pace up as he felt F/N's thighs squeezing his head, which further motived the Jedi. "It's too much, Ani!!" F/N sobbed out, she desperately tried to move away from Anakin, but his pace continued. He moved his mouth away from her pussy and he looked back up at F/N, he had two fingers inside of her now, squirming inside of her at a fast pace.

The look on Anakin's face was insatiable. He was just so insatiable.

A mixture of her cum and his spit were running down his mouth now, cheeks and mouth red, and his hair a mess. F/N wanted to kiss him so bad but she felt her orgasm nearing, she shook her head in pleasure, her knuckles were white as a ghost as she gripped the bedsheets tightly. F/N noticed that Anakin's hips would move as well, which definitely indicated that he was grinding into the bed this entire time.

"Fhuh... gonna c-cum, F/N?" Anakin asked, speech slurred from the bodily fluids coming out of his mouth, "P-Please just fucking cum all over me," Anakin moaned out and leaned forwards, his lips were sucking harshly on F/N's nipples. Pleasure wasn't even the right word for what the two friends were feeling right now, it was just so much overwhelming lust.

F/N nodded her head intensely, her hands moved to Anakin's back, holding him as close to her as she could. Her orgasm took over after that, she held her childhood friend close to her. Anakin kept fingering her after her orgasm, he needed to feel her wetness more. "S-Stop, Ani... too much," F/N cried out.

Anakin snapped back into reality for a second and looked up at F/N, tears were pouring down her face. "Oh fuck- I'm really sorry, F/N," Anakin had a slightly panicked face as he wiped her tears away, making F/N laugh a little.

"It's okay Anakin..." F/N replied back rubbing his cheek a little with her thumb, "now... how about I return the favour, yeah?" F/N asked, slowly switching positions with Anakin. The man was thanking the Makers in his head so much in  the moment, extremely turned on with F/N's fucked-out appearance: hair messy and cum dripping out of her cunt and onto the mattress.

F/N leaned down, she kissed Anakin's cheek before pulling off his boxers. She noticed just before she peeled it off that there was a huge wet stain at the front, making F/N giggle. When she took the undergarment off of him fully, she was taken aback at the size of his cock - despite having seen it multiple times.

"It just looks good every single time I see it," F/N confessed, making Anakin blush.

F/N adjusted herself onto her side now, she held his cock with her free hand and smiled, looking up at Anakin. Her mouth slowly dipped down to his cock, licking the tip with her tongue slowly and indulging the taste of his pre-cum. Anakin moved a hand down to her hair and gripped it gently, slowly guiding the woman and up down his cock.

She closed her eyes softly and indulged in the taste of his cock, bobbing her head at a faster pace now and sucking her cheeks in. Anakin could die a happy man right here and then, it was extremely overwhelming for him but he just needed her more and more. "Th-That's it... good fucking girl," Anakin praised, letting out a throaty growl.

This turned on F/N even more, her pace was even faster now which Anakin noticed. "Oh? You- You like when I praise you? You're such a good girl for me, you know just the right angle to fucking suck me off," Anakin paused to let out a loud moan as he could feel F/N's tongue on a prominent vein on his cock, "I'm gonna just cum so fucking hard in your mouth, sweet girl."

F/N needed this more than ever, her pace was unbelievably faster now. Anakin's legs were jittering now, his grip was tight on her hair as he basically forced her to suck him off. "Fucking hell.. aah fuck... I'm gonna cum-" Anakin's eyes shot wide as he orgasmed, eyes rolling backwards in pleasure as he shot his load down F/N's mouth.

The woman opened her eyes to look at Anakin, swallowing his cum quickly. She sat up and hovered over Anakin's cock, "I need to take you now, Ani," F/N whined out, she kissed Anakin's post-orgasm face and held his hard cock again, slowly sliding her cunt over it.

Both of them moaned in unison, overstimulated by their recent orgasms. Anakin's hands moved down to her waist, helping guide her down his raw cock, "You're so tight, my sweet girl, so unbelievably fucking good," Anakin moaned out, it was bad, he was starting to feel protective over her. "You're mine forever, got it? I own your fucking cunt, I own you."

F/N moaned in agreement, nodding her head fast and babbling yes underneath her breath. Anakin's hips thrusted up, trying hard to keep in time with the speed that F/N was bouncing on him.

The disgusting sound of squelching and bed-squeaking filled the room up.

This was the most intimacy any two people could ever be.

"I love you, F/N..." Anakin confessed again, he kissed her clavicle and cried out, "fuck I love you I love you I love you so much," Anakin pushed F/N over onto her back. F/N was taken aback and cried out because Anakin slipped out of her, he grabbed her hips and flipped her so that she was on her knees.

F/N whimpered out at the sudden action but allowed it to happened. Anakin was worshipping her at this point, pressing kisses all over her legs and up to her ass, giving it one last kiss before getting up on his knees, thrusting his cock back into F/N's cunt. F/N hands grabbed the sheets almost in an instant and whined out, eyes closed in pleasure, Anakin fucking her from behind.

His hands gripped her ass tightly, smacking it harshly and trying to reach his rush his orgasm. "Ooouhh, oh fuck-" Anakin leaned down, his head resting on F/N's back, "gonna cum so deep inside you, 'kay? My perfect girl I'm gonna fucking cum in your perfect body."

F/N nodded, feeling her own orgasm arriving as soon as he spoke up, her body shook and a drawn-out moan left her mouth as she came.

Soon after, Anakin came as well, he held F/N as close as he could to his own body, letting out the loudest moan that echoed through the room. The feeling of her warm cunt was so intriguing for Anakin, he loved the feeling of his warm cum inside of her. A minute passed and he finally moved, he slowly slid out of F/N's cunt, which made her whimper. Anakin looked over and saw that F/N was basically asleep, he chuckled to himself and helped her lay on her back.

"Did you mean that before, Ani?" F/N asked as she leaned her head onto Anakin's chest, "That... That you loved me?" Anakin looked down at her and smiled a little, a small blush on his face.

"O-Oh yeah uhm... I really do like you a lot, F/N," Anakin muttered, "I've always been too afraid to tell you, since I thought you just saw me as a friend."

F/N snorted and lightly punched his chest, "Oh my Maker, Anakin, I think I've had a crush on you since I was like... thirteen." Anakin hummed and held her close.

"Well, I'm happy that you're only mine now."

"I've always been yours."

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira @pandaofsilentdeath

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TW: Cussing, Walkers (Zombies), tension, kidnapping, pregnancy issues (Maggie will be fine!), helplessness, character death, coercion, lecherous behavior, angst.

Part 41

Dead Weight - Part 42

The woods are dark and full of sounds that make your skin crawl. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves could be a walker—or worse. Maggie's breathing is labored and pained as she lays on a makeshift stretcher.

"Just a little further," you whisper, though you have no idea where you're going. Eugene took off with the RV hours ago, leaving your group to make it to Hilltop on foot through terrain that seems to get more hostile with every step.

That's when the lights hit you.

Blinding white beams cut through the darkness from every direction, and you instinctively step between the lights and Maggie's stretcher as voices shout commands you can barely understand through the chaos.

"Drop your weapons! Now!"

"Get on your knees!"

"Hands where we can see them!"

Your heart pounds as you realize you're completely surrounded. There are at least twenty of them, maybe more, all armed and pointing their weapons at your group. This isn't random—this is organized, planned.

A man steps forward from the circle of light, tall and confident with a mustache and an easy smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Everything about him screams authority, from the way he carries himself to how the others defer to him.

"Well, well," he says, his voice carrying that fake friendliness that makes your blood run cold. "What do we have here? Looks like we caught ourselves the whole damn fishing party."

"Please," you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself, the word tumbling out in your desperation. "Please, she's pregnant, she needs medical attention. We're just trying to get her to a doctor."

The man's attention shifts to you, and something in his expression changes as he hears your accent. "Well now, that's interesting."

He stops in front of you again, crouching down so he's at eye level. "Darling, that accent... "

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "Does it matter?"

"Oh, it matters. See, we don't get many foreigners around here. Makes me wonder what brought you to our little corner of the world." His smile is predatory. "I bet Boss-man would love to hear that story."

"Please," you try again, hating how your voice shakes. "If you have any humanity left—"

"Humanity?" Simon laughs, and the sound makes your skin crawl. "Humanity's what got us into this mess in the first place. But don't you worry about your friend there. We'll take real good care of all of you."

He stands up, brushing dirt off his knees, and the casual gesture somehow makes everything feel more terrifying.

This is routine for him.

Normal.

"On your knees," one of the other men barks, and you feel the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of your head.

The gravel bit into your knees as Abraham's steady hand helped guide you down beside him. Your whole body was shaking, but his presence was oddly comforting even in this nightmare.

"Don't try to negotiate with these bastards." he murmured low enough that only you could hear. "They ain't interested in mercy."

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Maggie was beside you, pale and trembling, and you wanted to reach for her hand but didn't dare move with all these guns pointed at your group.

The sound of van doors slamming made your heart drop further. Three figures were roughly dragged out—Daryl, Glen, and Rosita.

Your breath caught when you saw Daryl, dried blood on his face and neck. His eyes found yours immediately across the lineup, and you saw something break in his expression.

When they forced him to his knees at the end of the line, his eyes never left you.

A door creaked open.

Bootsteps.

Rhythmic.

Cocky.

Measured.

Confident.

A whistle cut through the dark, cocky and off-key. Then a deep, smooth voice, dripping with theater.

“Are we pissing our pants yet?”

You looked toward the sound, stomach twisting.

Out from the shadows stepped a man with slicked-back hair, a red scarf, and a black leather jacket that caught the light like a blade. He carried a bat wrapped in barbed wire like it was a sacred relic.

And he smiled.

“Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close.”

The voice was cheerful, conversational, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.

"Yep, it's gonna be pee pee pants city real soon"

He drawled it out like it was a punchline. A sick joke. He paced before you all like a showman at center stage.

You shuddered. Not from the cold—but from him.

The name had been whispered for weeks like a curse. But seeing him in the flesh? That was something else.

"I have to admit, you all have been pretty impressive. Most groups would've crumbled by now, but you... you're still here. Still fighting." He paced in front of the lineup, bat resting casually on his shoulder.

