#but she's just like quiet down I'm trying to work

[flowerandblood]

The Last Drop (1/?)

[ modern • vampire • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: description of blood drinking and bleeding in general, sexual tension, angst, memories of murders of both humans and animals, descriptions of violence + a lot of sadness ]

[ description: Encouraged by the information that the town he has landed in is not known for having the most vigilant police in the world, he decides to go on a little hunting trip to finally quench his burning thirst. However, not everything goes according to plan. (A lot of sexual tension, grumpy, gloomy Aemond). ]

Yes, Ewan's recent photoshoot inspired me to return to the vampire theme, this time in a modern version. I liked my idea for the character and their dynamic so much that it won't be a oneshot, but a mini-series! The general idea is that vampires in my world no longer produce their own blood, so they must drink the blood of others: however, once it enters their veins, the blood they drink takes on their own taste and smell, which attracts victims like a lure.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The night was cool and crisp, the sharp air pleasantly filled his lungs. Even though he didn't actually need to, he breathed: it allowed him to remember that he was alive.

The centuries he had spent in perpetual, primitive thirst, starving himself, only to finally succumb again, wove together in his mind into chaos. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since his body had gone cold and no blood flowed through his veins.

Nor was it flowing through his heart, although he needed it.

That was why he had to eat.

He made frequent use of the blood that was stored in hospitals, as did others of his kind; nevertheless, to his disappointment and dismay, this was not enough for him.

No matter how many litres of blood he would drink from a plastic bag, he still felt a hunger that only passed when he sank his fangs into someone's neck.

He didn't understand why he couldn't stop himself – why, despite doing what he was supposed to do, he couldn't fool his nature.

At some point he just stopped trying.

He didn't kill, or at least he tried not to, however, his victims didn't show gratitude for his generosity – for fear that someone would recognise him, he kept changing his location, having several flats across the country.

Alys had told him about this town – she assured him that the police did not act too quickly here, and that it was easy and pleasant to eat in peace in the large, badly lit park. Indeed, when he arrived he found, walking the quiet streets at night, that the place had enough inhabitants to remain anonymous.

This was his chance.

Although he usually watched and followed his prey for long days, that night, as she passed him, he felt a hot, strange shiver and his heart, half-living, half-dead thumped harder in his chest. He turned behind her immediately and stopped, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down his back.

She was young.

Too young for his taste.

If he overreacted and lost control, she might not survive.

But she smelled so incredibly good.

He felt his fangs lengthen involuntarily, his jaw tense as he took a slow, heavy step behind her, into the depths of the park lit dimly by only a few night lanterns.

She was probably coming back from work from a night shift at some club or bar, because she had a rucksack slung over her shoulder – even though it was the beginning of winter, she was wearing only a jumper, scarf and trousers, her hair loose, their scent reaching his nostrils even though she was far ahead of him.

Fuck, I'm not going to make it, he thought, desperate, feeling his desire intensify for some reason – his senses sharpened and his hands clenched into fists as she turned into a dark side street, between the trees.

Now.

He found himself there within moments and froze, ready to attack, seeing the void in front of him – her scent was clear, but somehow she had vanished into thin air. He swallowed hard, biting his lower lip with some kind of feeling of regret and disappointment, looking around.

"Are you thirsty?" He heard a soft, calm voice behind himself and turned suddenly, feeling his heart leap to his throat with fear.

How could she be standing far behind him when she had just been in front of him?

What was that question supposed to mean?

He wanted to lunge at her, but hesitated as he saw her cock her head, pointing her hand back at her rucksack.

"I have a few bags full of blood in my backpack. I can give them to you if you need them. I have more at home." She continued, undaunted.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in disbelief when he noticed that, indeed, her face was pale, her hair unnaturally shiny and thick, her eyes sparkling with some unnatural gleam.

He was so thirsty that he did not notice that she resembled him.

She lowered her hand and blinked, seeing that he was still silent, looking at him with some kind of worry, as if he were a stray, hungry dog.

"What do you need?" She asked at last, and his gaze fled to her neck, to the blood of others that her heart had just pumped.

Blood that would have her own unique taste.

"Not here." She said, moving suddenly ahead, as if she had changed her mind. "Come with me."

He didn't know why, but he did as she said.

Usually it was the others who obeyed his orders, but now he didn't have the strength to stand up.

Perhaps he didn't even want to.

He was so terrified, intrigued and excited that he was breathing through his mouth.

It had been a long time since he had felt his own heartbeat so clearly.

He didn't know where she had got so much courage to let a stranger, much less a man like him, into her flat. To his surprise, it was cosy and colourful, full of flowers and plants, prints and posters, soft blankets and cushions in fancy patterns.

He stood in the middle of the corridor, not knowing what to do with himself, unable and unwilling now to just throw himself at her.

She pulled off her shoes and backpack, entering the living room without turning on the light, just as he seeing clearly in the dark – she sat down on the couch and held out her hand to him, a warm smile on her face that had a hint of comfort in it.

"Come here. It's okay. You've been brave." She said softly, as if praising a small child, her tone of voice filled with serenity and melacholy, as if she had known him for years.

He didn't know why he pulled off his shoes and coat, looking straight into her eyes, why, drawn by some unknown, mystical force, some strange warmth that filled his chest, he approached her.

He watched, breathing heavier and louder, as she lay on her back, still holding her hand outstretched towards him – he grasped her fingers uncertainly in his, thinking with some kind of tenderness that they were as cold as his own.

And yet, for some strange reason, though he was dead, it seemed as if life was still pulsing within her.

He was ashamed to admit to himself that he felt not only desire at the thought, but arousal as he lay down beside her, smelling her scent more and more clearly with every movement.

There was something intimate about the way she looked straight into his eyes without fear, the way her fingers combed slowly through his short hair, the way they were both silent for a moment, just breathing.

"– it's okay –" She repeated in a whisper, running her knuckles over his cheek, making him feel a squeeze in his throat for some reason.

He was moved.

When was the last time he'd been close to someone in this way?

He moved closer to her, feeling a wonderful shiver of excitement and anticipation run along his back as he leaned over her neck – his lips, swollen with desire, ran tentatively over her soft skin.

He heard her quiet sigh, her hands clenched on his body as he slid his slick tongue out, trailing the tip of it over the crook of her neck. He felt his erection pulsate, pushing against her thigh as he opened his mouth wider and his fangs slowly sank into the delicate structure of her flesh.

The fact that she was a stranger to him, unlike Alys, whom he had known for years, made him, for some reason, not dare to be aggressive – even though he could certainly hurt her if he wanted to, he decided to show his gratitude for her understanding and be polite.

There was something pleasurable about being able to focus only on the taste of her blood as it spilled over his palate – because of the way it circulated inside her body, it was warm, though not like that of a normal human being. He didn't mind, because it was a strangely refreshing taste, while at the same time providing him with a feeling of comfort – he thought the last time he felt like this was probably when he was an infant, drinking his mother's milk.

Safety.

He took one sip, then a second, and a third, one hand holding under her back, the other trailing slowly over the skin of her neck and jaw, for some reason wanting to feel her this way – her flesh grew warmer from the gentle rubbing of his fingers.

There was something in her blood that gave him the conviction of her kindness, and he was surprised by this discovery – he felt his heart begin to beat more slowly again, and his muscles, all sore a moment before, relaxed.

He wondered if she felt that he was completely hard.

When he pulled away from her, he closed his eyes and just nestled his face against her chest, tucking his head under her chin. He swallowed hard as she placed a soft, warm kiss on his hair, stroking reassuringly his cheek and back with her hand – he knew their closeness was just an imitation of what they both desired and needed, but he was too desperate to deny himself that.

He would never have asked for it out loud, but for some reason he craved what she offered him.

He wanted to hide.

He didn't need to sleep to survive, but he liked to rest that way, even more so when he was tired and relaxed. That girl, whoever she was, didn't try to escape his embrace, which gave him the feeling that she wouldn't do anything they both might regret.

When he woke up, he could see through the thick, bright curtains that the sun was already high in the sky – he murmured, snuggled with his face into her cheek, not having the strength or desire to move.

Now, in the light, he could look at her clearly.

She had been transformed when she was no more than twenty years old – of that he was certain. Her behaviour and appearance, in his mind, indicated that this sudden, frightening change in her life was recent: fifteen years ago at most, maybe less.

He swallowed quietly and stood up, deciding there was no point in prolonging it – the girl turned towards him and rubbed her eyelids, sleepily.

"Are you leaving already? Wait until sunset." She muttered.

He froze and cursed in his spirit, glancing at the window.

If it had been cloudy he would have survived somehow, but in full sun the burns was the least he could hope for.

She stood up, apparently seeing what he was thinking about, and moved lazily towards the kitchen, massaging the back of her neck.

There were no more marks from his bite, but her neck was all dirty with blood.

She reached for a plastic cup with a straw that looked like an old Coca-Cola packet and began to drink from it, slurping loudly. She raised an eyebrow when she saw that he was staring at her without saying a word.

"What? You made me thirsty." She explained, however, without a hint of resentment or regret, looking into her fridge, filled from top to bottom with plastic bags filled with blood.

"If you want, I can make blood tart or jelly. Or soup. So you won't be hungry again." She said, still continuing the activity of drinking through a straw from a plastic cup.

"What?" It popped out of his mouth, probably because he didn't understand what he had just heard.

"You know, food. I miss it sometimes. Mixing it with blood makes it nourishing, tasty and more interesting than blood itself. It's good with ice as a drink. I once put it in a soda maker to make bubbles inside, but the experiment failed." She said with a sincere sadness that made him just hide his face in his hands.

Was she serious?

"Sit down. I'll make us some jellies. Blood and raspberry. Yummy." She decided on her own, apparently completely not needing his opinion on the matter.

Indeed, he decided that he couldn't leave as long as the sun was shining so hard, so he sat down, watching in disbelief as she pulled out the gelatine, bowl, blood, raspberries and a few other things she apparently needed to create whatever she had in mind.

Looking at her with pity, he stated with a kind of melancholy that it had been a long time since he had watched a woman cook – the last time was when he had seen his mother as she was baking a cake, his favourite one: yeast with plums.

He felt a sting in his heart at the thought that he could still recreate the taste of it in his head.

"Do you live here? In this town, I mean." Her curious voice snapped him out of his reverie.

He looked at her, or rather at her back, watching as she stirred the steaming liquid in a small saucepan.

His thumb began to pick at the cuticles around his fingernails as his whole body screamed for him to do what was better for him, which was to lie.

"Yes. Since recently." He replied.

"Oh, I see – I've been living here for four years now. I'll probably have to move out soon. For now, they think my unchanging appearance is due to good genes." She said softly, pouring the contents of the saucepan into two ice cream goblets.

God, she really does make fucking blood jelly.

He blinked and looked at her, hearing the silence around them, recognising that he should answer something after all.

"Thank you. For yesterday. For your understanding." He said finally, his thumb digging into his skin too hard, creating a small, red wound along his fingernail.

Blood.

He saw her flinch and look over her shoulder – her eyes were big, as if she was surprised by something, her lips parted slightly, as if she felt arousal.

"– oh – do you want a plaster? –" She muttered, turning back – he noticed that her hands were shaking as she set the cups down in the fridge.

He lifted his finger to his lips and licked the bright red, sticky liquid from it.