"I'm Negan. And this beautiful lady here is Lucille."

Negan continued his speech about killing someone to make a point, about how his people had died, how rules had to be followed. Then he raised Lucille, using her as a pointer.

"I simply cannot decide," he said with mock contemplation. "I got an idea." He began moving down the line with his bat.

And then Negan began.

“Eeny…”

His boots crunched gravel as he stopped in front of Abraham.

“Meeny…”

He moved to Sasha.

“Miny…”

Carl. Negan paused, raising a brow at the boy’s steel stare, clearly amused.

“Moe.”

He moved again.

Each syllable cut through the air like a drumbeat, each stop another slice of horror.

Your chest was tight. You tried to breathe slowly.

“Catch. A. Tiger. By. His. Toe…”

He stopped in front of you.

Your eyes met his—only for a second—and his smile twitched.

“If. He. Hollers. Let. Him. Go…”

He gave you a wink.

“My. Mother. Told. Me. To. Pick. The. Very. Best. One…”

You held your breath.

“… and you…”

He walked to Glen.

"… are…”

Then to Rosita.

“… it.”

The bat stopped in front of Abraham. The towering man straightened his shoulders, meeting Negan's eyes with defiance.

"Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy's other eye out and feed it to his father, and we'll start. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that." Negan announced, glancing toward Carl and Rick.

What happened next was burned into your memory forever. The sickening sound of Lucille connecting with Abraham's skull. The way he tried to sit back up, blood streaming down his face, still defiant. "Suck my nuts," he managed to say.

The second blow took him away from all of you forever.

"Look at that!" Negan exclaimed, holding up Lucille. "Taking it like a champ!"

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Abraham—loud, crude, Abraham—was gone. The metallic smell of blood filled the air, and someone was quietly sobbing.

"Did you hear that?" Negan asked the group, his voice carrying a twisted kind of joy. "He said 'suck my nuts.'" He laughed, actually laughed.

"You bunch of pussies. I'm just getting started."

Negan wasn't finished. He walked over to Rosita, pointing Lucille at her face. "Lucille is thirsty. She's a vampire bat." The barbed wire was inches from Rosita's cheek. "What? Was the joke that bad?"

That's when Daryl snapped.

Before anyone could stop him, Daryl launched himself at Negan, fist connecting with the man's jaw in a satisfying crack.

Two Saviors immediately tackled him, pinning him in the gravel as Negan recovered, touching his lip where blood was beginning to form.

"Ho! Oh!" Negan straightened up, spitting blood. "That is a no-no. The whole thing—not one bit of that shit flies here—what did I say? I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions."

"No!" The word tore from your throat before you could stop it.

All eyes turned to you as you threw yourself forward, covering Daryl's form with your own body. Your arms wrapped around his head protectively, shielding him as much as you could.

"Please," you begged, eyes squeezed shut. "Please don't hurt him. I'll do anything—just don't hurt him."

Daryl could smell your familiar scent even through the blood and dirt, and it brought him back to soft mornings in the attic—you curled against his side, your head on his chest, his hand in your hair.

Negan's eyebrows shot up with interest as he really looked at you for the first time. "Well, well. What do we have here?" He crouched down to your level, studying you with predatory curiosity. "That's an interesting accent you've got there, sweetheart. Not from around here, are you?"

Your voice shook as you answered, eyes downcast. "No, sir."

"Foreign girls always were my weakness," Negan mused, tilting his head. "Pretty little thing like you... I bet you taste like peaches and cream."

Daryl struggled against the hands holding him down, rage and terror warring in his chest.

"I can see you care about your little boyfriend here," Negan continued, his tone almost conversational. "Must be nice, having someone willing to throw herself in harm's way for you. Question is—what's she willing to do to keep you breathing?"

He stood up, pacing a slow circle around you both. "You know, I've got a few wives back at the Sanctuary. Beautiful women who understand the benefits of being under my protection. They want for nothing—food, safety, comfort."

Your blood ran cold as his implication became clear.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Negan said, crouching back down. "You come with me, become one of my wives, and loverboy here gets to keep breathing. Refuse..." He let the sentence hang in the air.

Daryl's eyes were wide with horror and rage. "Don't you dare. I ain't worth it. I ain't worth nothing."

Negan smiled, wide and satisfied.

"C'mon dont ruin this, let the lady speak."

The words were there—the agreement that would save Daryl's life—but they felt like shards of glass in your throat. You remained draped over Daryl, your body shaking slightly.

"Don't," Daryl whispered beneath you, his voice barely audible. "I ain't worth it. You hear me? I ain't worth what he's asking."

As the Saviors held him, his muscles tensed beneath you, fighting the pull of their hands, but it was you he turned toward—not them. Despite the bruising grip on his arms, despite the threat hanging in the air, Daryl tilted his head, resting his forehead against yours for a fleeting second.

Then his nose brushed softly against your hair, like he was trying to memorize the scent of you. One last time.

He turned his face into your neck, the motion awkward and restricted. You felt the faintest graze of his lips near your ear—not a kiss, not quite. Just the warmth of his breath and the wordless way he lingered, like he could protect you or try to with just his proximity alone.

His hands were pinned, but his body leaned forward, seeking yours, offering whatever comfort he could in the only way left to him.

"Hey now," Negan said, his tone mockingly gentle. "I can't hear you. You're gonna have to speak up if we're gonna make a deal here."

You lifted your head slightly, tears brimming your eyes, but still couldn't force the words out.

Negan crouched down closer, his voice taking on a crueler edge. "See, your boyfriend here got my people killed. Now, I could just bash his head in right now and call it even. Or..." He paused dramatically. "You could make this real easy for everyone."

"Don't listen to him," Daryl managed to say, his voice muffled.

"Cat got your tongue? Because I'm starting to lose patience here." Negan taunted.

You could feel Daryl trembling beneath you, could hear his ragged breathing. The silence stretched on until Negan's patience began to wear thin.

He gestured casually toward Daryl. "You know, he's got such pretty eyes. Be a real shame if something happened to them."

That broke through your paralysis. "Yes," you managed to whisper.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Negan cupped his ear theatrically.

"Yes," you said louder, your voice cracking. "I'll... I'll do it."

No, no, no, Daryl's mind screamed. She don't know what she's agreeing to. Don't know what kind of monster this prick is.

Negan's grin was triumphant and terrifying. "Well, well. Looks like we have ourselves a deal."

He reached down and hauled you up off of Daryl, his large hand immediately finding the back of your neck. His fingers brushed your hair aside, exposing the vulnerable skin there, and his grip tightened possessively.

You could feel Daryl's eyes on the intimate gesture, could see his jaw clench with helpless rage.

"Such a pretty little thing," Negan murmured, his thumb stroking the nape of your neck while maintaining eye contact with Daryl. "You know what, Daryl? I can see why you're so protective of her. Ho boy, its gonna be so much fun getting to know my new wife. Gonna teach her all sorts of things about being a proper wife."

Daryl lunged forward despite the men holding him down. "You son of a—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Negan interrupted, his grip on your neck tightening until you winced. "Remember our deal, tough guy. Your girl here just bought your life. I'd hate for her sacrifice to be for nothing."

I'm gonna kill him, Daryl thought, rage boiling in his chest. Soon as I get the chance, I'm gonna put a bolt through his skull.

"Oh, and speaking of teaching," Negan continued conversationally, "I think you need to learn some lessons too. About what happens when you hit me." He gestured to his men. "Load him up. He's coming with us."

"What?" You scrambled panic flooding your voice. "No, that wasn't part of the deal!"

Negan laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing. "Oh, sweetheart. The deal was that I'd keep him alive. Never said anything about letting him go."

"You can't—"

"I can do whatever the hell I want," Negan cut you off sharply. "And right now, I want him to spend some time thinking about what his little outburst costs, consider it insurance that you'll honor our little deal."

"Hey," Daryl called to you as the Saviors hauled him to his feet. "This ain't on you. You hear me?"

But you were already shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Get him in the van," Negan ordered. "And be gentle with my new bride. She's had a long night."

Glen's face crumpled in anguish, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Carl's jaw tightened, his one good eye blazing with fury as he stared at you—the woman who'd read him stories, baked bread birds and patched his scrapes, now sacrificing herself.

Michonne's expression was carved from stone, but her katana hand twitched. Rick looked like he was about to be sick.

The inside of the van was pitch black and smelled like diesel fuel and fear. Every bump in the road sent pain shooting through his ribs where they'd kicked him.

Daryl's fists pounded against the metal doors until his knuckles split and bled, the sound echoing like gunshots in the confined space.

"Lemme out!" he roared, throwing his full weight against the doors. "Lemme th' fuck out!"

The van didn't even slow down.

He slammed his shoulder against the door again, feeling something in his joint pop. The pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing through his chest.

What's he gonna do to her cause of me ? The thought sent him into another frenzy of violence against his metal prison.

Images flashed through his mind—Negan's hands on your neck, that predatory smile as he claimed what he thought was his. Daryl's vision went red.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" he screamed at the walls. "YOU HEAR ME? I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

She agreed to save me, he thought, the reality of it hitting him like a sledgehammer.

And now Negan's gonna...

He couldn't finish the thought.

"What you gonna do now, little brother?"

The voice in his head, Merle—mocking, cruel, but somehow familiar in its harshness.

"Shuddup," Daryl muttered into the darkness.

"What's that? You gonna cry about it Darylina ? Gonna let that bastard take your girl without a fight?"

The van hit another bump, and Daryl's head knocked against the metal wall. The pain was sharp and immediate, but it was nothing compared to the knowledge that somewhere in another vehicle, you where probably terrified.

Daryl's legs gave out and he collapsed against the van wall, his breathing ragged. The fight went out of him all at once, leaving behind a hollow ache that felt like drowning.

The van lurched over another bump, and Daryl's head knocked against the metal wall.

He didn't even feel it.

Those mornings when you'd wake up, reaching for him in the darkness—he'd always been there. Always pulled you close and whispered to you, tapping out that beat when you where lying in that infirmary.