"– no need –"

He saw her reach for her plastic cup, her eyes closed as she drew a few deep, greedy sips from the straw.

His manhood twitched in his trousers with delight at the thought that she craved his blood.

He swallowed hard when she came to him close enough that he could smell her clearly again – the psychological advantage he thought he had gained over her dissolved into thin air when he realised he wasn't driven by desperation then.

She smelled so good.

She tasted so good.

Maybe he could stay with her longer?

"Maybe we could be friends?" She asked.

He looked at her, feeling that his eyes were wide open in disbelief. Seeing that he had opened his mouth to answer something, she continued quickly, as if she feared she knew what he would answer.

"I have no one here. I don't trust myself enough to spend time alone with other people. I'm afraid of hurting them. But with you, I don't have to be afraid. You're new here too, so... I want you to know that you can count on me in times of need." She said quickly, stammering a few times, as if she was ashamed of her own words.

Was that why she had brought him to her home?

Because she was lonely?

"I don't know." He muttered, this time answering honestly.

"Okay. I just wanted you to know that the door to my house would be open for you."

After all, you don't know me completely, he thought.

You don't know if I didn't kill someone yesterday, if I won't hurt you, rob you, destroy your life out of boredom, for fun.

"How can you be so naive?"

He wasn't sure if he'd really said the question or if he'd only heard it in his head, but her expression told him that the words had left his mouth after all.

"You think so?" She muttered, heartbroken, as if his opinion meant something to her.

Why?

"I was thirsty and you allowed me to satisfy my hunger. You invited a strange man into your home. I could have raped you, I could have killed you. I still can." He snorted with a wide grin, looking at her in disbelief.

He saw her swallow hard, something moist shining in the corners of her big eyes.

"Maybe that's what I wanted. Maybe that's what I hoped for."

He felt a twinge in his stomach at her words, serious and filled with regret.

What were they really talking about now?

Was she hoping he would kill her?

"What do you mean?" He asked, running his fingers over the soft material that covered the armchair he was sitting on.

I can end your torment if you want me to and drink your blood to the last drop.

"I am alone. I can't talk to my parents or the friends I had before I…" She mumbled and drew in air loudly, apparently trying not to cry.

He was wrong.

It probably hadn't even been ten years since she'd been transformed.

How was it possible that she was doing so well?

Young vampires were usually feral and hungry, seeking pleasure in orgies full of blood. She, meanwhile, lived in her small flat like some kind of hermitage and worked as if nothing had happened.

That's why she cooked food, that's why she dressed the way she did, that's why she decorated her flat according to contemporary fashion.

She didn't want to let go of her old life.

"I'm sorry." He said and once again, he was honest. "In truth, I admire your self-control."

"I killed my dog. My best friend. A labrador with big, brown eyes." She mumbled out, fiddling with her fingers, whooping with the tears that began to run down her face one by one.

She had no one to tell about this, so she treated meeting him like a confession.

"I see. Then you ran away from home?" He asked calmly, for some reason feeling towards her words nothing but understanding.

His father's numb body lying on the floor beneath him, his loud panting when he finally regained his composure – he could see perfectly his lifeless eyes open in horror, his mouth spread wide, his throat ripped apart as if it had been torn by an animal.

He loved him, but he never noticed him.

He showed him no support when his eye was taken away, instead comforting his daughter from his first marriage.

Why was it always her and never him?

"Yes." She muttered wearily, her breathing deep and laboured, full of suffering.

"Do they know what happened to you? Where are you now?" He asked further, and she shook her head.

"Good. You did the right thing." He stated.

He raised his hands slightly in the air, surprised, as she sat on his lap and snuggled into him, embracing him around the waist.

She was sobbing like a little child, and in a way she probably was one – torn away from her family and what was familiar to her, she was wandering around the world alone and aimless, filled only with longing and grief.

He struggled to accept the thought that he understood her all too well.

He shuddered when he felt her warm, heavy breath on his neck – his hand ran over her back reassuringly, giving her wordless permission to take what she needed.

Comfort.

He'd only let Alys drink his blood so far, but for some reason he couldn't and didn't want to refuse her – he closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head back as he felt her fangs slowly dig into his skin with surprising gentleness.

He heard something that sounded to him like a grunt of pleasure when she swallowed a loud gulp of his blood – his lips parted as her hips rolled forward, brushing it against his half-hard erection.

His fingers clenched on her flesh as he involuntarily reciprocated the movement, reaching out to meet her – they both began to breathe louder, as if surprised that they were taking pleasure in two forms of intimacy at the same time.

Their bodies rubbed against each other in calm, gentle harmony, his nose sunk into her soft hair, which he combed with his fingers, the sound of her swallowing arousing him more and more with each passing second.

She needed him.

He wanted to be needed.

He always had.

When she finally pulled away from his neck she pressed her cheek against his chest, exactly as he did then, and took a deep breath, as if she had accomplished some great achievement by not drinking his blood to the last drop.

"…shall we eat our jellies?"

[archiveofvirtue]

sarah introduces lovely kook!reader to the pogues, and one of them definitely strikes her interest more than he should

content / lovely kook!reader x jj maybank, slightly suggestive, jj being a flirt, kook x pogue dynamics, kie lowkey being a hater, mentions of readers and rafes past, spin the bottle, mentions of alcohol, kissing, 1.4k words

notes / this is the beginning of readers and jj’s journey throughout the series, so definitely let me know if u like it or if i should continue only writing about rafe and reader (but then there would def be less of a continuous storyline!)

The golden coast of Kildare Island's sunset painted the sky as Sarah guided you down the dirt path toward John B's chateau, feeling a bit anxious. After all your life wasn’t like any of theirs, and that scared you a bit.

"Just... don't let JJ get to you. He's... well, you'll see." She warned you, knowing that her friend would try to hit on you every chance he got.

You smirked, tucking your wavy hair behind your ear. "You're acting like I'm not used to guys like him. Trust me, I've handled worse."

Yet you couldn't stop the flood of nerves rolling through your body. Coming back to Kildare was one thing; entering the world of Sarah's pogues was another. For someone like you—Rafe’s ex, and being a "kook" in every sense of the word—this was like walking into enemy territory.

You couldn’t help but think of Rafe as you walked along the chunky trail, to him the pogues were always equal to filthy animals, so knowing that Sarah was now one of them made you curious.

Of course, just like Rafe, you used to stay away from pogues, maybe with one exception, but that didn’t matter now. You were taught that your worlds shouldn’t mix, that it wouldn’t work, but knowing just how pathetic your old life was, it maybe wouldn’t be too bad of an idea.

Your little boots crunched against the gravel as you took in the sight before you: a quiet run down house that looked like it had survived one hurricane too many, mismatched furniture scattered across the yard, and a group of teens lounging in the chaos like it was their kingdom.

As you stepped onto the property, a tall, blonde boy was the first to notice you, his face lighting up in surprise and excitement. He jumped down from where he'd been sitting and strode over, his grin wide.

"Dammit Sarah, if I had known that you'd bring over a goddess I would've put on less clothes." JJ drawled, his blue eyes locked on you. Now you definitely knew what Sarah was talking about. Nothing you couldn’t handle tho.

Before you could respond, Sarah stepped between you, rolling her eyes. "JJ, seriously? Don't scare her off five seconds in.”

"Just being friendly," JJ said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. His eyes didn't leave yours, though, and you couldn't help the faint warmth rising in your cheeks. He was super hot.

And you were definitely amused by his charm, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. "And you must be the rowdy pogue with a reputation to match." You replied smoothly. JJ seemed a bit taken aback, and his grin widened, clearly enjoying the challenge.

"Guilty as charged. But don't worry, I'm harmless... mostly."

"Come on," Sarah said, dragging you toward the group. "Before he says something even dumber."

Getting closer to the group, Kiara was the first to get up. She crossed her arms over her chest, her sharp eyes piercing through you, feeling skeptical. "So, you're y/n."

"Guilty," you said, echoing JJ's words with a playful shrug. You extended a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Kiara hesitated before shaking your hand. "Yeah, nice to meet you too." Her words were clipped, and you didn't miss the side eye Kiara shot at Sarah. But you didn’t judge her, after all you were kind of skeptical too.

Luckily the rest of the introductions went smoother. Pope was polite but distracted, and John B—Sarah's new boyfriend—was laid-back and welcoming, though his smile carried a hint of curiosity, like he was trying to figure you out.

But it was JJ who lingered, his gaze following your every move, his flirty comments never far behind. It felt all so exciting.

"So, y/n," JJ said as you all settled into your seats, beers in hand. "What's a kook princess like you doing slumming it with us?"

Sarah shot him a warning look, but you just smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know, hm?"

JJ laughed, clearly enjoying the way you confronted him, while Kiara rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

As the evening wore on, the tension in the air began to ease. You found yourself laughing at John B's ridiculous stories, paired with JJ's enthusiasm, and even getting a nod of approval from Pope when you mentioned your favorite book. Kiara, however, remained a mystery to you.

"Alright, truth or dare time," JJ announced suddenly, grabbing a bottle from the sand. "No backing out."

"Oh, come on," Kiara groaned, though she didn't move to leave.

The first few rounds were tame, the dares harmless and the truths revealing just enough to keep things fun. Then the bottle landed on JJ.

"Oh, here we go," Pope muttered, earning a laugh from the group.

JJ leaned back, spreading his arms like he was owning the place. "Hit me, baby." He smirked, eyes locked on you as a devilishly, alcohol fueled, idea came to your mind. You just couldn’t hold back, lips curling into a mischievous smile. "I dare you to kiss me."

The whole group fell silent, every eye darting between you and JJ. Even the fire seemed to flicker in response, the crackling flames being the only sound.

JJ blinked, his grin faltering for a moment. "Wait—what?"

"You heard me," you said, voice steady. Your confidence was unshaken, though your heart was pounding in your chest. You weren’t even sure where the boldness had come from, but there was no taking it back now.

Sarah laughed, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my god, y/n."

"Bold move," JJ said, his surprise melting into amusement. "I like it."

He stood, brushing the sand off his jeans, and walked over to you. The air felt electric as he crouched down in front of you, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

"You sure about this, kook girl?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Scared?" You shot back, smirk growing.

JJ didn't hesitate. In one smooth motion, he closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but shy. It was heated, bold, and left no room for misinterpretation.

The group erupted in cheers and whistles, John B's voice cutting through the noise. "JJ, what the hell, man?"

As he kissed you there was an unspoken pull, the desire obvious in both of your movements. It felt good kissing him, really good, so when he pulled back you couldn’t help but pout a little.

Yet his grin was even bigger. "You asked for it."

You laughed, cheeks warm, but you didn't flinch under the group's teasing. If anything, you leaned into it, your confidence high. You hadn't expected to feel this at ease with JJ, and his charm that ran just a little wild. It was different, and strangely, you liked it.

As the game continued, the bottle spun and landed on you. Not hesitating to pick truth, knowing you couldn't dodge forever and also not wanting to be a spoilsport.

Kiara, who had been quiet for most of the night, leaned forward, her expression serious. "Why did you leave Kildare?"

The question hung in the air, and your earlier smile faltered. You felt your throat tighten, glancing at the flames and wishing you could disappear into the sparks. You hadn't exactly planned on going into your past tonight.

Sensing your tension, Sarah quickly jumped in, squeezing your hand. "Y/n went through a rough time," she explained, her voice softer than usual. "There was... a lot going on, and it was all a bit much. You all know how my family can be." She paused, eyes on the fire, then added, "And, uh... y/n dating my brother didn't help. It got... toxic, real fast."

Everyone went quiet, and you felt their eyes on you, shock written across their faces. Yup, somehow it’s always been a shocker for others when they found out you two used to date, cause now you both couldn’t be any more different from each other. Or weren’t you?

"You... and Rafe?" Kiara's voice was laced with surprise, though it held a hint of understanding now—maybe even sympathy. "Seriously?"

You nodded slowly, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Yeah. It's not something I'm proud of. Trust me." You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words as you admitted them out loud. "I lost myself for a while. Leaving was the only way. I needed to figure myself out."

JJ was the first to break the silence. "Hey, everyone's got stuff they're not proud of." He shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter to him. "At least you're here now, right?"

You managed a grateful smile, feeling some of the tension ease. The group smiled gently, their earlier reservations melting away. And somehow exposing yourself like that definitely made you feel good, the pogues giving you a feeling of security, treating you with a newfound gentleness.

As the fire died down, everyone began to yawn and stretch, the long hours of the day catching up with you, so John B offered to drive you, Pope and Kie home.

While the two boys piled into the van, Kiara lingered for a moment, pulling you aside as you were about to walk up to the vehicle.

"Hey," Kiara said quietly. "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. For being shady earlier. And for pushing you with that question."

You blinked, definitely not expecting an apology from her. "It's okay. I get it—you didn't know."

Kiara nodded, her expression softening. "Yeah, but still. You're not what I expected, but... you're cool. I'm glad you're here."

You smiled, the words meaning more than you cared to admit. "Thanks, Kie."

As you climbed into the van, you felt something shift inside you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you might actually belong somewhere.

please lemme know what u guys think !!

requests are open.

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @bunnyrafe @rafescokewhore @starkeysprincess @rafesweetie @rafeslacy @rafesangelita @rafey-baby @starkeydolly @moremaybank @drewspinkbunny @drewsarms

[tthoroughfare]

crush (part 2) // abby anderson

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: i owe you a black eye and two kisses. tell me when you wanna come and get 'em. abby finally confronts her feelings in the spur of the moment, then gets scared and runs away. it all works out in the end, though.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: canon!abby x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: nsfw. nothing too crazy just some yearny sesbian lex using hands. light injury description and abby being a horrible communicator

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 2.9k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

i hope you enjoy the second part! i'm so down to write more of this so lmk if anyone wants it

abby keeps it all to herself. she enjoys having you as a friend, and reasons that it’s better not to mess it all up. just because you like her whole entire gender doesn’t mean you like her. plus, she’s not even sure about what she’s feeling. figures that if she actually wasn’t straight, she’d surely have already known by now. but then again, she didn’t know you back then. didn’t feel what she feels around you.

then, one night, you’ve been around at hers, drinking and watching a movie with manny. she’d accidentally overindulged, possibly (definitely) out of nerves. you’d had to drag the chair and beanbag over in front of the TV, you and abby both piling onto the beanbag, chair not big enough to hold the two of you.

there was still barely enough room, and you were pressed up against her. at first, you were awkwardly perched, body rigid; but then, as the film went on and you had a little more to drink, you found yourself sinking into the seat, further into her.

by the end of it, your head is comfortably on her shoulder, laughing and chatting freely — she can smell your hair, feel the heat of your body against her, and she truly thinks she might combust.

once it’s gotten late, you say you’d better be heading back to your own place. abby tipsily insists on walking you back, even though it’s really not necessary. like, at all.

you jovially chat and giggle on the way back through the stadium, and all you can remember thinking is how glad you are that you met her. how rare it is for you to know someone who you feel so connected to, who everything feels so easy with almost instantaneously.

when you get to your door, she lingers around, keeping the conversation going even after you say goodnight — like she wants something from you, wants to say something but can’t. there’s a moment where it drops quiet, and she’s just looking at you. studying your face, maintaining eye contact for probably longer than she ever has. that’s when you realize she’s automatically drifted closer.

and then, liquid courage coursing through her veins and affirmed by you leaning on her earlier, she kisses you.

it’s quick, and you don’t return it. not because you don’t want to, but out of pure shock — never in a million years would you have seen it coming. you’d fully shelved your crush on her, under the impression it was never going to happen.

before you have a real chance to react, she pulls back, cheeks tinged red.

you speak at the same time: her blurting out, "sorry, fuck"; you simply shaking your head a little, stuttering, “a-abby, i…”

a beat passes, you slightly open-mouthed, abby’s hands anxiously fiddling with themselves at her sides. immediately, she’s sober. “fuck, i-i’m sorry. that was stupid.”

“no, abby, it’s just—“ before you can finish your sentence, she mutters something inaudible and turns, beginning to stride off down the hall, feeling like a fucking idiot. of course you didn’t like her, and she’d just drunkenly ruined it all for nothing.

your call of her name, followed by a, ‘wait!’ falls on deaf ears, and she turns the corner, gone. you’re left stunned, frozen outside your door, trying to process what just happened.

you want to go after her, have her allow you to explain yourself, but decide against it. you don’t know if she really meant it, you don’t know what her reasons were for running off; you don’t know what the fuck to do. so, despite every ounce of yourself begging you not to, you simply go inside and try your best to sleep. you can’t, though, mind whirring for hours on end until you finally pass out.

the next morning, you pray you run into her. usually, you always saw her at some point, but it was like she was avoiding everywhere you might be.

you see manny in the canteen later in the day, catching up to him and asking him where she is; he just shrugs, saying that she’d picked up an extra assignment and headed out that morning. might not be back for a day or two.

you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh, crossing your arms. you knew it was on purpose. all over a kiss. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he gives you a funny look. “you two have a fight or something? she was… quiet when she came back.”

rolling your eyes, you shake your head after a moment. basically the opposite. “no… no, we didn’t.”

“right.” he quirks an eyebrow slightly, taking a breath. “you want me to talk to her when i see her?”

you shake your head vehemently, furrowing your brow. “nah, nah, don’t. just… let me know when she gets back, please?”

he nods once, tapping the side of your arm. “you got it.”

you utter out a thanks, and with that you’re off.

you don’t want to be mad at her, but you are. you don’t know why she’s running away from you, quite literally putting her life on the line just so she doesn’t have to face you. what makes it so much worse is she didn’t even give you a chance. if she’d have just heard you out instead of storming off, there wouldn’t even be an issue in the first place.

the next morning arrives, and abby’s still not back. the whole day, you fight the urge to walk over to her apartment and knock on the door every five minutes. you know manny said a day or two, but you can’t help but anxiously await her return the moment it’s plausible.

you try to keep yourself busy with work, but all your mind does is wander back to her. thinking about what she’s doing, if she’s okay, what you’re going to say to her when she gets back. you replay the kiss over and over in your head, scrutinizing every millisecond of it. what if the reason she freaked out was that she only did it because she was drunk, immediately realized she regretted it, and that’s why she’s avoiding you?

her absence just gives you too much time to worry, conjure up every worst case scenario. by the end of it, you’re essentially convinced she doesn’t like you, that it was a mistake, and now your friendship will never be the same.

finally, around noon the day after, manny collars you in the hallway and lets you know abby’s back. you let out a half relieved, half nervous sigh, nodding and thanking him. you can’t go talk to her right away — you’re too swamped with work, on your way back from the shortest lunch break known to man, but you know the second you’ve called it a day, you’re finding her.

it’s not until almost eight that you finally get to a place where you can break off, leaning back in your chair and running your hands over your face. you pack a few items away hurriedly, heart beating in your chest as you make your way over to abby’s.

it’s not her who answers the door, though — it’s manny. you blow air out of your nose at the fact you’re seeing more of him than her at this point.

“where is she?” you question gently, as if he doesn’t already know what you want.

the corners of his mouth quirk. “guess.”

“library?”

he clicks his tongue in affirmation, and you roll your eyes fondly before telling him you’ll see him later, turning to make your way down there.

standing outside the door, you realize how nervous you are. you’ve wanted nothing more than to see abby since it happened, but now the moment’s here you can’t help but feel hesitant about all the ways the conversation could go.

after a beat of psyching yourself up, you gingerly crack the door open, spotting her on the ottoman before gently wrapping your knuckles as you peer in. “knock, knock.”

she looks up, an unreadable expression on her face.

“can i come in?”

she pauses, sitting up properly and placing her book to the side. “uh… sure.”

you smile gratefully, picking your way in and softly closing the door behind you. you make your way over, taking a seat next to her with your hands folded in your lap, avoiding eye contact. “so…”

you can see her fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt in your peripheral vision. “so…?”

looking up at her, you go to say your rehearsed spiel, then the words get caught in your throat when you notice the injuries littering her face. a couple of gashes are set into her forehead and chin, purple blossoming over her cheekbone.

“what the hell have you done to your face?” it comes out a little more frustrated than the caring tone you intend, but you are frustrated. if she’d have stayed and listened, she wouldn’t have been avoiding you, and in turn wouldn’t have gone off and gotten herself hurt. you pivot your body to face her side, knee bending to rest your left leg sideways.

“it’s not anything.”

you tut, unable to help yourself from reaching out and running your thumb tenderly over the bruising. she pulls away from your touch slightly, to which you shoot her a look. “worse than i ever get.”

“you’re sheltered.”

she says it matter-of-fact, and you know it’s true. you’ve always had it better than her, better than most, never really being required to go into the field. both your parents are still alive, a rarity nowadays, both academics. the last time you were in real danger was simply when you were being moved into the base, going from safe point A to safe point B. 

still, it stings a little.

“yeowch,” you respond as you allow your hand to drop from her skin, only half joking. “there’s no need to be mean, abby.”

she rolls her eyes, still keeping her sight trained firmly ahead. “i’m not being…” she trails off, shaking her head a little and looking down at her hands. she moves to lean forward, forearms resting on her knees.

a pause passes that feels like an eternity, until you finally will yourself to speak. your voice is soft, low. “why did you run off on me the other night?”

she gnaws at her lip, not saying anything for a moment. “can we just forget about that? it was…”

“a mistake, i know. you were… you’d had a few drinks. i know you didn’t mean anything by it.” you finish her sentence for her, and she sighs and shakes her head in annoyance at how wrong you have it.

she swallows thickly in defeat, urging the words to come. she might as well tell you; she’s already basically fucked everything up. what does she have to lose?

“that’s… not it.” her words come out quiet, and she looks at you for the first time since you walked in, hands wringing in her lap.

you automatically shuffle a tiny bit closer, her leg warm against yours. “then what is it?”

“i didn’t… it wasn’t… because i was drunk. it was because i wanted to.” she takes a deep breath, shoulders sinking. “and then… you reacted all… i don’t know. anyway… you don’t see me like that. can we just move on?”

you look at her, mouth opening and closing a little. your brow furrows. “oh my god. are you serious?”

“what?” she replies, a little defensively.