Daryl's hands shook as he pressed them against his eyes, trying to block out the images of what you might be going through. But they kept coming—flashes of fear, of helplessness.

Every bump in the road took him further from you, further from any chance of protecting you.

The memory hit him like a physical blow—you in the attic that last morning, sunlight in your hair, looking at him like he was something precious. Like he was worth loving.

"Stay" You'd murmured, god why didn't he just stay.

Daryl's fist connected with the van wall one more time, but there was no strength behind it. Just despair.

The van hit another pothole, and Daryl felt something break inside his chest. Not his ribs—something deeper. Something that might never heal.

Daryl curled into himself in the corner of the van, finally understanding the full weight of what had happened. You'd traded everything—to keep him breathing. And he was powerless to save you from the consequences.

"I love you," he murmured desperately, the words feeling like a prayer and a curse all at once.

"I love you so goddamn much."

His breathing came in ragged gasps as the full weight of what you'd sacrificed hit him, his shoulders curling as his head dropped to his hands.

Those quiet mornings when your hand would curl on his chest, too shy to go further but content just to be close. The trust in your eyes when you'd fall asleep in his arms.

All gone. All fucking gone because I couldn't keep my damn temper in check.

Daryl's hands clenched into fists so tight his nails drew blood from his palms. The van continued its steady rumble toward the Sanctuary, toward whatever hell Negan had planned for both of you.

The van began to slow, and Daryl could hear voices outside—Saviors talking, preparing for arrival. Soon they'd open those doors, and he'd have to face whatever came next.

But right now, in this moment of absolute darkness, all he could think about was the way you'd looked at him in the lineup—not with blame or regret.

Even as you agreed to Negan's terms, even as you sacrificed everything, you'd looked at him like you could love him, like he meant something.

I'm gonna kill him, Daryl promised himself, the words burning in his chest. I'm gonna find a way out of whatever cage he puts me in, and I'm gonna kill him for touching her.

"I love you" he murmured once more, and that love—beautiful and terrible and completely helpless—was all he had left to hold onto as the van finally came to a stop.

[honorhearted]

“I don’t 'hitch myself' to any side. I thought you’d know that by now.”

A brief swell of relief formed between Benjamin's ribs, and he flashed an earnest grin. "All right, fair enough...but what about 'hitching yourself' to my side? Would that be equally egregious?"

He knew he needed to stop torturing her, and by proxy, himself, but there was something about Emma that made it so delightfully easy.

Amusement fading, he nodded as he listened to her speak. "Yes," he rasped. "Yes, of course...family is all you have -- all you can count on. Wherever my family goes, I follow."

"If we were married, wouldn't you be loyal to me? Because I'm pretty sure that's one of the main clauses of marriage."

Benjamin faltered. In heart, absolutely, but in terms of conviction? He couldn't trade his soul for a cause he didn't accept. Deciding not to completely lie, he affirmed, "I would be loyal to you, yes. When my heart is bound to another, I don't make light of such a vow."

There was a shift in Emma's expression -- not so much impish, so much as coyly vulnerable -- and the blood rushed to Benjamin's face at her query. "Do I desire you?" he echoed, the spoken words making his cheeks burn all the more. "Right this very moment?" With a soft, breathy chuckle, he affirmed, "Yes, I can admit to your accusations...but I've also been taught to be a gentleman, so goading me into action may not be wise."

No, he knew it wasn't, and yet he oddly felt secure lying there alongside her, his fingers fondly skimming through the auburn shock of her hair.

A look of skepticism crossed Emma's eyes. “Hmm… I don't know. Perhaps you only like the thrill of the chase,” she challenged.

With a frown, Benjamin lightly kissed the finger she pressed over his lips. "If that were truly the case, would I not have already taken what I wanted? And believe me, Em: there is far more shrew to be discovered. I'm sure of it."

Ignoring her remark about her "talents," he grinned in spite of himself, catching her wandering hand and splaying it over his chest. She was right. It was difficult when decisions involved the heart, and most especially ones that could only end poorly.

"Broken hearts never fully mend," Benjamin mumbled. "Or at least, I don't think they do...there will always be a crack, a flaw where you were once whole. I've never been broken by romantic love, but I am marred from other losses. My mother, my best friend...and my brother. And honestly, as much as it all stings, is it not worth it to potentially be broken, rather than never experiencing that at all?" He shrugged, his eyes growing glassy. "To love is to hurt, Em. There's no escaping that."

Emma nuzzled him, her brow arching. “Admittedly, I didn’t expect it to be you.”

Benjamin laughed at that, hardly able to disagree. "I'd say 'likewise,' but I'd risk repeating the obvious. I may not be a duke or a baronet, but I am a successful merchant. And, lucky for you, unlike Baron Wainwright, I do not resemble my hog trade...though you certainly claimed I was a pig."

Curling his arms around her shoulders, Benjamin pressed his cheek into her crown and smiled, attempting to still the frantic rush of his pulse. "'Lady Emma' may sound peculiar," he agreed, "but are you saying Mrs. Bolton has a far better ring to it?"

“I don’t 'hitch myself' to any side. I thought you’d know that by now.” Her brows pinched together and her lips pursed into a mildly disappointed pout. The expression only lasted a moment before it melted away back into her countenance of indifference.

“Even though I was born here, the majority of my family is in England. It’s not really the country I’m loyal to, it’s the people. I mean, aren’t you loyal to your family? Isn’t it normal to be loyal to one’s blood? Even if you don’t agree with them one hundred percent?" Swallowing hard, she ignored the brightening blush on her cheeks. "If we were married, wouldn't you be loyal to me? Because I'm pretty sure that's one of the main clauses of marriage."

His stumbling of words was endearing, even though it might've been infuriating to her at one point. She liked his honesty, though. The sincerity of their words when it was only the two of them and no third parties to judge them or condemn them for their thoughts. Or that's what Emma believed, at least. Despite their rocky start, Emma believed John Bolton to be an honest man and she trusted him, to a certain extent, to tell her the truth, even if it wasn't the prettiest.

“And do you? Desire me now?” Emma stretched out the syllables of the words, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. He’d said as much already and, even if he hadn’t, his presence in her bed was answer enough. Still, she liked hearing it. It was one thing to flirt and hold affection for another person, but speaking it aloud was something else entirely.

“Hmm… I don't know. Perhaps you only like the thrill of the chase.” Gently, she traced her finger across his lips, trailing down to his chin before retracting her hand back to herself. “Maybe the idea of taming the shrew is more entertaining than the outcome. Then again, you haven't even seen the half of my talents."

“How poetic of you. I like it." She tried to maintain a playful expression, but she melted the moment he began to stroke her cheek. She enjoyed their verbal sparring bouts, but it was becoming increasingly clear to herself that she was falling farther than she'd ever intended. If anything, she thought tonight might end in both of them acting on carnal desires. She never would've expected to make such a deep revelation.

"That's the thing, though. That’s always been my philosophy. I’ve always tried to avoid regrets. I believe that we have one life to live and it would be a tragedy to waste it dwelling on the 'what ifs' instead of reaching for your dreams. But it’s much easier to do when such things don’t involve one’s heart.

Emma let out a sigh, brushing a loose curl out of her face as she continued. "I like pushing boundaries and testing the limits of life as much as the next lass, but… When it comes to love… I don’t know. I guess it scares me. If I fail miserably at running the company, I can always pick up the pieces and try again. I can save up money and learn from my mistakes. I could move to a new city, if necessary, or change my name if worst came to worse. But how could I move on with a broken heart, you know? Sometimes it feels like I only have one chance to do it right—the whole love thing—so I’ve just been holding out for a sign. For the right person to wander in.

“Admittedly, I didn’t expect it to be you.” She teased as she nuzzled into his warmth. “I know my father would prefer it if I married some stuffy duke or baronet instead. I think he secretly wants me to marry an English man to carry on my Mama’s legacy, or something. It would have benefits, I suppose, but I couldn’t imagine it." Her nose crinkled at the thought of permanently joining the ranks of high English society. "My cousin, Belle… Now, she’s made to be a duchess or countess, or what have you. But me?" Emma let out a huff of distaste before glancing at him, desperate for silent reassurance. "Besides, Lady Emma doesn’t really have the same ring to it."

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

the stevepop brainrot took over

103°, gross humidity, and a dad who was in a drunken rage and looking for a punching bag were not on Steve’s bucket list of ideal things for the night, especially not with the sun already far below the horizon. His eye was swelling fast and throbbing something awful and his arms weren’t in much better shape, each sporting some blooming purple and blue spots that looked oddly like a man’s fingers.

Damn it, Steve’s dad was normally an uncoordinated bastard, ‘cept apparently for when he’s throwing a punch on his son. Steve doesn’t even know what pissed his old man off bad enough that he actually got physical this time. Maybe it was cause he caught sight of Steve’s Ma’s bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Maybe it was cause he slammed the front door a little too hard. Hell, maybe it was cause he dared to come home with a small smile on his face. 

Steve wasn’t sure and- quite frankly- he didn’t care. All he knew is he was walking in one minute, and the next his dad was yelling cause apparently Steve’s general existence set him off. Normally Steve woulda just stood there and taken in, his hands balling into fists and his nails digging into his palm so hard they left marks. Normally Steve woulda waited ‘til his dad got angry that his son wouldn’t say nothing and he’d throw him out and Steve would go lookin’ for a fight. 

This time though, Steve’s dad had started bringing up Steve’s Ma. Saying that she’d be awful disappointed that this was how her son turned out. He’d spit that out like he knew exactly what Steve was. For a split second, Steve froze, terrified that his dad might know ‘bout him and Soda. Then, that faded when his dad continued, talking about Steve’s Ma over and over as if he had any right to. As if he was still the man she’d married all those years ago. As if he hadn’t fucked off to the bar with the hardest liquor when Steve’s Ma started getting worse. As if it was him up taking care of her instead of eight year old Steve. 

Steve normally held his tongue around his dad. He knew it would only make this worse, but this, this talk about his Ma as if he even knew her, it made Steve lose hold of himself and he started yelling back. Saying that she’d be disappointed in her pathetic excuse of a husband and father rather than her son, that he was lucky to have even known her at all, that he could go fuck himself if he wanted to bring her up. Steve was yelling and yelling until his dad’s fist collided with his face and he felt a hand grab his upper arm tight enough that it’d leave marks. Steve don’t remember much after that, the next thing he remembers was his dad’s voice telling him to get the hell out of his house and don’t bother coming back.

He was bluffing, Steve knew it. They’d danced this dance a thousand times before. But shit, now he was stumbling around in the dark, his shirt sticking to his body from sweat, and his arm and face throbbing. Normally, he went to the lot when his dad kicked him out. It was easiest. It was quiet and most people would leave him alone after one glare. But tonight, he was pretty damn sure he’d die of heat stroke ‘fore anyone found him if he slept out here. 

That left just one option: the Curtis house. 

Steve swore under his breath as he stumbled against the door and his vision went spotty for a second. Shit, he really needed to sit down and cool off. The cool air that greeted him when he quietly pushed the door open was the greatest relief. He took in the silent home around him for a moment. No one else was there. It wasn’t real surprising ‘specially considering Johnny and Dal weren’t around no more, but it was still strange. It felt too silent for a house containing two teenage boys and their not even 22 year old brother. But Steve vaguely recalled Soda having mentioned something a few weeks ago ‘bout them all making a deal to try and get to bed by midnight; an agreement made so that Darry didn’t work himself to an early grave. 

After basking in the cold air for a couple of minutes, Steve decided he had to deal with his bruising eye and the dried blood he could feel from where his dad must’ve accidentally cut him. He started to inch towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, methodically avoiding the floorboards he knew creaked the loudest as he prayed he wouldn’t wake anyone. 

When he reached the bathroom, he slowly pulled the door shut and heard the soft click before he flicked on the light switch and the dull buzz of the light could be heard as a warm yellow glow illuminated the small space. Steve glanced around, eye flicking around to locate the first aid kit.

In his search, his eyes landed on the small, mundane things that they normally would simply pass over and ignore. The three different color toothbrushes sitting in an old mug on the sink corner. Green for Darry, blue for Soda, yellow for Pony. A razor that must be Darry’s set out for the morning, something he did real often so he wasn’t digging for it early. A soap in the scent that Steve knew was Soda’s favorite, the one they always had cause it was the only one Darry would buy. There were scissors laid out too. One of the boys musta given Pony a trim last night as his bleached ends were getting more brittle each day. 

Steve glanced up and saw his reflection in the dirty mirror that was rusting near the small screws that held each corner against the wall. The one that had been in this home since he could remember. The one he looked into when Mama Curtis put a bandaid on his scraped knee for the first time. The one he glanced into in the mornings when he stayed over and he saw Soda behind him, head flat against Steve’s shoulder. The one he was looking into now that showed him what a mess he was. 

Steve huffed out a breath as he opened the small cabinet above the toilet and reached for the small white box he knew was in there. Just as he was grabbin’ it, he stumbled a bit and watched as the kit fell, hitting the tile with a small thud. Fuck. Now he was definitely waking someone up- the only question was who? 

He hated the idea of it being Darrel. Lord knows he needed rest, he was out working from dawn til after the sun came down. He needed sleep where he could get it. And besides, Steve wasn’t real keen on Darrel asking why he was showing up well after midnight with a black eye and bruised arms. Granted, Steve would just lie, say he got into a nasty fight and the fucker got him good. Darry would believe him, he had no reason not too, but the idea of lyin’ now just made him feel more exhausted. And glory, if it was Ponyboy he woke up? Steve would rather go back out and brave the heatstroke in the lot.

Steve scrambled to grab the kit and try and hold himself together when he heard someone padding down the hall and quietly knocking on the door before pushing it open, letting the yellow light spill into the hallway briefly, before stepping inside and gently clicking the door shut again. Steve turned his body even further away, hoping he could conceal his darkening eye and purpling arms. After a few moments of stretched out silence, Steve almost believed he’d imagined the movements and the noises of someone else in the bathroom with him. Until he heard a gentle voice whisper out, barely louder than the humming bulb,

“Stevie…?”

Steve sighed quietly. ‘Course it was Soda. Steve couldn't tell if he should be relieved or more tense at the realization that it was Soda who found him in here. He wanted to relax at hearing his voice, wanted to let his body do what it ached for, wanted to just turn and collapse against Soda’s chest and let the fight and adrenaline drain from his body as the ache and exhaustion took over. He wanted Soda to hold him and whisper that he’d be okay. But he also didn’t wanna burden Soda with that, didn’t want Soda losing sleep just cause Steve couldn’t grab a goddamn first aid kit right. He wanted to ignore the fact that his vision was gone in his one eye cause it finally was swollen shut. He wanted to, but something ‘bout the way Soda had spoken made Steve incapable of ignoring him.

“Hey Soda.”

The silence that stretched couldn’t have been more than 15 seconds but it may as well have been hours. Such a short time during which Steve stood there, head turned away from Soda so he wouldn’t see the bruise, and his arm pulled close to his chest as he tried his best to keep the blossoming purple marks hidden underneath his own hand. Steve was silently hoping Soda would just drop it and turn around and walk back to bed, but he knew better than that. He knew Soda, which is why he wasn’t real surprised when Soda spoke up again.

“You okay?”

“‘m fine Sodes, go back to bed”

“You don’t seem fine…”

Yeah- well- I am, so just fuck off and leave it. That’s what Steve would’ve said if it was any other time and he was talkin’ to just about anyone else. But this wasn’t any other time. It was too dark and too hot to just bolt and sleep in the lot. It wasn’t just a screaming match that ended with Steve being thrown out into the night and told not to come back, instead, it was a real bad night. The worst he’d had in an awful long time, a night that ended with a fist colliding with his face and a few too many tight grasps of his arm. And this wasn’t just anyone. This was Soda. Soda with his curls messy from sleep, Soda with eyes that carried a certain tiredness he wouldn’t show to many, Soda who was always ready to catch Steve if he needed it and loved him so unconditionally. There was something about Soda that made Steve turn and stumble into his waiting arms.

There was something about the way Soda held him, the domesticity of it, the way he leaned down and kissed the top of Steve’s head in a way that spoke a thousand words, the way his arm reached around Steve’s back then slid down to his waist to pull him closer. Soda learned early that Steve wanted that, that when he was having a rough time, he liked being awful close to Soda, said it made him feel safe. And hell, if it made Steve feel safe, then Soda would gladly oblige.

As much as Soda wanted to just stand in the dim and yellow glow of the bathroom light and hold Steve forever, he needed to check on the nasty bruise he’d gotten a glimpse of before Steve buried his face in Soda’s chest. He gently separated himself from Steve and fully took in the shorter boy’s appearance. Shit, his eye was all black and blue and swollen shut. Soda sighed quietly and looked at Steve once more. This time, Steve had gone back to fiddling with his Ma’s old bracelet, leaving the finger shaped bruises on his bicep out in the open. Soda tried to push the swirling thoughts of worry outta his mind as he started cleaning off some of the small cuts. After a few silent minutes of taking a warm rag to Steve’s face, he spoke up, 

“Stevie… what happened?”

Steve considered lying. Considered sayin’ he got into a nasty fight. Say he was drinking and slammed his head against something. Say anything except the brutal and awful truth. But as he opened his mouth, he felt the exhaustion fill his bones and decided to just be honest

“My dad.”

“Oh, love…”

And just like that, Steve was falling against Soda again, this time a warm wave of tears taking over as he quietly sobs into Soda’s old t-shirt. Soda just set down the wash cloth he’d been using and wrapped his arms around Steve again, holding him tight and wishing he could quiet the storms inside Steve’s mind. It’s moments like these where he wishes he could take away all the pain Steve has ever felt. Lord knows he don’t deserve it. Gosh, just imagining it all makes Soda’s stomach swirl with nausea and ache. For now though, all he could do was hold Steve and love him. When Steve untangled himself again, he kissed Steve’s forehead before squeezing his hand and whispering into the quiet, 

“Give me a second, baby?” 

After seeing Steve’s small nod, he slipped off into the dark hallway. When he reached his door, he quietly turned the knob and stepped inside, not bothering to close it. In the silence of his room, Soda shuffled over to Ponyboy’s side of the bed and gently shook his brother awake. 

“Hey, Pones, would you mind stayin’ with Dar tonight?”

Soda received a simple grumble in response as his kid brother, who wasn’t real “kid” anymore, dragged himself out of bed and slumped down the hall before pushing open their older brother’s door and slinking inside. Upon hearing the soft click of Darry’s room shutting, Soda grabbed a pair of clothes and walked back to the bathroom. When he opened the door, was met with the sight of Steve still sitting on the tub ledge, holding a wash cloth back over his eye. Soda quietly handed off the clothes to Steve and took the cloth from him, rinsing it off the cloth as Steve changed.

When he was done and changed into Soda’s old and faded shirt and sweatpants, Soda silently slipped his hand into Steve’s and guided him back down the hall. Soda had hardly even shut the door before he turned to see Steve collapsing onto the bed, curling up on the side that was usually Pony’s. Soda let a small smile hit his lips as he watched Steve relax into the familiar place. Slowly, Soda moved across the room to his own side of the bed and slipped under the covers, one arm instinctively searching for Steve when he turned onto his side. 

Soda let one of his arms snake under Steve’s to wrap around the front of his chest and pull him impossibly closer in the too small bed. When he finally decided he was comfortable, Soda tilted his head and kissed the worn-fabric covered shoulder in front of him before tucking his head against the back of Steve’s neck. That’s when he heard it, a quiet whisper in a voice he would always recognize, 

“thank you, love”

“O’ course, angel. love ya”

And after getting three squeezes on his hand in response, a silent response echoing the same sentiment, Soda and Steve let sleep take them to a place beyond the bruises, cuts, scrapes, tears, and fights, to a place where there was nothing but the warmth of Steve’s back against Soda’s chest and their legs mingled under faded blue sheets.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mon Cher Chapter 2

*Idea found on TikTok by @yaberdat aka Finnley.*

“A modern day writer exploring a vampire’s estate during the day.  Wondering why a random room was locked.  Until…they find a Victorian painting of themself.”