“i reacted like that because i was fucking shocked. as far as i was aware, you didn’t even like girls, never mind me, and then you just kissed me out of nowhere. i didn’t know how to react. and then, you didn’t even give me chance to say anything and just walked off, and then i don’t see you for two days,” you blurt out, floodgates opened.

it’s her turn to be speechless again, looking up at you like a deer in headlights. “so… w-what are you saying?”

you don’t even bother to answer, knowing you can show her tenfold better than you can tell. you pull her up to you, hand resting on her jaw, pressing your lips to hers with a gentle urgency. she freezes for a split second before kissing back, one hand leaning on the ottoman behind you, the other coming up to cup your cheek.

you shift further in subconsciously, right leg going over one of hers and your free arm wrapping around her neck.

“jesus christ, abby,” you mumble against her lips between adoring smooches, “i can’t believe you.”

she breathes out a chuckle. “sorry.”

you have sex for the first time that night. you invite her to stay over, not even having those expectations. you just want to be with her, want to feel close to her, wake up side by side.

but then it drops late, and your lights are on low, having spent the evening conversing on your bed with the tv droning in the background. you’re both on your sides facing each other, propped up by an elbow. and you look so pretty in the dim yellow light, she can’t help herself from leaning in and kissing you, dripping with want.

you end up on top of her, fingertips stroking over either side of her face, hers pressing into your hips. all you can hear is your own pulse banging in your head, the labored, rapid breaths the two of you let out into each other’s mouths.

you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this much. you can feel yourself soaking your underwear, and nothing’s even happened.

abby swallows thickly, pulling back for a moment, knowing where this is all going. “you know i’ve never…” she trails off, implicating the last few words, voice husked with arousal.

you pause to look at her, lidded eyes dragging over her face, a slightly amused smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“i know,” you respond, leaning back in to mouth at the corner of hers, before kissing down to her jaw. you continue to speak against her skin, voice low. “you’ll figure it out.”

and she sure does.

you make love to each other. it’s all slow, and testing, but wanting and desperate. a lot of abby asking every two minutes if what she’s doing feels good, you guiding her and showing her how you like it. when you first flip her on top of you, tenderly taking her hair out from its braid and running your fingers through it, leading her hand under your waistband and showing her how wet you’ve gotten for her, she truly doesn’t know how the fuck she was ever, ever uncertain about her feelings.

you take your shirt off, baring yourself to her, then hers, needing to feel your skin flush against one another. her hands automatically move to make quick work of the lower half of your clothing, gaining confidence. and then you’re naked, spread out underneath her, all flushed and open mouthed, hips shifting into hers desperately — and it’s just like something takes over her.

she kisses over your chest languidly, exploring, needing to taste your skin. you gently take her wrist, moving her hand back between your legs, and your head falls back when she runs a finger through your folds. it’s a little clumsy, a little anxious, but abby’s a quick learner. she finds a rhythm, circling your clit as her mouth attaches to your nipple.

“abby, fuck…” you moan shakily, one hand tightening around her wrist, keeping her where it feels good, the other gripping lightly at her hair.

“is that okay?” she asks. she’s looking up at you reverently, desperate to impress, and the sight sends even more heat pooling in your lower belly.

you nod hungrily and your hand moves from her wrist to her waistband, voice coming out a lot more needy than you intend. “take these off.”

she obeys you without a word, and your free hand immediately goes to touch her, spreading her apart and toying with her clit, reveling in the noises it draws.

you make each other cum like that, touching each other at the same time, all needy and yearning. you’re first, abby’s nerves getting the best of her, you unable to help yourself. it all builds and builds until it hits you hard, breathy, high pitched moans and whines of her name tumbling out against her shoulder. hearing you, seeing you like that sends her absolutely reeling, and it’s not long until she’s there too. you pull her face level to yours with your free hand, threading your fingers through her hair, needing to look at her as she cums.

she looks so pretty, eyes screwed shut and brows drawn, parted lips rosy as she pants her way through her orgasm, unable to help the string of mmphs and low, strangled moans that escape her.

you work her through it, slowing your movements gradually, stroking at her face as she comes down. it’s quiet for a moment, just the sounds of the forgotten movie across the room and both of you attempting to regain your breathing.

“okay?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

she nods, eyes still closed, tongue darting out to wet her lips. then, her mouth twitches, corners forming a small smile. “yeah. fuck.”

you mirror her, a tiny smile of your own tugging at your lips. “good.”

kissing her nose lightly, you shift your hand away from her pussy and pop your messy fingers in your mouth, cleaning her off you, relishing in her taste.

she watches through hazy eyes, committing the sight to memory.

yeah. she’s never looking back.

[pricesprincess]

part one | part two | angst | series m.list

silence filled the air on the other side of the phone as you waited for kyle, your foot tapping against the soft carpet, a muffled sound that was something more than just what you had in the background.

"kyle? hello? i'm not in the mood..." you muttered and sunk into the couch feeling the anger melt to concern which was always the first thing you had to deal with when simon didn't answer.

there was shuffling in the background, and then you heard simon's voice come over the phone, rough like sandpaper but it was still enough to calm your racing heart. he was safe and sound for now.

your fingers picked at the loose threads of the pillow that lay in your lap waiting for simon. "sorry love, john needed me and all the guys came over so i lost track of time." he murmured with regret.

"needed you for what? i must've of missed when you and him had a baby. you know what? forget about it, just another mess that i cleaned up and simone deserves the apology, not me." you hissed.

now that you knew he was okay and alive the anger came back ten-fold, zipping through your bloodstream and flushing you with heat as you gripped your phone. "i'll be there for breakfast, sorry luv."

once he was off the call you sighed and wiped at your eyes feeling the tears finally stream down your and wet your shirt as you sobbed in the darkened living room trying to calm yourself down for the time.

if simone came out and saw you it would turn into a never-ending night and you didn't want her to see you like this, red-rimmed eyes and a heaving chest from trying to be silent as you thought of simon.

all the memories you both had were now tainted by the push of divorce, wouldn't it better to live life like this or try to work it out?

picking yourself up from the cushions that threatened to eat you, you stood and made your way to your bedroom feeling your phone buzz in your hand. it was simon. against your better judgement, you answered the call and opened your bedroom door.

"can i see her? i know she's sleeping but i'd like to check on my princess and my wife." his voice was still sandpaper rough and tinted with something that clawed to the surface wanting to be free.

you sighed and took a few steps back to peek into simone's room watching as she cuddled with her teddybear that she had you get a shirt with simon's face on it. "fine, only for ten mintues. max."

even though you still no longer wear your ring you love simon, always have, and feared you always will. no matter who you dated, he would always be in the back of your mind and he'd always be your soulmate.

trudging back into the living room you gathered all the toys and put them in simone's bucket when there was a soft knock on the door pulling you away from the task at hand. "come in!" you called out.

thankfully with how small the apartment was simon heard you and stepped inside kicking his boots off and making sure he didn't track dirt through the place. when he came into the living room you looked at him and pointed down the hallway. "just please be quiet."

you watched as simon made his way down the hall softly and gently which was kind of funny with how big and imposing he was. unable to help yourself you followed after and peeked your head in too.

it felt like old times when you and he would check in on her when it was time to transfer her to her big girl bed which meant a lot of late-night bedtime stories and more kisses and cuddles to soothe her.

"she's everything you are." simon murmured feeling a lump form in his throat as he watched simone, then you rubbed his back.

"what do you mean?" you asked quietly.

simon turned his head to look at you, his lips quirking in a smile as memories played. "she's sweet, kind, loving, and thinks about others above herself." he murmured, his head dipping down a little.

you met his heady gaze and crossed your arms over your chest. "don't be so hard on yourself si, she is tough as hell, doesn't take shit from anyone, last week she stuck up for her friend at school."

there was a moment of clarity and understanding as you nodded your head towards the couch. "simone would love to see you when she wakes." you told him with a smile that didn't meet your eyes.

he watched you slip away from him again putting the wall of space up, but this time it was a door.

[rhiannonsknife]

you are quite literally an angel sent down from heaven. i think i died and ascended all the way up to the pearly gates after reading your response

i know you mentioned this a little bit in your coworker!rhiannon drabble and i don't mean to be beating a dead horse but theres just something about teasing rhiannon while she's at work, especially if you're working with her, only a few feet away but impossibly out of reach

you keep sending her explicit messages, detailing every dirty thought that passes through your mind, and you relish in the way that her cheeks heat up the second she reads them. you also send her countless photos every time you go to the bathroom (or even sending a photo at your desk with your skirt lifted just enough for her to see your absolutely soaked panties) and you know from the way her eyes widen and her finger presses down on the image that she's saving every single one of them

coming over to her desk because she wants you to "help her with an email" after toying with her all day and she's whispering in your ear, telling (begging) you to stop being such a tease. of course, you "accidentally" brush a hand against her clothed cunt in response, enjoying the way she whines under her breath and glares at you with her bottom lip between her teeth

it eventually gets to be too much and she's beckoning you to come with her to the bathroom for a "feminine emergency", but in reality, you're getting down on your knees and pressing kisses to her dripping pussy

she's so close to cumming all over your face when you hear someone knock on the bathroom door and ask if you're alright in there. rhiannon looks down at you, wondering if you're going to stop, but you just give her a look and keep lapping at her cunt. she's desperately trying to croak out an answer in a way that doesn't give away that your tongue is inside of her, and all she manages is an "i'm fine!" before she's cumming all over your face, almost drawing blood with how hard she bites on her lip to stay quiet

and oh, she's not letting you off scott-free for all your teasing. she will be pulling out the strap the second she gets home and bringing you to more orgasms than you can keep count

-🪐

🪐 anon please don’t ever stop spoiling us with your genius thoughts. nsfw content. mdni.

i feel like office sex with rhiannon in general would be…something. in the beginning (before becoming a serial killer) she would not be as down to try, too worried about getting caught. but once she gains enough confidence?? suddenly, rhiannon is the one who regularly shoves you into the bathroom stall or starts feeling you up from behind when it’s just the two of you in the staff room…

but, anyway, once said confidence is established you make it your mission to tease her as much as anyhow possible!! you know you are rhiannon’s number one soft spot and you know exactly how to make good use of it…

right now, you’re on your knees before her, her skirt pushed up her thighs, her panties already stuffed in the pocket of your jeans (which is where you’ll be keeping them for the rest of the day).

it had started harmlessly enough. after waking up with her earlier this morning and making a point of entering the office separately to avoid any unnecessary and annoying commentary from one of your colleagues, you haven’t stopped thinking about her once. how could you when, the night prior, you’d spent hours in bed together? when you can still taste rhiannon on your tongue from how she’d been riding your face shamelessly?

so, obviously, you had to make your horniness her problem.

if you could, you’d literally send every single one of your useless coworkers out and ask rhiannon to eat you out right then and there, on top of your desk. but, since that was not an option, you had settled for the next best thing: texting her. every other minute, rhiannon’s phone went off. at first, she expected something work-related and her eyes went wide when she saw your message, telling her about how you couldn’t stop thinking about her in explicit detail.

and you didn’t leave it at that: you kept sending her messages, even used your bathroom breaks to send her pictures, too, pulling up your shirt or shoving your hand down your pants. you can see from your spot that rhiannon, despite her warning glares, looks at every single one of them and even saves them to her camera roll. once, you even called her desk phone from the bathroom, only to moan into the received or hold it to your own pussy, letting her hear how wet you are for her.

when she finally got up from her desk to beg tell you to stop torturing her already, you pushed it too far. or, at least, you’d pushed rhiannon over an edge that she must’ve been toying for a while at that point: as she pretended to point out errors in an email you’d written, she leaned over your shoulder from behind.

“i swear to god, baby, you need to-“ your hand pressing against her crotch shut her up. “quit” she gasped, her hips immediately rolling against the press of your fingers. rhiannon’s lashes fluttered and she sighed softly.

“bathroom” she had instructed once she finally gathered herself. “now”

and, who are you to deny her that?

and that’s, precisely, how you’d gotten yourself into your current position: kneeling before her, panties taken off and out of your way, mouth where it’s supposed to be: on rhiannon’s cunt. she’s dripping down your chin, at this point. your teasing must’ve really done it for her.

rhiannon is leaning back against the sink to balance her weight, one leg thrown over your shoulder, a hand buried in your hair. her head is tilted back a bit and she’s panting already, even though you haven’t done much yet. only mouthed at her pussy, licked broad strokes through her wetness, and pressed the tip of your tongue against her clit in a way that had her knees buckling. it’s been your teasing that got rhiannon to this point: wet and wanting. that’s all it takes for your girlfriend to be dripping down your chin.

you watch her when you start eating her out more purposefully; pushing your tongue deeper, applying more pressure in all the right places, watching the way rhiannon falls apart above you. she has to rest more of her weight back to avoid her knees giving out beneath herself right then and there and her breath comes in short pants.

“shit” she hisses, one hand running through her disheveled hair as the other pulls you closer. rhiannon shouldn’t want this. it shouldn’t turn her on to be eaten out in a place where all of your coworkers could hear if she’s not careful. you’ve locked the door, obviously, but that doesn’t mean the people outside wouldn’t be able to overhear her moans through the thin walls.

it’s a risk. a risk worth taking, because rhiannon tastes heavenly and looks her most beautiful as she’s shaking and visibly struggling with trying to be quiet. she’s rocking her hips, too, for an extra feel of your tongue lapping up her arousal. at home, in your bed, this would probably be a point where she’d be too frustrated with you. where she would toss you around and ride your face in order to get off. but that’s not happening here. (she will make up by laying you down, later, and fuck you with her strap until you’re a babbling mess, apologizing for teasing her like this in the first place…)

all rhiannon can do is lean back and take what you’re giving her as she tries to be quiet. her hand slams over her mouth once you bring your fingers up as well and push two of them into her while sucking on her clit harshly. she barely contains the whine, only trying to poorly cover it with an exaggerated clear of her throat just in case anyone is near the door.

you hope that there’s not: even as rhiannon tries to be quiet, her pussy certainly isn’t: you can hear how wet she is, as you pump your fingers in and out of her while your tongue flicks against her clit.

like this, it doesn’t take long until she’s close to cumming. you don’t have a lot of time so fortunately you know what it takes and what you have to do to make rhiannon cum quickly: you know where to put your mouth, where to bend your fingers, where to apply just the right amount of pressure. it’s not long until she starts getting tense and tighter around your fingers, walls fluttering.

it’s perfect, the way her body goes rigid in the pre-orgasmic bliss. you’re ready for her to stumble over the edge, already watching her eagerly. and then someone’s knocking on the door. you both flinch, instantly glaring at the other.

“rhiannon?” someone’s voice echoes. “are you alright in there sweet pea?”

rhiannon is still staring at you, panting: eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. and then, she nods and you put your mouth back where you both want it. her eyes press shut tightly and she bites her palm as she musters up enough strength to speak without sounding like she’s currently getting fucked.

“uh-“ she rasps, eyes rolling back. “yeah, i’m alright. i’m alright. don’t worry lana!”

that’s all it takes. that, and another harsh suck on her clit. lana is still in front of the door; you can still hear her muffled voice, offering her help. but it’s white noise to the way rhiannon looks as she cums. her back arches and she puts her hand back over her mouth as she rides out the waves of her orgasm on your tongue. you’re lucky; she somehow manages to cum in silence. otherwise, you’re both sure, lana would’ve definitely heard…

you know by the way she later grabs you by the arm and guides you back to her car that you’re in for something when you get back home.

[daryltwdixon]

The Heart of Us: Chapter 12

warnings!!! this chapter contains smut!!!

wanted to give it a try and see how everyone liked this, but I'm also thinking of taking it out and keeping it clean as usual. lmk your thoughts please!

Daryl

Daryl walks with Y/N along the wall of Alexandria into the early evening, the shadows of the massive steel panels stretching long across the ground. The quiet hum of the community buzzes faintly behind them— people chatting on their porches, working in the gardens, kids running around and dogs barking. The noise still feels weird, but between the two of them, it’s just asphalt under their boots as he tries to steady your breathing.

He feels her cast a glance at him, his shoulders hunched slightly, his crossbow slung lazily across his back. His hair falls in messy strands that catch the last bits of light as he trudges alongside her, every step radiating irritation. He can tell that she's not much better off—her hands flexing and curling into fists at her sides as if trying to physically wring out the tension still humming through your veins.

“You gonna tell me what the hell happened out there?” Daryl asks suddenly, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the thick silence. His eyes dart to Y/N, sharp and searching.

She exhales heavily, her jaw tightening as she pushes your hair back from her face. “It was stupid,” she mutters, not quite meeting his gaze. “Aiden and Nicholas thought it’d be a good idea to tie up walkers. As some kind of... ritual. A ‘pregame,’ they called it. Then they lost control of one.”

His pace slows slightly, his head tilting as his expression darkens. “They what?”

“They tried to tie it up again,” she snaps, irritation lacing her voice. “And when it broke loose, the asshole practically threw it at me. Glenn backed me up,”

Daryl stops walking, turning to face her fully. His mouth opens as if to say something, but instead, his hands flex at his sides, his jaw working as he grinds his teeth. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous as he looks back in the direction they came from, “Should’ve broken their damn arms.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “It’s not worth it,” you say, though the words feel hollow. “I don’t want to deal with them. But... Glenn, Tara, Noah—they’re stuck with those idiots if I’m not there. I don’t want to leave them hanging.”

Daryl narrows his eyes at her, his irritation shifting to something sharper. “You think I care ‘bout them bein’ stuck with those pricks? I care ‘bout you, alright?” He takes a step closer, his voice rising slightly. “You almost got killed. That ain’t happenin’ again.”

Her lips press into a thin line, the annoyance bubbling back up. “Daryl—”

“No,” he cuts her off, shaking his head. “You ain’t goin’ out on those runs anymore. Not with them.”

She crosses her arms, glaring at him. “So what, I just sit here? Watch everyone else deal with their shit while I hide behind these walls?”

“You ain’t hidin’,” he growls, his gaze locking on hers. “You’re keepin’ alive.”

She exhales harshly, the fight in her dampened slightly by the look in his eyes. It’s not just anger—it’s fear, the kind that ties knots in stomachs. He doesn’t back down, though, his stance firm and unyielding. She rubs at the back of your neck, glancing at the ground. Maybe she's realizing she'd feel the same way if it happened to him.

“Fine,” she finally mutters reluctantly, “But you better believe I’m not happy about it.”

“Didn’t think ya would be,” he says, his voice softening just slightly. “But I ain’t losin’ you ‘cause of some damn fools who don’t know what they’re doin’.”

The silence stretches between them, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable. After a moment, Y/N glances toward the gate, then back at Daryl, “Let's go hunt.” she offers, and his eyes find you again, “Clear our heads–it felt good to be out there, despite everything.”

He nods, his lips twitching in what might’ve been the start of a smirk. “’Bout time.”

Together, they make your way to the gate. Sasha stands nearby, leaning against the wall with her rifle slung across her chest. She glances at the two of them, her expression sharp and unreadable, but she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she just gives a slight nod, her gaze lingering as they slip through the opening and into the woods beyond.

The quiet of the trees greets him like an old friend, the tension in his chest easing slightly as the forest wraps around them. Daryl walks ahead, his steps lighter now, more deliberate. She follows close behind, the sounds of Alexandria fading with every step, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. For the first time since stepping back inside those walls, he starts to feel like himself again.

➳

The woods stretch out, quiet and still, as Daryl keeps his pace steady. The golden light from the setting sun filters through the canopy, dappling the ground in warm hues. The air feels different out here—cleaner, freer—and the irritation that had been simmering in his chest since the scene at the gate begins to fade, little by little. The crunch of leaves under his boots and the faint dampness in the air feel familiar, grounding, like slipping back into an old habit.

He glances over his shoulder, just to check. She’s there, walking a few steps behind him, her movements lighter, more measured now that the tension of Alexandria is behind her. The sight of her out here—away from those walls, those people—makes something in his chest ease. She belongs in the woods, same as him.

Daryl keeps moving, scanning the ground and the edges of the trees for any sign of game. It’s not just about the hunt—it’s about shaking off the day, the frustration still buzzing low in his blood.

“Y’think you’ll get anything?” she asks after a while, her voice soft enough not to disturb the quiet.

He doesn’t look back this time, his eyes sweeping the forest floor. “Dunno,” he mutters, keeping his tone low. “‘Least I ain’t stuck in there listenin’ to their bullshit.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, and he catches it, faint but sharp enough to pull at the corner of his mouth. His pace slows as he spots a clearing up ahead, and he veers toward it, scanning for signs of movement or fresh tracks.

The ground tells the story first. Daryl stops and crouches, his fingers brushing over a faint trail in the dirt. Hoofprints. He studies them, tracing the edges with his fingertips, feeling the soft crumble of the soil. Fresh. He frowns slightly, piecing together the direction and size as he gauges how far the deer might’ve gone. It’s a good trail—something to focus on, something to quiet the irritation still simmering low in his gut.

But then he glances up, and the thought disappears like smoke.

She’s leaning casually against a tree, her arms crossed over her chest, more comfortable than he’s seen her the past few days. Except she’s not wearing the flannel he’d made her throw on earlier—the one he’d pulled from her hips when she’d said goodbye to him before her run. No, now it’s just her damn tank top, damp from the heat of the evening and clinging in all the wrong—no, all the right—places.

His jaw tightens as his gaze flicks over her quickly, like he’s trying to look without actually looking. But it’s damn near impossible not to notice the way the sweat beads lightly on her collarbone, catching the fading sunlight. Or the way the fabric molds to her chest, perfectly outlining what he’s trying so hard not to think about. Braless. As fucking always.

She’d be the death of him.

Daryl curses under his breath, looking back down at the tracks like they’ve got the answer to his problems. They don’t. Not even close. He shifts his weight, adjusting his crossbow on his shoulder and trying to get a grip on himself.

“Find somethin’?” she asks softly from behind him, her voice cutting through the quiet and slicing through his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he mutters, not looking up this time. “Tracks. Fresh.” He stands, brushing his hand on his pants and glancing to the side, deliberately avoiding her gaze. But when she steps closer, right into his space, his breath catches despite himself. He should be used to this by now—the way she affects him so deeply, how just a little skin showing has his pulse hammering in his ears.

He can feel her eyes on him, curious and unbothered, like she doesn’t have the faintest idea what she’s doing to him just by standing there. His fingers twitch at his sides, his jaw tightening as he swallows hard, forcing himself to focus.

“You okay?” she asks, her tone dipping just slightly, and it sends a ripple through him he’s not prepared for.