*garer:  shelter, where the word garage originates

Previous chapter Next chapter

Y/N took the next few weekends at the end of the summer to check out the Barnes mansion.  The first time she went it was to stake out the area and see if the house was gated off or if there were security cameras or alarms in place.  She drove her car to the outskirts of the bayou and followed the old road that led to the Barnes Mansion until it tapered off into grassland.  She parked the car once the house was in view and made the rest of the trek on foot, hefting her backpack on her shoulder and trudging through the high grass and puddles in her waterproof boots, tucking her pouch necklace under her dress. She stalked around the edge of the property for a while that day, enjoying the willow trees that surrounded the four corners of the main house and then the long expanse of land that was behind it that must have held once well-manicured gardens and what looked like a water feature, but had been flooded out.  

The second time she went she moved forward beyond the main border of the property, walking around the house and inspecting the outside.  It didn’t look damaged like she expected from a major hurricane flood, so she plucked up the courage and carefully walked up the steps of the wraparound porch, testing the floorboards with each step so as not to fall through any previously flooded and rotted wood.  Surprisingly, it all seemed intact.  Y/N walked around the porch, peaking into the windows and trying to see if she could see anything.  Unfortunately it was too dark to see anything other than shapes and glimpses of the things inside.  But if the outside was in good shape, then maybe the inside was?  Once she reached the front door again she looked out at the front of the property from the porch and felt her heart lurch.  Was this…deja vu?  Why did this scene look so familiar?  Why did she suddenly feel so emotional?  She blinked away the heat behind her eyes, shaking her head at herself before walking down the porch and back to her car before the sun could set any lower.

The next Saturday in the late afternoon Y/N walked straight to the front door and tested the door knob.  It was of course locked, so she pulled out her tool kit and started fiddling with the lock.  Eventually the lock clicked and she opened the door, a proud smile spreading across her face.  The floor inside seemed to all be intact as well.  In fact, the entire house was pristine.  She had expected water damage, sagging floors, peeling paint and wallpaper and broken chandeliers, but it all looked freshly clean and preserved.  Maybe there was a new private owner who fixed it all up?

Y/N took out her phone and started walking through the house, taking pictures of each room and admiring the design of the house and all the pieces left inside.  By the time she walked up the stairs the sun was starting to set, but she wasn’t ready to leave just yet.  She took pictures of the rooms upstairs, the golden hour light creating the most amazing shadows that she couldn’t get enough of.  The further she went into the house the more a feeling of uneasiness settled in her bones.  Something about all of this was strangely intimate, like she had been here before, recognizing some of the pieces as she walked from room to room.  Then she reached the last door that led to the turret part of the house.  She pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. The knob wouldn’t even jiggle, like it was wedged or glued shut.  She frowned as she stepped away and stared at the door so oddly separated from the rest of the house.  After a moment she shrugged and took a picture of the door before turning around as she reviewed some of the photos on her phone.  When she looked back up at the wall facing the door she froze and gasped.  

The last bit of the setting sun illuminated another portrait of Lady Barnes, but this one was a close up of her from the chest up.  The intense detail made Y/N’s eyes widen.  The same eyes, the same nose, same mouth, same tilt of the eyebrows, same birthmarks, but she had a knowing look in her eye that was almost unnerving to look at.  Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach.  Something suddenly felt off…it was all too familiar and her mind just couldn’t wrap itself around whatever it was nudging at her subconscious.  She inched toward the staircase, an ominous feeling in her gut making her nervous and jittery.  Just as the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, casting the house in shadow as she reached the first step, the lock on the turret door clicked.  

Her gaze snapped to the door for half a second before she gasped and turned to run down the stairs.  Her heavy footsteps thumped down the stairs as she focused on not falling, leaping down the last few to the landing and then down the last set.  She could hear a strange hissing sound coming from above and kept moving, not daring to look back.  Her heart was thundering in her chest, the blood rushing through her veins and making her panic as she almost tripped on an old ornate rug and ran as fast as she could toward the front door.  She was so close, reaching her hand out to grab the old door knob and twist it, pulling it open just an inch before a hand smacked the door above her head and shut it hard.  

Y/N yelped and turned to see her attacker then froze again.  Towering over her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.  His body was hovering over her as his hand kept the door shut, placing his face within inches of hers.  He was pale, dark circles under his eyes and dark lashes that made his bright blue eyes look icy and piercing.  A straight nose that led down to perfectly pink lips surrounded by a full beard.  His mouth was slightly agape as he stared at her, a crease between his stern eyebrows and long dark brown hair that reached his shoulders.  He looked at her like he was in awe, and if she wasn’t mistaken, with a sadness and longing that made her heart cringe.

Her wide eyes took him in, her own mouth agape as she shakily took shallow, panicked breaths.  What did he want?  Why was he here?  Was he the owner?  Why did she…know those eyes?  Before she could try to speak and explain herself he raised his right hand and hesitantly reached toward her face.  Her eyes darted to his hand and back to his face, trying to gauge whether or not she could fight him off if he tried anything.  His fingers barely made contact with her cheek then he exhaled sharply at a sting that jolted between the skin of her cheek and his fingertips.  He frowned deeper at his hand, then his eyes moved to the strings of the necklace that he could see around her neck, the rest of it hidden beneath her dress.  

He let out a disappointed sigh but met her gaze again, the frown transforming into a look of deep despair.  “Y/N?” he breathed, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Y/N blinked in confusion, her own frown forming on her face as she stared back at him.  She closed her mouth and took a deep breath, swallowing harshly before nodding.  “Yes,” she said quietly.  “How do you know my name?”

A soft, sad but knowing smirk lit up his face.  “I would know you in any lifetime, doll,” he said lowly.  He said it with such conviction that she felt a strange thrill shoot down her spine, confusing her as she felt both fear and arousal.  Her eyelids fluttered as he slightly leaned in and sniffed near her throat, humming deeply before he pulled away.  “Human,” he scoffed.  “And protected by magic.  Smart.  Good strategy.”

Y/N’s annoyance overrode her self-preservation and she shook her head as she tried to angle herself away from him.  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice raising slightly.

His smirk deepened.  “Lord James Barnes, but you called me Bucky,” he said.  

Her eyebrows shot up.  “I’m sorry, Lord Barnes as in…the vampire of the bayou?  No,” she shook her head more vehemently.  “No, no no no no no, that’s…this is not happening–”

Bucky’s mouth widened into a full, toothy smile, and she watched in shock as his canines seemingly grew out of his gums, lengthening into two sharp fangs that glistened in the dark foyer.  “The one and only,” he said with a teasing tone.  

Her eyes were comically wide as she stared at him, her eyes flickering across his face.  This couldn’t be real…this couldn’t be happening.  It was just ghost stories, legends of history that were blown out of proportion.  “So you think I’m…” she breathed.

“You are,” Bucky said earnestly, staying close to her but not touching her.  “Y/N Barnes, the lady of the house.  My darling, the Belle of the ball, my doll.”  The pet names rolled off his lips so easily, making her confusing arousal spike.  “I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” he said sadly.  “But it seems my suffering isn’t over.”  He finally stood straight and took a few steps back to give her space, though it looked like it physically hurt him to do so.  

Y/N should have taken the moment to try and open the door and run again, but her curiosity won over.  “What do you mean?” she asked.

“You don’t remember,” he said forlornly.  “You are human again.  You are protected,” he pointed at the hidden necklace.  “You don’t remember,” he whispered, looking down at his feet.

Another confusing need to hold him, to comfort him arose in her chest and she had to stop herself from trying to step toward him, keeping her hands at her sides tightly as she fought the feeling to reach out to him.  He was familiar.  This house was familiar.  The pet names he called her made her heart sing.  What was going on?  She shut her eyes tight and let out a long puff of air.  “This is crazy,” she muttered.

Bucky chuckled bitterly.  “It is.”

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her again.  They sat in silence for a moment before she took a step toward him.  There was an invisible pull she felt in her gut that wanted her to stay, to be close to him, to touch him.  “What happens if I take off the necklace?” she asked suspiciously.

Bucky’s eyes slightly widened.  “Then I could touch you,” he said.  “I could change you, but I would only do that if you wanted me to.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me?” she asked quietly, taking another step forward.

He fully faced her and shook his head.  “Never,” he promised.

The rational part of her brain was screaming at her to run, to stop with this weirdness and get herself somewhere safe away from the strange man.  But her heart was winning out.  Something about all of this was too recognizable, but it was like there was a wall in her mind, making things fuzzy or not quite connecting the dots.  Her hand twitched at her side, itching to reach up and take off her necklace.  “I feel like I’m going crazy,” she said, taking another step forward.

Bucky’s eyes looked hopeful.  “What are you feeling?”

She frowned as she came closer until she was looking up at him again.  “It’s all so familiar,” she breathed.  “I felt it the moment I first came to New Orleans years ago.  I’ve felt it ever since I moved here.  Something prickling at the edge of my consciousness,” she started rambling, then looked around the foyer they stood in.  “This house, the portrait at the bar and upstairs…” Her hand slowly moved up toward his face, stopping short of his face when she remembered the sting when he tried to touch her earlier.  “I know this,” she whispered.  

He nodded, looking at her desperately.  “You know me,” he urged.  “Take off the necklace, doll.  Let me show you.”

She paused for a moment, weighing her options as Toussaint’s words echoed in her head.  But something about this felt important and right.  She didn’t feel in danger, and she needed to know and understand what was going on.  And even if it was all just some kind of weird coincidence, then at least she would have a classic New Orleans encounter and story to tell, and maybe a fun night with a handsome stranger.  She reached both hands up and started lifting the necklace off of herself.  Bucky let out another sharp breath as he watched her remove it, and when she dropped it off to the side he smiled softly at her.  He raised both of his hands until he cupped her face, his expression crumpling into a mix of desire and satisfaction the second he touched her.  She welcomed it, her eyelids fluttering as his thumbs swept across her cheekbones.  Tears built in his eyes as he stared at her for another moment, then he angled his head and leaned down, nuzzling his nose along hers for a moment.  Y/N tilted her head upwards more for him, feeling as desperate as he looked.