“’M fine,” he grunts, his voice harsher than he means it to be. But he can’t help it—can’t help the way her presence makes his pulse race, the way the heat from her skin seems to reach him even though she’s not touching.

“You sure?” she presses, stepping even closer now, her brows furrowed slightly, like she’s trying to read his thoughts.

He doesn’t answer, just looks at her finally—really looks—and it’s a mistake. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat, a few strands of hair sticking to her neck. And that damn tank top. His eyes flicker down to her chest again, just for a second, and the sight sends a jolt through him, making his heart thunder and his body tighten in ways he can’t ignore.

“Ya shouldn’t’ve taken off that flannel,” he mutters, his voice rough and uneven as he looks away again, his ears burning.

She raises an eyebrow, and he can see the faint smirk pulling at her lips. “Why not? It’s hot.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, shifting uncomfortably, “you’re gonna get scratched up or somethin’. Ain’t safe.” He’s rambling now, and he knows it, but it’s better than admitting the real reason.

She doesn’t let him off that easy. “Pretty sure I’ll survive,” she teases, her voice soft but pointed, and she takes another step closer.

Daryl tenses, every muscle in his body coiling tight. She’s so damn close now, close enough that he can smell the faint salt of her sweat mixed with the woods around her. He clenches his fists at his sides, the effort of keeping his hands to himself almost painful.

“Y/N…” he growls low, a warning he doesn’t even know how to finish.

Her smirk widens, and she tilts her head, like she’s daring him to finish the thought. “What, Dixon?” she asks, her voice dipping into something that sends his restraint snapping like a twig underfoot.

He catches the glimmer of her wedding ring on her finger in the fading light peeking through the trees. His wife. His.

Without thinking, he stands and closes the gap between them, his hands finding her waist and pinning her back against the tree behind her. He makes sure to keep her head from ricocheting against the harsh bark, one hand cupping the back of her head as he leans her back. She lets out a soft gasp, her eyes going wide for a split second before they darken, her lips parting in a way that damn near ruins him.

“You,” he mutters, his voice rough as gravel, “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

Daryl’s hands then grip her waist tightly, his calloused fingers rough against the bare skin peeking out beneath her tank top. His body presses her firmly against the tree, chest pressing against his, and he feels her hardening nipples against the fabric of his shirt, making him groan against your lips as he catches them with his own. He’s near desperate and unrelenting– kissing Y/N like he’s been starving for it, even if he’d had her all to himself just yesterday. Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and a low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat. His hips press into hers, the hard line of him against her hips and stomach, causing her to gasp against his lips.

But as his lips trail down her neck, his stubble scraping against her soft and trembling skin, he hears her whimper, her voice coming out breathless, “Daryl... we can’t. Not out here.”

His head snaps up, and his eyes find hers, dark and almost feral, “Why the hell not?” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly as his thumb brushes her hip bone, dipping just under the waistband of her pants.

She glances around the woods, her breaths coming quick. “We’re out in the open,” she hisses, your voice wavering, his mouth returns to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “What if someone, what if walkers—”

“Then you better keep quiet,” he growls into her ear, his voice rough and commanding, and he feels her shiver against him.

Before she can even argue, his lips claim hers again, silencing whatever protest she might’ve had. His hands move with purpose, sliding under her tank top, fingers brushing over the bare skin that’s been driving him crazy all damn day. When he cups her breasts, his thumb and forefinger twisting hardened nipples, and a low groan escapes him. He kneads and grips at her, rough but deliberate, as if he’s been holding himself back for too long.

Her back arches into him, and her mouth parts instinctively, letting him push his tongue between her lips, exploring and tasting. Spearmint. The flavor hits him, sharp and unexpected—a change from the days on the road when brushing your teeth was a luxury. It’s new, fresh, and he ravages the taste of it as his hands keep working her, his rough palms skimming the soft, plump curves of her chest.

The way she presses into him, her body moving perfectly with his, sends heat rushing through him, and his lips move to her neck, his teeth scraping along your skin before his tongue soothes the marks. Her hands fall to his belt, fumbling with the buckle as his hips grind into hers, the rough bark of the tree biting into her back, only amplifying the heat of his body against hers.

His breath is hot against her collarbone, and he mutters, voice thick with want, “C’mon…” His hands slide lower, gripping the backs of Y/N's thighs and hoisting her up slightly. She clings to him, her legs tightening instinctively as he pins her more firmly against the tree. “Ain’t no one out here but us.”

Her head falls back, exposing more of her neck to him, and he takes full advantage, his mouth trailing lower. His teeth nipping just below her collarbone before his tongue sweeps over the skin, soothing the sting. Her breath hitches, and when she bites your lip to stifle a moan, it nearly undoes him.

“Daryl…” she groans, your fingers digging into his shoulders, her voice shaky and strained. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he mutters into her skin, his lips quirking into a smirk as he pushes the tank top higher. It was the second time she'd said it to him today, and he was starting to think she might only be saying it to feign your reluctance. His mouth trails along the curve of her chest, taking a nipple between his lips, tongue lapping at the hard bud, leaving heat in its wake. “And you love it.”

She doesn't bother denying it, and he doesn’t need to hear it. The way her nails pull at his hair, scraping his scalp enough that the tug makes him groan, and the way she presses into him, needy and desperate, tell him everything he needs to know. 

Every touch, every kiss, snaps the tension between them like a live wire. His head comes back up, eyes wild as he looks at her, his breath ragged as he growls low in her ear, his voice dripping with arousal. “You gonna stay quiet for me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “or do I need to remind you how?”

She whimpers, nodding frantically, her lips parting as she tries to catch her breath. The look on her face—needy, pleading—nearly makes him crumble, but he holds it together, driven by the way her body arches into him, asking—begging— for more. His pants fall to the forest floor, his rough hands letting go of her perfectly taut and heavy breasts to push her shorts down next. His hands move to her waistband, yanking her pants lower with a roughness that makes her gasp, his calloused fingers brushing her skin, leaving trails of heat that seem to burn right through her. He doesn’t bother with finesse, taking only one leg out of the pant legs before hoisting it up around his waist.

Daryl’s hand moves down, his thick fingers brushing against her slick center, and he groans, low and guttural, when he feels how wet she is for him. The sound comes from deep in his throat, more animal than man, and his head drops to her shoulder for a moment as he savors the feeling of her arousal coating his fingertips.

“All this fer me?” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, barely audible through the heat and tension thrumming between them. His words are almost a growl, the disbelief and desire in his tone making her body tremble. She clings to him, panting as she nods, her nails biting into his shoulders now, silently pleading for more.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice shaking, and the word pushes him closer to the edge of control.

He pulls his hand back, his fingers curling around himself, fisting a few times as his forehead presses against hers again. He lines himself up with her, the tip teasing at her entrance, and then he pushes in, slow and steady, letting out a ragged breath as he feels her take him in, inch by inch. Her head falls back against the tree, jaw slackening as a soft, stifled cry escapes her lips. The tight, wet heat of her around him nearly undoes him, and it takes everything in him not to lose himself right then.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice strained as his hands grip her hips, holding her steady. “You feel so fuckin’ good, girl.”

She bites your lip, her hands gripping tighter at his shoulders as he starts to move, his hips rolling into her slow and deliberate. The friction sends sparks through both of them, every thrust drawing a muffled gasp from her lips as her nails dig into him again. He fights the urge to speed up, to let go completely. He knows the woods aren’t safe enough for him to let her scream the way he loves to hear when they're alone, but it’s hard to hold back when she feels this good.

Daryl leans in, his lips brushing against her neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Gotta keep quiet, remember?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his hips grind against her a little harder, making her shudder against him. “Can’t have the dead hearin’ how good I’m makin’ ya feel.”

Her breath hitches, and she nods again, her thighs tightening around him as he thrusts into her deeper, harder now, his control fraying with every muffled sound she makes. His lips trail down to her collarbone, sucking and biting lightly, leaving marks he knows he'll see later. Marks that’ll remind everyone that she's his and no one else’s. His grip tightens on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he drives into her with a rough, deliberate rhythm, every thrust making her body press harder against the bark of the tree. His lips brush against the curve of her ear again, his voice a low, gravelly growl.

“Ain’t no one ever gonna touch you but me,” he mutters, her hair tickling his lips. He feels her clench around him at his hot breath against her skin, the words he growls, “Those fuckin’ pricks think they can control you, swing at you… they try anything like that again, I’ll break every damn bone in their bodies.”

He takes her soft earlobe between his teeth, his words laced with raw possession and need. “You hear me? You’re mine. Always been mine.”

Her nails dig into his shoulders, sharp enough to sting, but it only pushes him further. The way she clings to him, her breath coming in soft gasps against his neck, makes his chest tighten and his hips slam into her harder. The sound of her voice—breathless, desperate—is a damn drug, and he’s too far gone to hold back.

“They don’t get to touch what’s mine,” he growls, his lips now traveling down her jaw, “Don’t even get to fuckin’ think about it.” His words come out rough, thick with everything he’s feeling—anger, possession, need.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming in short, hot bursts. Her eyes meet his, hooded and hazy with arousal, and it drives him insane, “I’ll make sure they never forget it.”

He slams into her harder, his hands rough as he holds her hips, his lips crashing into hers again. It’s messy and all-consuming, and his words keep tumbling out between ragged breaths and kisses.

The way she shudders against him, the way she whimpers in response, almost brings him to the edge once again, but he's not done. His hands grip her even tighter, his thumbs pressing into her skin hard enough that he knows it’ll leave marks. The thought of it—his marks on you, his claim—elicits another growl from his chest.

Her lips part, and the sound of his name falls from her mouth like a prayer. “I’m yours, Daryl,” she pants, hanging onto him with desperation. “All yours.”

She cling to him, your her arching as he can feel her nearing close and closer to her finish. His growls mix with her muffled cries, the two of them moving together in a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing.

“My wife ,” he breathes, his voice breaking, and he presses his lips to hers again, rough and hungry. She's his, and he’ll do anything—hurt, kill anyone—to keep it that way.

His hand slides down to the back of her knee, lifting her higher, adjusting the angle just enough to make her gasp sharply into his mouth. He takes advantage of the sound, swallowing it with another deep kiss as he thrusts into her harder, deeper. The friction between them is electric, every roll of his hips drawing a muffled cry from her lips that makes him burn hotter.

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters against her lips, his voice rough and raw as his hips snap into her again. “Take it. Take all of me.”

She clings tighter to him, her body arching and moving with his in perfect rhythm, every inch of her responding to him like she was made for this—made for him. The tension in his gut builds sharp and fast, coiling tighter with every muffled sound she makes, every time her nails rake over his skin.

Her thighs tighten around him, and he knows she's close, feels it in the way her body shakes and clenches around him. He buries his face in her neck, his lips dragging along her skin, his breath hot and uneven.

“C’mon,” he growls into her ear, his voice breaking as he thrusts harder, faster, losing himself completely. “Cum with me. Let me feel you, baby. Let me fuckin’ feel it.”

Y/N's body responds, tensing and arching into him as she cries out his name, her release hitting her hard. He clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the cries, but he can hardly control himself. The way she flutters around him, the way her nails dig into him as she falls apart, is all it takes to send him over the edge. His hips stutter, and he buries himself deep one last time, his own release crashing through him like a tidal wave.

He groans low in her ear, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he holds her against the tree, both of them shaking and breathless. For a moment, the world is quiet except for the sound of her ragged breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat pounding in his chest. His forehead presses against hers again, his eyes slipping shut.

“You good?” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, his hands still gripping her thighs, letting both of them catch their breath together, intertwined in more ways than one.

She nods, fingers brushing lightly through his damp hair, and he lets out a breathy laugh, rough and low in his chest. “M’sorry,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over your skin as he opens his eyes. “Get a little…”

“I loved it,” she chuckles softly, cutting him off, her voice filled with warmth. “I’m yours. I love you.” Her breath wafts over his face, and his eyes darken at the admission, as if it’s the first time he’s hearing it. “But you know I can handle those pricks, don’t ya?”

His lips twitch, curving into a faint smile as he gently sets her back down, his hands steadying until her legs find balance. He lingers, his thumb brushing her waist before he lets go, watching as she readjusts her clothes. “Yeah,” he says finally, tugging his pants back up and fastening them. “But I ain’t gonna stand and watch ‘em try to throw punches at you, neither.”

She huffs out a soft laugh, grabbing the flannel she'd tossed aside earlier and shrugging it back on. As she buttons it, his fingers catch her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. The lazy, hooded smile on her face makes his heart skip, and the heat in her eyes stirs a flicker of something that hasn’t quite settled yet.

His lips brush hers again, this time soft and unhurried, savoring the moment, drawing it out. When he pulls back, his rough fingers linger on her jaw for just a second longer than necessary. “���nd I love ya too,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm.

Releasing her face, he steps back and adjusts his crossbow back onto his shoulder. “Now,” he says, the familiar gruffness returning to his tone, “let’s find dinner.”

She smirks, smoothing down her flannel as she glances around the quiet woods. “Sure we didn’t scare it off?”

He huffs out a dry laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If we did,” he mutters, his eyes trailing over her one last time, “reckon it was worth it.”

[lunarruled]

Hearing Daryl tell her that he doubted he would ever get tired of her didn't exactly put to rest the voice in her head that told her that everyone got tired of her at some point, but it did quiet it down enough for her to enjoy their meal together. He didn't start immediately choking on the food either so that let her know that he wasn't lying about it being okay. Not that she thought he lied about anything when it came to her but it was her own mind that twisted every single good thing around that came her way. Since she didn't know how to reply to what he said she just nodded quickly, a desire to melt into the ground consuming her by the seconds.

She couldn't exactly say why but it was different now that they were back home. True it was just the two of them in the house but it felt like everyone was just right outside the windows, watching their every move. That wasn't the case, but out in that cabin it truly had felt like freedom. Telling herself that she just had to push all of that nonsense out of her mind and enjoy this rare moment of domestic normalcy with Daryl, the half lycan relaxed her shoulders and let out a deep breath (without trying to spit food everywhere).

At the mention of his bed not being that small here she giggled, her hand immediately coming up to muffle the sound. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at that! Just remembering how uncomfortable you looked back at the cabin when we squeezed into that bed together. Although you did keep me nice and warm all night." Her own face was bright as a tomato as she snuck a glance over at him. She had been too bashful that night to attempt a move, but maybe the next time (which would hopefully be very soon) she would work up the courage. "You know, I keep coming around and people might start to talk. Would that bother you?" It had started out as a tease but she really did want to know. Not that it was anyone's business what happened between them, but the last thing Kyleigh wanted was to make Daryl feel uncomfortable in his own home.

"I doubt I'd ever get tired'a ya," he admitted before he could stop himself. He slowed his bite and gave a cautious glance her way. He feigned interest in his food a moment as he picked through it.

He was glad when she started digging in too. It kept the rising embarrassment at bay. Somehow it was different at home than out at his cabin. He felt freer without the added pressure of the rest of the community around - whether or not they were really around or not.

"Ya know ya don't have ta have a reason ta come 'round," he continued almost shyly, pushing past his worries. He'd already confessed his feelings. Could he really damage what they had by opening up more? "I'll have just 'cuz," he added with a half smirk. "N'here tha bed ain't so small," he only half-joked, turning his attention back to his food so she wouldn't see the soft heat starting to color his cheeks.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hi! Newbie here🙈 it took me months to send my first request. Can I request something like witch Thena randomly seeing Gilgamesh in the forest and playing with her magic so she randomly turned him into a baby bear. And of course she had to face the consequences of taking care of him because bear Gil doesn't leave her alone, he always finds his way to Thena. So Thena finally gave up and took care of him, she hated it at first but bear Gilgamesh is just so cute and is all clingy to her and would also throw cute tantrums. She had to endure how messy bear Gil eats and how he needs to be cuddled up to sleep. And each night Thena tries to put a spell or a potion on him and at one point there's this last potion she has left and it didn't work. Bear Gil was just teary when it didn't work on him and Thena just had to apologize because she turned a random person into a bear forever, she could only cuddle him to sleep. But when she woke up, she wasn't expecting that the small bear she was cuddling last night was back into its original form and still cuddling with her.

And thank you! I hope this is not a lot, bye😭🙈

Thena huffed as a nose nudged her elbow. "What?"

The bear whined/growled at her, her cloak between his teeth.

She sighed. There was once a time she would have given it her coldest glare and yelled at it to get away from her. But she accepted the cloak before pulling it around her shoulders, "thank you."

The bear moaned before lumbering across the fire from her. He sat patiently, knowing how this worked by now.

It was far from their first attempt to change him back into a human.

If she knew how she had turned him in the first place, she would undo it. But it had been reactive--instinctive! She had felt a presence in the precious isolation of her northern forest and responded by sending out a burst of magic as a hand grasped her shoulder. Then, the next thing she knew, there was a small bear lying in the snow.

He was all paws, at first. Clumsy, unused to this body. She reasoned that time as a bear would do him some good! Humans were such terrible creatures, no magic at all, unconnected from the elements and the world around them.

But the bear toddled after her, whining and growling in its frustration. She had slammed her door in its face at first. But when the chill of the night set in, as did her guilt. She had only intended to let it in to warm by her fire for the night. Then she would find it a new home.

But the bear made itself at home. He got into her honey, pawed at her spell books, even made his way to her bed to snuggle up to her! She had half a mind to turn it into a mealyworm for that, but maybe its pitiful little face had gotten to her. She said just that night!

Now it was later, a number of new moons past. She couldn't undo it--she couldn't even figure out what exactly she had done to cause it! And the creature once a human trapped as a bear cub was now a midsize bear. He had acclimated to his new form, and cooperated as she tried to find ways to undo her magic.

It wasn't a spell, because spells wore off, or changed with the condition of the subject. It wasn't a hex, that couldn't be completed by reflex alone. And it wasn't a curse, because nothing had happened to her in the process. Nothing tethered her life to his.

But she had a duty to him, nonetheless. He had gotten too big for her bed, but he still slept by her hearth every night, she still shared her meals and they tried spells and potions every night together.

"This might be it," she dared to speak aloud as the steam from the potion receded. Its colour turned, and she could practically see her face in the surface of the viscous matter. She picked up a ladle of it and offered the bowl.

The bear sniffed it and recoiled, sticking out its tongue.

"Oh, stop," she chided him, still holding it out.

He puffed through his nose before accepting it in his paws. They were twice the size of her hands, now. He sniffed at it a little more before taking a lick.

She smiled as he flinched. "It's steaming hot, you."

He made a variety of sounds, and she wondered if she would ever know what he sounded like as a human. He set the bowl down and took a mouthful of snow before eating the potion with his grotesque teeth.

Thena held her breath, gripping the edges of her cloak as they waited for a reaction. The wind even this far up the mountain was chilly, but he was now to the size where they didn't really want to experiment with spells inside the cottage. The last one had doubled the volume of his fur, creating a mess that took her a week to clean in total.

He looked around him for a few moments, then at his paws, before slumping down in the snow again. It didn't work.

Thena looked down at her feet in the snow as well. Yet another failure. It wasn't just the potion, it was how truly saddened he seemed. Perhaps he was yearning for home. Perhaps it was nearing a time in his human life of significant importance. She hadn't exactly gotten around to asking if he had a family waiting for him.

The bear sat up again, although his ears had a heavy droop to them. He moaned faintly, his breath showing in the cold air from his muzzle.

Thena's throat clenched. For every time that didn't work, this was the worst. Their hopes had been high, and after more than half a year, she really did think she had found the right mix.

She had even gotten his hopes up about it. They had read the spell book together, gathered the ingredients. She had told him that perhaps this would do it--a potion to revert the development of cells. Technically it was for unpickling a vegetable, but she had done her research, and she was confident she could use it on a living subject.

She had practised on fish! All of which went to him as a meal to reward him for his help. But she had successfully used it.

"I'm so sorry."

The bear lifted its head, and even seated, he could see eye to eye with her. Even the breath from his wet black nose was visible in the air.

"I thought-" she pressed her lips shut as her throat squeezed again. She had no right to cry. It was his life which had been changed irreparably. She moved her hand to his head, rubbing the soft black fur there and around his much softer ears. When he would sneak into her bed for warmth, she would play with them while he slept. "I thought this would be the one."

The bear bellowed gently, moving his snout to brush his nose against her cheek before resting his head on her shoulder. His arm tucked her closer to him, his paw hanging loosely so he wouldn't claw her by accident. Bears had amazingly warm bodies.

Thena sighed against his neck. He smelled much better now than he did when he was small, always getting his food everywhere and needing to be brushed. She patted his shoulder, "come on."

He followed her silently, kicking snow up with his paws behind him to douse their fire. It was a sombre occasion; they could come back for her cauldron in the morning.

Thena tried to keep her tears at bay as they walked back into the cottage. She hung up her cloak while her companion lumbered right over to the fire. He dropped down on the rug she had woven for him more heavily than ever. Her heart twisted again.

He stirred as he felt her against his back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, pressing the tears she couldn't contain into his fur. He huffed and she nuzzled into him until it rustled her hair, "I'm sorry I have altered your life so. It was never my intention."

He didn't exactly have a reply for her.

"I won't stop," she promised, leaning more heavily against his shoulder. She was exhausted. "I won't stop until I change you back."

Even if he was a human. Even if he hated her. Even if he yelled and screamed at her as soon as he was back to being a man. She couldn't blame him for it, now could she? Even if he returned with a pitchfork to burn their cottage to the ground.

No: her cottage.

She had brought him into her home. But for him, this was just a shelter from the cold, after she had turned him into a beast. Surely he was yearning for his own home. Was he missing a wife who would say soft things to him at night? Did he have children who asked every night where their father had gone? Did their mother tell them stories of wicked witches who snapped away handsome men to be their familiar servants for all their lives?

She would try the potion again. She would test it more. She would test it on more species, larger and more varied. If a witch's life was devoted to magic and the pursuit of its endless knowledge, then she had a new mission. Her only reason for all her days forward was helping this bear become a man again. A man who would hate her and curse her name for generations to come.

She had no idea how she could sleep at all with thoughts like that in her head. But she had indeed slept, her face buried in the bear's soft fur, smelling of the smoke from the fire. But he was just so warm. She nuzzled her face against it again, even coming her fingers through it.