He ghosted his lips across hers, hovering for a moment, then kissed her.  Y/N wasn’t sure what happened, but it felt like her entire world turned upside down.  An icy tingling sensation seeped through her veins the moment he kissed her, sending a shiver over her whole body, and then she gasped through her nose as a vision filled her head.  It was her, dressed in a 1910s flowy evening dress and being helped down from an old Delaunay-Belleville car.  She was looking up at a theatre with a wide smile, but her canines were sharper.  She caressed Bucky’s cheek affectionately then took his arm as he led her inside.  Another memory came through, and it was her again at what looked like a ball, dressed in a black, elaborate dress and mingling and dancing with people as music played.  Then another of her and Bucky, laying naked in a bed with the afterglow from love-making surrounding them, her fingers running through his hair softly before she kissed the tip of his nose.

It all disappeared and her eyes opened as Bucky pulled away.  His chest was rising with heavy breaths that matched hers as he looked at her pleadingly, silently begging her to see and believe.  She didn’t realize that her hands were gripping his wrists until she raised her hand again and did as she had seen in the vision, softly running her fingers through the front part of his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp.  His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he leaned his forehead against her forehead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.  She nuzzled his nose back and remembered…

“Mon cher?” she asked quietly.  

His eyes snapped open and he pulled back to be able to see her fully.  His eyes were wide as he stared at her in disbelief.  His fingers tightened on her cheeks minutely.  “You remember?” he asked.

“It’s…it’s all in flashes,” she whispered, slightly shaking her head as she tried to piece together the memories.  “But I know you…Bucky.”  Her voice gave out and she was overcome with emotion, tears brimming her eyes as she stared at him.  “My Bucky.”

“Yes,” he nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks.  “Your Bucky.  I’ve missed you so much, my love.”

He kissed her again, more passionately this time.  Y/N reciprocated it easily, her hands moving to his back and holding him close.  As they kissed more images and visions flashed through her head, playing like an old movie.  The more she saw the more emotional she became.  She was remembering New Orleans, their home, the parties they attended and hosted, how long they had been together before that horrible night when the priest hunters came and ambushed them.  She could see and hear Bucky’s anguished cries as he held her body with a silver dagger through her heart, then felt his despair, hate and rage as he charged the church and ripped the hunters apart before setting it ablaze.

By the time she came back to herself he had moved them to the front door, lifting her and pressing her against it so his hands could roam more freely.  Her legs had automatically wrapped around his hips, and on instinct her hands moved into his hair, her fingers threading through the strands and then tugging at the hair at the base of his skull.  Bucky groaned into her mouth, which brought on another wave of memories, each more sexual and dirty than the last.  She shuddered as his tongue licked the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth to him.  Their tongues fought for dominance in constant open-mouthed kisses until her tongue was nicked by one of his fangs.

Y/N gasped sharply, trying to pull her mouth away from the twinge of pain, but Bucky’s lips sucked her tongue, keeping it in his mouth.  He tasted her blood and a loud, needy whimper came from his throat.  “Fuck, doll,” he breathed when he released her.  “You taste divine.”

She moaned against his mouth as she kissed him deeply again, then broke the kiss suddenly, sucking in a deep breath as her head thumped against the door.  “I’m dizzy,” she giggled.

Bucky chuckled, keeping himself close to her as he pulled her away from the door and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom that had been locked earlier.  He kicked the door closed behind him before bringing her over to the bed and laying her on it gently.  He positioned her to lay normally on the bed then laid next to her, keeping her tucked against his side.  “I’m sure you’re feeling overwhelmed by it all,” he said empathetically.  “The memories and the feelings are all rushing back.  I’m sorry I was overly excited–”

“It’s okay,” Y/N sighed, her body and mind being reminded of just how tired she truly was after everything that happened.  She snuggled against him and kept her face tucked against the crook of his neck, inhaling a scent that was so inherently him that brought on more memories.  “I understand, mon cher.”

Bucky hummed as he squeezed her.  “Sleep, my darling.  Just let me hold you.  Let me feel you as you dream.”  He kissed the side of her head near her ear.  “I can’t believe you’re back.  It’s been so long–”

Y/N squeezed him back with the little strength she had left as her consciousness slipped into oblivion and exhaustion, with visions of her and Bucky having a night out on the town.

[pinkhoneydrop]

Love island:

Episode Two

H Route!

The bright sun kissed the surface of the villa as the host stepped forward, her excitement bubbling over. “Alright, Islanders! It’s time to start this summer of love the right way—with our first coupling ceremony!”

As the girls stood in line, the weight of the moment began to settle in. For some, it was an exciting opportunity; for others, the pressure felt immense. You could feel the air shift around you, the buzz of anticipation palpable. Chloe exuded confidence; her arms crossed casually as if the entire ceremony was a formality for her. You, on the other hand, felt like the new girl on the first day of school, trying not to overthink every move. The host’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“Okay, Y/N, who of all these hotties do you want to start off strong with?”

Your gaze swept over the line of guys. Each one stood confidently, some trying to catch your eye while others leaned back with practiced ease. But your focus kept drifting to Harry. His warm brown eyes, a touch of curiosity in his expression, locked onto yours for a moment longer than necessary. It was enough to make your stomach twist. He’s Harry Styles. An actual global icon. What am I even doing?

“I pick�� Harry,” you said, your voice louder than you expected.

A few gasps rippled through the group, and Chloe muttered something sharp under her breath. Harry’s lips curved into a smirk as he stepped forward, his movements unhurried but purposeful. The tension between you seemed to thicken as he approached. It wasn’t just the celebrity aura; there was something magnetic about him that left you feeling off-balance.

When he hugged you, it wasn’t the polite, distant embrace you’d braced yourself for. His arms were strong and sure, and the scent of his cologne lingered long after he pulled away. “Solid choice, darling,” he said softly, his voice rich and smooth. The words hung between you, making your cheeks warm.

You gave him a small smile, unsure how to respond. In truth, you were trying not to combust. This wasn’t how you imagined your first day—standing next to Harry Styles, who was now your partner. Meanwhile, Harry himself felt oddly intrigued. He hadn’t come to the villa expecting much. If anything, he thought he’d hate it. But there was something about the way you carried yourself—unsure but genuine—that caught him off guard. She’s interesting, he thought. Might not be the worst thing to be paired with her.

The villa was an architectural masterpiece, the kind of place you only ever saw on TV. The sparkling pool, sun-drenched lounges, and sprawling views of the ocean made it feel like a dream. As everyone scattered to claim beds, you found yourself standing next to Harry in the main bedroom.

“Any preference, love?” he asked, his voice soft. You scanned the room, noting how quickly the others were pairing off. Chloe and Elias had already staked out a bed in the center, with Chloe tossing her bag down like she owned the place.

“How about that one?” you suggested, motioning toward a quieter corner. Harry nodded, smiling slightly.

“Good choice.” He followed you over and helped you settle in. This’ll do, he thought. “At least she’s not high maintenance like some of the others.”

As you started unpacking, Chloe’s voice rang out from across the room.

 “Don’t touch me, Elias. I like my space when I sleep.” Her tone was sharp, but Elias just laughed, brushing it off. Chloe seemed determined to establish dominance, her every move calculated to make her presence known. It didn’t take long for her gaze to land on you and Harry, her jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before she looked away. Harry glanced at you as he perched on the edge of the bed.

 “So, what’s the plan, then? Are you actually going to share the bed with me, or should I grab a blanket and take the floor?” You hesitated, caught off guard by the question.

 “Uh… I figured we’d sort that out when it’s time to sleep,” you replied, trying to sound casual. In reality, you were still trying to process the fact that you’d be sharing a bed with him at all. Harry chuckled, his smirk returning.

“How very diplomatic of you.” He leaned back slightly, watching you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. She’s nervous, he thought. But it’s kind of cute.

By the time the sun began to set, everyone had gathered by the pool for drinks. The atmosphere was lively, the air filled with laughter and chatter as the islanders got to know each other. You found yourself seated next to Harry, who seemed more relaxed now than he had earlier.

“So, why Love Island?” he asked, his arm draped casually over the back of the lounge chair. You shrugged, sipping your drink.

“I guess, I wanted to try something new. Step out of my comfort zone, meet new people.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, swirling his glass.

“Yeah, I get that.” He paused, then added with a slight smirk, “Honestly, I thought I’d hate it here. But… I’ve been pleasantly surprised so far.”

You smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth at his words. “Was that a compliment? Or am I overthinking this?” Before you could respond, Chloe sauntered over, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her glass.

“Mind if I borrow Harry for a second?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling him aside. She threw a glance your way, one that was half-smirk, half-challenge. Leila leaned over, whispering.

 “She’s playing a dangerous game.”

 You forced a laugh at the girls’ observation.

“Let her. If Harry’s interested in her, there’s nothing I can do about it.” The words felt hollow, but you weren’t about to show it. Across the pool, Harry stood listening to Chloe’s chatter, though his gaze drifted back to you more than once.

When the day wound down, everyone returned to the bedroom. Harry stood at the foot of your shared bed, watching as you began arranging the pillows.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“Building a pillow wall,” you replied, your tone light but firm. It felt ridiculous, but it was the only way to make sharing a bed feel less… intimate. Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin.

“A pillow wall? What are we, twelve?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Look, I just think it’s better to have some boundaries. We just met.” The words seemed to come out fast. His grin softened into something more genuine.

“Fair enough. But, for the record, I wouldn’t have tried anything.” There was no teasing in his tone this time, just honesty. The lights dimmed as the villa settled into silence. Harry lay on his side, staring at the ceiling.

 “She’s different.” He thought. “I didn’t expect this. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Across the room, Chloe sat up in her bed, her gaze fixed on the two of you. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her blanket as her lips pressed into a thin line.

The sun rose over the villa in the morning casting a warm glow on the start of a new day. You slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Harry. He was still sprawled out, his arm thrown over his face, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He looked peaceful, completely at ease. He doesn’t seem like someone who’s stressing over a dating show, you thought, brushing the thought aside as you made your way to the kitchen. In the early morning calm, you found Leila already up, humming softly as she poured coffee into two mugs.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, handing you one of the steaming cups.

“Not really,” you admitted, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “It’s been… a lot to process.”

Leila raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, Harry?”

You laughed softly, though her comment struck a nerve. “It’s not just him. It’s everything. The competition, the cameras, the dynamics. It’s not exactly what I expected.” The two of you worked together to prepare breakfast, the clatter of dishes and the smell of bacon filling the villa.

“Do you think they’ll appreciate this?” Leila asked, flipping pancakes with ease.

“Of course they will,” you replied, though your mind wandered to Harry. Would he even notice? Or was he still as checked out as he seemed yesterday? Part of you worried he regretted being paired with you, especially with Chloe clearly vying for his attention.

As the Islanders trickled into the kitchen, the morning mood was lighthearted. River cracked a joke about being allergic to mornings, while Genevieve and Daniel bickered playfully over who got the last pancake. Chloe, as usual, found her way to the center of the action, her laughter just loud enough to dominate the room.

Harry was the last to arrive. His hair was tousled, and his expression was groggy, but there was something different about him this morning. He caught your eye as he poured himself a cup of coffee, offering a small smile before sitting across from you rather than next to you. Was it intentional? you wondered. He seemed so comfortable yesterday. What changed?

“Morning, darling,” he said, his voice low and smooth. But there was a trace of detachment in his tone, like he wasn’t fully present.

“Morning,” you replied, studying him for a moment. He sipped his coffee quietly, his gaze occasionally flicking around the room but never settling on anyone in particular. He seemed deep in thought, almost as if he didn’t want to be here.

“Still thinking about your charity work, Mr. Rockstar?” Chloe teased from a few seats away, her voice light but pointed. The mention of charity seemed to snap Harry out of his haze. He glanced at her, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Always, Chloe,” he replied, though there was an edge of sarcasm to his tone. Still, the brief exchange lingered in your mind. Harry wasn’t one to give away much, but he’d responded to Chloe more readily than anyone else at the table.

Leila leaned in, her voice low. “What’s that about?”

You shrugged, pretending to focus on your plate. “No idea.”

Just as breakfast wound down, everyone’s phones buzzed simultaneously. The familiar ding sent a ripple of excitement through the group. Leila read the message aloud, her voice laced with anticipation.

“Welcome to your first full day in the villa. There is something here for everyone, whether you want to relax in the hot tub, tan in the sand, or even keep up with your six-pack. The Love Island team hopes you experience summer to the fullest, and to help with that, we want to play a game with you. #getreadytobesplashed #whereisthepool?” The table erupted with laughter. River grinned, his chair leaning precariously back on two legs.

“Finally, something to wake us up.”

“Or embarrass us,” Leila quipped, earning a round of chuckles.

Chloe, of course, was unfazed. “Games are where the real fun starts,” she said, her eyes flicking toward Harry for a brief moment. It was subtle, but you caught it and so did he. He didn’t react, but the tension was enough to leave your stomach twisting. What’s her angle? And why does it feel like Harry’s… humoring her?

The Islanders gathered by the pool, buzzing with energy as the host stepped forward. “Alright, Islanders! Today’s game is all about testing how well you’ve paid attention to each other so far. We’re calling it ‘Splash and Spill.’ You’ll each be asked a question about one of your fellow Islanders. If you get it wrong, you’re taking a dip in the pool!”

The rules were simple, but the stakes felt high. No one wanted to look clueless on day two. As the host scanned the group, her eyes landed on you.

“Y/N, you’re up first! Here’s your question: Who is Harry’s celebrity crush?”

Your heart sank. Why didn’t I ask more questions yesterday? Everyone’s eyes were on you, and even Harry looked curious about your answer. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk faint but noticeable. You hesitated before blurting out the first name that came to mind.

“Emily Ratajkowski?”

The host laughed, and so did the rest of the group. Harry tilted his head, his expression amused.

“Close, darling, but not quite.”

Before you could process his teasing tone, a cascade of water hit you from behind, sending you splashing into the pool. Laughter erupted as you surfaced, wiping water from your face. Harry’s voice cut through the noise. “Points for effort, though.” His smirk lingered, but there was something distant in his tone that you couldn’t quite place.

When it was Chloe’s turn, her confidence was palpable. The question directed at her was about Harry’s favorite drink. She answered without hesitation.

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

“Well done, Chloe!” the host exclaimed. “Looks like someone’s been paying attention.”

Chloe threw a satisfied glance your way, and you felt your stomach twist. It wasn’t just that she got the answer right, it was the way Harry’s expression softened slightly when she did. He didn’t look thrilled, but he didn’t look entirely disinterested either.

The game wrapped up, and the group scattered for some downtime. You found yourself in the kitchen, cleaning up with Harry. It was quieter now, and the usual ease of your earlier interactions felt harder to find.

“Need any help with that?” he asked, nodding toward the dishes.

“Sure, you can dry.” You handed him a towel, watching as he worked.

“You alright after the game?” he asked, his tone polite but distant. You nodded, though your mind was spinning.

“It’s all in good fun. Chloe’s just… competitive.”

He glanced toward the lounge, where Chloe sat laughing with Elias. “She’s… interesting,” he said after a moment, his tone measured. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s not as obvious as she seems.”

The words lingered. What does that even mean? What’s she said to him? You didn’t push, but the thought gnawed at you for the rest of the day. Later in the day, Chloe cornered you in the lounge.

“Can I ask you something?” she began, her tone deceptively sweet. You nodded, bracing yourself.

“Sure.”

“What’s going on with you and Harry?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, a dozen thoughts racing through your mind. If I tell her we’re just friends, she’ll go after him. But if she couples up with him, we’ll lose our edge, and the charity money. What do I say?

“We’re just getting to know each other,” you said finally. “There’s nothing serious.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Good to know. Because I think he’s starting to see things my way.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the villa settled into a quieter rhythm. Dinner had been lively, but as the day’s drama wore on, everyone retreated to their corners. By the time the bedroom lights dimmed, signaling that filming for the day was officially done, you felt the weight of it all hit you.

You lay on your side of the bed, staring at the soft glow of the fairy lights strung around the room. The tension from the day hadn’t left you. Chloe’s smirks, her words, her calculated charm, all of it replayed in your mind like an unwelcome highlight reel. And Harry… Harry had seemed different today. More distant, harder to read.

The sounds of quiet murmurs and occasional laughter filled the bedroom. The cameras weren’t rolling, at least not officially but the producers often turned them back on for a few minutes of candid footage to close out the episode.

Sure enough, the faint red light on the corner camera blinked to life. You felt exposed, even in the low light. The blanket was pulled tightly around you as you stared up at the ceiling, trying not to let the day’s events get to you. I can’t let this bother me. It’s just a game. It’s just Chloe. It doesn’t matter.

But it did. You hated how much it did.

Harry’s voice broke through your thoughts, quiet but deliberate. “You alright, love?”

You turned your head to find him watching you, his head propped up on one hand. He looked calm, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, maybe? Concern?

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t look convinced. “You don’t look fine.”

You hesitated, debating whether to brush him off or be honest. But the way his eyes stayed on you, steady and patient, made it hard to lie. “It’s just… Chloe,” you admitted finally. “She’s… a lot.”

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “That’s one way to put it.”

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling again. “I just feel like I’m… losing already. Like I’m not playing this right.”

Harry didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “You know, it’s funny. Most people come on these shows knowing exactly what they want to do. They’ve got a plan, a strategy. And here you are, just… being yourself.”

You frowned, turning your head to look at him again. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He smiled faintly, his eyes softening. “It’s rare. That’s all I’m saying.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought the conversation was over. But then Harry shifted, lying back on his pillow and staring at the ceiling. “You want to know the truth?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, curious despite yourself. “Always.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here.” He let out a soft laugh, almost to himself. “The producers practically begged me. Said it’d be good for my image, good for the charity… all that. And at first, I thought, ‘Sure. Why not?’ It’s a laugh, isn’t it?”

You stayed quiet, sensing there was more.

“But then I got here, and I realized… it’s not just a laugh. It’s people. Real people, with real lives, and real… feelings.” He paused, exhaling slowly. “That’s not something I’m used to.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes unreadable. “Fans are one thing. They love you from a distance. They think they know you, but they don’t really. And that’s safe, you know? You can keep the walls up.”

You nodded slowly, unsure where he was going with this.

“But here…” He gestured vaguely around the room. “There are no walls. You’re stuck in this place with people you barely know, and suddenly, you’re supposed to… what? Be vulnerable? Fall for someone? It’s not exactly my scene.”

You didn’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. It hadn’t occurred to you how much more complicated this experience might be for someone like him, someone who lived his life under a microscope.

“So why did you stay?” you asked finally. The seconds seemed to pass by more slowly here. You noticed it when there was an abundance of silence.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he answered. “Because I thought I could handle it. I thought I could keep it… distant. But now…” He trailed off, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Now what?” you pressed gently.

He hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head. “Now I’m not so sure.” His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside the villa seemed to fall away. “It’s not as easy as I thought it’d be.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, though you weren’t entirely sure why. There was something raw in his voice, something vulnerable that you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the faint clicks of the cameras shutting off broke the spell.

The villa fell into true darkness, the hum of the day’s drama fading into the night. But as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s walls, however high they might be, had just cracked, even if only for a moment.

The afternoon sun shone brightly the next day, signaling the start of the day’s main event: the kissing challenge. Everyone gathered around, eager to see how this would play out.

“Islanders don’t forget to apply some ChapStick for today’s challenge along with your sunscreen. #puckerup #looselipssinkships.” Geniveve read aloud during breakfast that morning.

The challenge was simple: each girl would kiss a boy, and if she guessed something specific about him correctly, she would earn a point.

Leila went first, confidently kissing River and getting the answer right. The game continued, each kiss stirring a mix of emotions.

Then it was Chloe’s turn. She strutted over to Harry, planting a kiss on his lips. She guessed wrong and immediately admitted, “I did it on purpose, just so you’d notice me.” Her bold move left the group in a mix of laughter and surprise.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy watching Harry kiss other girls. The narrator, sensing the tension, flashed back to the heart to heart you and Harry had shared on day two, highlighting the connection you had started to build.

As the challenge wrapped up, the group dispersed, leaving you and Harry with a moment alone. He gave you a reassuring smile, as if to say that despite the day’s events, the bond you were forming was still there, strong, and unwavering.

Meanwhile, Chloe watched from a distance, her jaw clenched. “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes dark with lingering resentment. The villa was buzzing with drama, and it was clear that tensions were only beginning to rise.

We’ll see you next time on love island to catch up on what happens next! -LI team

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[no tags on choice posts ask to be added to tag list]

This is a choose your own adventure and every choice counts toward prize! Have fun but keep track of where you are for the best experience in the game.

[yandere-fics]

Hey, instead of a Prof. Kassien and Student Darling; how about a role reversal? Prof. Darling with Student Kassien.

♡ Kassien With Her Professor Darling ♡

She didn't like it. Staring at the front of the room at her darling every day, gritting her teeth and trying to be patient as if she was dying to rip you away from your little classes. She only took this course to get a fundamental understanding of the city before she went looking for a job, she wasn't expecting to see her darling somewhere you definitely shouldn't have been. You weren't supposed to work and push yourself like this, you were meant to leave the thinking to her. She didn't want to scare you though, you were timid around her oddly enough in a way you weren't with other students. That meant as much as it would have been nice to get you fired instantly so you'd have to run into her arms, she'd endure this one semester before locking you away. All she had to do was conveniently be there whenever you had a problem in your life to fix it and surely you'd realize you weren't cut out for this if your student was so much more knowledgeable than you. Despite all her efforts though, you kept a firm boundary between her and yourself, even when you tutored her there were usually others. Until you scared them all off. You tried to leave, you really really put up a fight when you saw no one else, you said it was inappropriate to be alone with her. But it didn't take long to have you whining on your desk beneath her.

"You're so lovely when you aren't fighting me sweetness." You shook your head in protest making her nails dig into your thighs just a bit. Still trying to fight her even when it was impossible to deny you were enjoying this. "Shh, I don't want to have to hurt you lovely, just be a good girl. Since you like learning so much, I'll teach you how to be my good obedient mate."

[garrickc]

Garrick's intrigue rises. It'd been a shot in the dark to think she's seen iron bars. Imagines that she knows rotted bread, too. Probably a real bad time, in Loddersville, in fact. Closest he's been to the grime like that is the bilge, with shit and seawater. A vortex of utter despair. Maybe an NYPD station way back (oddly, cleaner), when he's wanting to make a roscoe squeal a little. He ain't saying it with the heavyweight tone that she is, though.

He can't decide if he can tell she's a little rough around the edges, or if she's having him on because he's buried in his cups.

Nightingale's got some tale, after all.

Not lobsters.

Lovers. Oh, he knows this story. Garrick leans back, listens to her woe spoken as a vendetta. He don't know much about the beef between witchfolk. It ain't his business, really. But he should make it a little, considering he's looking for the right one to give him some answers to a dying hope of knowing the sun again. He thinks back to what he's lost, timelessly, in life, in death, as recent as yesterday.

He considers what the world is, now. A place where the dead come back, shambling limbs and burning fires of things they can't get back.

"Seems like a fair trade," he supposes, an eye for an eye. There's an equality there that tickles Garrick's compass. He'll remember Ironwood, and make efforts to stay on this side of the table with this woman. It's only when he reaches for his cup that he remembers it's empty. Drat. Eyes fly back to her: "Many left?"

Though, talks of blood magic have his blurred vision narrowing.

"Tha's your shtick, ain't mine. But if you'd like to give some illuminations, I ain't shy," Garrick shuffles on the bench, because it's an ancient woe of all creatures like them, isn't it? He thinks so. "Can't give no firstborn for it though," a hand lazily gestures to himself, around his stomach as a joke. "Don't work," then a low chuckle, like something's suddenly funny, He rolls his eyes, stifling the laugh: "Well some of it do work but nuttin' like that." Ha.

His head tips back, to see the stars, hidden by the Rascal Jack's bright lights, and novelty glare. Now she's touching on wounds he ain't sure he wants poked.

"If it were summin' you could run from, that'd be easy as cake. This, you gotta hide from, don't 'cha?" He gives it a thought, maybe it is a bit of chase. Orbiting around and around. Hide and seek on a life and death level. "Long enough I ain't remember what shade it is after th' purple. Big. White flash? Hurts, like a heater up the pipes."

"I've my time there," she says, vaguely. In earthly means as a runaway piece of property and in metaphysical means as a killer of her fellow witches; it's four words dripping with the sauce of meaning, rich and thick and so biting with spice it might bore a hole in the tongue just to speak it.

"Well," she answers his question of mollusks. "I ate well."

A witch with knowledge of the earth and its bounty need never starve, and with abundance, need never be left wont either.

"Not so much lobsters as lovers," she speaks it with an ounce of poetry. "Simple as. They took from me more than one ought ever take from another and so here I am to do the same - they think me long dead, or long vanished; a myth, see you or a bedtime nasty meant to scare children out of ill humours. It's that latter thing I aim most to emulate. Ironwood coven, out of the Boston Colony, or thereabouts. I intend to kill them each and all - or... well, I suppose most. It all depends, doesn't it?"

She lets that rhetoric lie between them; Like as not it means nothing to a vampire, though Ironwood does have its holdings back east, or so she's been told.

Talk of her own woes ebbs, and she adjusts her position, drumming acrylic nails across the glaze and patina on the table. "I too've heard this, though I've no knowledge of it myself I do know some who might ought could teach it, though, I've simply not had the reason; I'd assume blood magic, though."

She narrows her eyes. "Is that why you're here? Running from the sun? How long's it been then, since you've seen that big hot thing above the clouds?"

[seventh-district]

sometimes it’s late at night and you’re cleaning your room and you come across a few old black and white photos of a young girl and you stare at them for a long minute wondering how on earth they got lost in an old Kroger shopping bag with an unopened pack of cigarettes and a receipt dated 2017.

and you look at the girl in the pictures sat on the floor of someone’s home you don’t recognize, smiling and playing with a set of keys and a tiny part of you feels like it recognizes her but you aren’t sure.

and you flip the pictures over hoping to find some sort of annotation that would give you context and all you find is the year 1964 stamped in tiny font along the edge.

and you flip them back over and time stands still as you realize that the recognition you feel is because she looks so much like you once did and next thing you know your hands are sweating and shaking and you have to sit on the floor because you’re crying so hard because it hits you all at once that you’re looking at your mother.

[klarsynt]

an amused smile curls his lips. ❝ had to be somethin', right? ❞ he winks at her before lowering his arm and stepping out of the shower. he slides the glass door shut behind him then reaches for a towel. after drying himself off, he wraps the towel around his waist and approaches the sink. he thinks this should feel stranger than it does. gaze flickers up to the mirror as he prepares his razor, watching sutton's blurred silhouette in the reflection. he has a few more days to kill before he is expected to leave, return home back to his usual consultations and assignments. quiet, electrical whirring starts up once he flicks on the razor. he works it methodically along his cheeks and jaw. he almost wants to ask how many nights she planned to spend here. if she has friends who will be looking for her. he wants to ask a lot of things. in some ways, he also doesn't want to hear the answer right now. this morning is peaceful oddly enough.

once they leave the room, the illusion will likely shatter. splashing water onto his newly shaved face, emil glances at the ring glinting on his finger. it makes something ache. reminds him of desires he tries to kill. he's always wanted it. marriage. fatherhood. family. something permanent to hold onto. those are luxuries he will never afford. he really can't be surprised at all that in his drunken stupor he had chased after something beyond his reach. emil shuts the faucet off and sets his razor to the side, dabbing moisturizer onto his face. when sutton does come out of the shower he glances at her through the mirror again. ❝ i've got some spare shirts if you want something fresh, ❞ he tells her. ❝ and, uh, if you wanna go back to your own hotel to get anything before we go on our wild goose chase, i don't mind. ❞

" mmhm, sure, " her hairs always easily tangled, and she brought a detangler just for that reason alone. it's not much help in a empty hotel room somewhere in the city however, and fingers just don't work the same. so, she'll wait with it. until she gets back to her own room and she can really get into it. doesn't usually go for heavy scents, guess that's some sort of work habit she can't break after years as a medical student and then a resident. no strong scents so patients became nauseaus, leave the perfume at home, some deodorant and that was it. her shampoo and conditioner usually has some sort of fruity scent, or vanilla or coconut, depending on the day and mood honestly. this wasn't too bad tho. and far better than the alcohol and sweat and general smell of a hangover she'd proably been oozing. starting to slowly wash her body while letting the conditioner work in her hair.

a little lost in thought and head turn when fingers brush against her arm, gaze drift up to him and there's a ever so little nod of her head as he nods his head. and then there's a smile forming, nose crinkle playfully at the mention of a facial cleanser and some moisturizer. " see, there's a reason i married you. " and it was definitely not just because she was off her rockers. " thanks, i'll be right out after i wash this out, " there's a small motion to her hair as she step under the water.

[eats-the-stars]

everybody who went to a private catholic school name the craziest personal belief an instructor lectured the class on.

i'll go first: mentally disabled people are free of original sin, just like animals, so they get a free pass to heaven

[7hursday]

gojo likes watching porn.

not in that weird, pervy way— actually, let’s retract that statement. he doesn’t watch it to fuck his fist to the girls getting dicked down by some scrawny guy.

he uses it as a reference.

oddly enough, he gets aroused by the thought of doing it to you. he memorizes the way the girl’s legs were pushed up to her chest, the pillow placed below her lower back, the angle the guy was hitting it from… he just can’t wait to try it out with you.

gojo follows his usual routine— stuffing two fingers up your wet cunt and swirling them around in that torturous circular movement that had you squirming in seconds, squelching noises almost becoming louder than your own moans before shoving his dick into your needy hole.

his hands wrap around the back of your knees, spreading your legs just enough for him to slot himself in between them. the small tuft of hair at the base of his cock brushes against your swollen and sensitive bundle of nerves with every move of his hips, each thrust carefully thought out to maximize your pleasure. the tip of his cock constantly pushes against your g-spot, brushing against your cervix and causing you to gush all over him.

gojo’s never heard you moan this loud before— and neither has he felt you squeeze around him so good.

[syluses]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”