It didn't feel the same, though. And he wasn't as soft as he had felt the night before, either. She winced as she tried to drag herself awake. Potions still required magic, and creating a new potion or casting a new spell every night had her at her limit.

"You okay?"

"Hm," she sighed, blinking as the sun hit her eyes. She was still on the floor, she realised as she looked up at the hearth, eating up the smoke from the fire that had gone out in the night. She should have been freezing, though, if that were the case. Why wasn't she in her bed? She was on the floor. She was on...a chest.

Her head shot up. It wasn't her bear, with his massive black eyes and cold, wet nose. It was a human. A human man with a face, and a smile. It was a nice smile. He had a soft voice.

"Hey."

[haarute]

had a bad bout with mother ✌️

[lil-kissy]

Fluff, Drama, Lighthearted or Dark

FMA, Wonderland, Ygo or anything in between

I wanna plot gdi.

Look I love short n sweet interactions, quick asks and small threads they're all great but I'm going to be perfectly honest. I Miss plotted stuff.

I miss a single lengthy thread, or continues story beats and plots over multiple. I want progression.

Character Growth- for all muses, the world and story building, relationship growth/bonding. The good, the bad, the happy , the sad and everything else that comes with those types of threads.

Quite frankly that's what I want more then anything in regards to Kisara, future of the blog, general desire/rp interest.

This isn't to say I want to stop or won't continue doing small stuff, answering asks and sending that. I'm always for those especially as good buffers whether as a break from a current thread, a lull in motivation, life getting in the way of being able to focus on lengthy things you know whatever.

I'll always be 110% on board for any and every interaction nor am I discounting the enjoyment they've brought in the past, I love everyone one of you guys and everyone of our interactions has been a joy to do and always will be.

But I'm gonna be real it has been far to long since I last did like a properly plotted thread, a fun long continuous thread that didn't end up dying out or forgotten real quick.

Just wanted to let everyone know this is what I've really been feeling and really wanting to try and lean into more not just for her but in general with my rping as whole this year.

But especially here cause in part the fragmented one shot mini threads while always fun they kinda end up all over the place and I'd love to be able to start creating some kind of time line? do interactions that will actually carry over from one to the next, consequences for actions, lasting affects of things good or bad between threads (which I already have been trying to do that with some of her interactions and not just let them sit in a unconnected nebulous zone of their own heh)

[thisbarbieisan80srockstar]

have I ever mentioned how much I hate portrait drawing in college art classes?? I always feel like I know how to draw until my teacher comes back around and makes me feel like a freaking idiot who doesn't know what the "planes of the nose" are. soME of us don't have art degrees yet and have spent years learning about it

[dredshirtroberts]

y'know that post that's like everyone's got their special super power or whatever, it might just look a little different from the super hero movies? right?

yeah my bio family's version of that is Impeccably Bad Timing

[cherrygirlfriend]

answer the call pairing: reader x bsf!rafe synopsis: rafe fucking his best friend while she's on the phone with her boyfriend warnings: smut, piv, unprotected sex, possessive rafe MDNI! - wc: 1k it's the fourth day of my birthday week celebration!!! god, i spent the entire day running around my apartment doing chores bc i refuse!!! to do chores on my actual birthday n now i'm so tired i might go right to sleep ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

rafe had you on all fours on your canopy bed, holding onto one of the posts for dear life as he pounded into you, the bed swaying every time he thrust his cock into you, one of his hands gripping onto your hair while the other rested on your ass, occasionally giving it a sharp smack, causing you to let out a noise that was between a gasp and a yelp.

"aww, look at you." rafe cooed mockingly with a tug at your hair, the blonde panting behind you "so fucking desperate for me to fuck you. bet your little loser boyfriend can't fuck you like you need to be fucked, hm?"

you hated the words that were leaving his lips, but you couldn't deny that he was right; your boyfriend definitely couldn't satisfy you the way rafe always seemed to be able to do, he couldn't hit that spongy spot that caused you to curl your toes, or rub your clit in the way that caused your back to arch off the bed. not like rafe did.

"say it," rafe commanded, "say that he can't-"

rafe let out an annoyed growl when he was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. his initial plan was to tell you to ignore it, but when he saw who it was, he got a whole new idea, a grin taking over your lips.

"answer it."

"w-what?" you looked back at rafe with furrowed brows, thinking that he must be joking, but as he continued to pound into you, there was no sign of hesitation on his face, only a wide, cruel grin.

you reached for your phone from the nightstand, rafe slowing his pace as you looked at the caller id with widened eyes, almost waiting for it to change into something else, but clear as day, there was your boyfriend's name, along with the contact photo you set for him, a picture of you two taken at a carnival.

"do it before i do it for you." rafe mumbled as he bent to press a small kiss to the back of your neck, grabbing your ass roughly. and hesitantly, you pressed the green button visible on the screen as rafe pulled out of you.

"h-hi, babe." you said, trying your best to steady your breathing as rafe teased your entrance with the tip of his cock, the hand that was in your hair just moments ago going down to rub your clit.

"hey, everything good?" the voice on the other line asked, and you had to hold back a moan by biting down on your lip as rafe's middle finger brought some of your arousal to your clit, starting to slowly rub the puffy bud.

"yeah, everything's good." you chuckled, "i was just working out."

when you said that, you felt rafe's tip slowly starting to enter you, stretching your walls as you tried not to let out any noise, your boyfriend going on a tirade about something that you honestly couldn't give two shits about at that moment.

rafe continued moving in and out of you, at first at a slow pace, slowly building it up; all the while your boyfriend was talking, and you occasionally let out noncommittal hums and 'mmhm's, but the harder rafe was fucking you, the harder it was to concentrate on anything other than him, and trying to keep quiet felt like rocket science at that point, and you were starting to taste blood in your mouth from how hard you were biting down on your lip.

"i-i gotta go." you said into the phone, nearly panting, "i'll see you later." you said, hanging up before he could even get a word in, feeling the band in your stomach getting closer and closer to snapping, letting out a moan you'd held in for too long the moment that you were off the call as rafe started pounding into you relentlessly.

"say it." rafe commanded behind you, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind hazy with pleasure, confused as to what he was talking about. "say that your boyfriend can't fuck you the way i fuck you."

you were a panting mess as he continued hitting the spot inside of you that only he seemed able to reach; a part of you didn't want to say it, didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but the moment the palm of his hand landed on your ass, you yelped, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"h-he-"

"nuh-uh. your boyfriend."

you let out a small whine when he corrected you, trying to steady your erratic breathing as he continued thrusting in and out of you.

"m-my boyfriend... can't fuck me the way you do..."

"atta girl." rafe chuckled behind you, and the way his fingers continued circling your clit while he pounded into you from behind was getting almost overwhelming, and rafe could tell that you were getting closer by the way you were starting to clench around him, the blonde letting out a groan, "gonna come in this pretty pussy..." he mumbled, "she's practically begging me to... wants me to show her who she belongs to..."

a part of you wanted to protest, but you were so close that your mind was clouded by all the bliss he was making you feel, the world around you getting so hazy that you couldn't bring yourself to care as long as you got to come.

and as soon as you felt the band in your stomach snap, rafe's cock buried deep inside of you, he couldn't help the almost animalistic groan that left his lips, warm pumps of cum filling you up

[usuallydyinginside]

TLDR: Francesca Bridgerton is Autistic. Fight me.

Okay so I did not go into Season 3 of Bridgerton expecting to have any feelings about Francesca Bridgerton. We have seen her only in glimpses in the show and I have not read the books, so I knew basically nothing about her before binging the first four episodes.

But guys. GUYS. I will die for this autistic queen.

Okay, so starting with first impressions. We know that on her big day, Francesca went out of her way to avoid her nosy, loud family by having a very early, quiet breakfast by herself and then calming down via playing the piano (clearly a special interest of hers).

In her first balls, we see Francesca light up any time she talks about music (clearly her current or forever special interest) but as soon as men try to take it to a flirting place she IMMEDIATELY shuts down. It's clear that even as she states very matter-of-factly that she plans to marry this season, she also is baffled and uncomfortable any time someone tries to actually, ya know, court her.

At one of her first shindigs, she got attention and then went up to her brother and (while making almost no eye contact) told him (rather than asked him) that she needed a sec.

She then sat by herself in the side of the ballroom.

Later on, she left a ball in search of quiet and solitude to fix her sensory overload, so she went outside this time. (A thing that we know from pervious seasons is a HUGE no-no, particularly unchaperoned. But she was very respectfully near the door so maybe that's fine?) The point is that she cares very much about staying respectable so she can get this marriage thing over with and get people to stop perceiving her, yet she risks some scandal by going outside just so she can be somewhere quiet alone.

Enter: this absolute (also autistic) Prince Charming.

He says hello (so she knows he's not like trying to sneak up on her in the dark like a creep) and then just stands there. 10/10, no notes, best way to flirt I have ever seen in my life.

Seriously just look at this. I'm in love. Never before has there been a greater sign of love at first sight than in this "standing politely five feet apart in total silence in the middle of a ball and enjoying each other's company."

I need to go watch these first four episodes about a hundred more times, but I THINK this might be the first sincere smile we see from Francesca??!? I at least got the impression immediately that this is the first time she's felt genuinely comfortable and happy while not entirely alone this season.

Like, these nerds did not even exchange names. They barely exchanged a word. Yet you can see them falling head over heels in love right there in that moment. I don't even LIKE love at first sight tropes and they have my whole heart. They are the only exception.

Then, of course, you have this second absolutely iconic Scene of Silence where the entire Bridgerton family stares in neurotypical confusion a these two amazing weirdos. The way these two do not know each other but they DO know each other. The way they are both so happy and so comfortable but also still playing the whole society game the way they were told they had to?? I just don't have words right now.

LOOK AT HER SMILE, GUYSSSSSSSS.

Look how happy this tiny, silent moment is making her. How she understands immediately what he's doing and is absolutely delighted to participate too even knowing her entire family is hardcore judging them from not that far away.

And then you get this smug little look from him and it's like you can see his autistic ass thinking, "Yes. I calculated correctly. This was the correct romance option. Gold star to me." (Okay, maybe that's just how my brain works but shhhhh)

Which, of course, brings us to this absolutely hilariously awkward ND attempt at flirting. We start off with some fairly normal "whoops, I'm flustered cause you make me nervous" sort of moments, but notice how little eye contact she makes. How she only looks in his eyes very briefly and it seems like she almost has to remind herself to do so when she's doing the "polite" answers (OR later when she's genuinely interested in a topic).

So as soon as Francesca is like "oh shit, I ruined it. I forgot how to neurotypical. It's over" then she loses patience with the practiced social niceties.

I spent like 30 minutes trying to find a GIF and I should already be asleep so I'm not going to go learn how to make one BUT I needed to look up exactly what happens next cause it's basically the most autistic thing I've ever seen.

WHICH IS that in response to the second awkward silence after Francesca shares all of this, John's response is, "That is helpful. If you'll excuse me."

Then dude bro just WALKS AWAY WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD.

Like it would be awkward anyway but now Francesca thinks she misread a social cue so she's feeling sad, and meanwhile this absolute king is over here on a romantic mission no one asked him to do because he is that set on showing her he's listening and cares.

The man shows up at the ball and as soon as he had a paper we were all screaming "he wrote her a song!!!"

Again, notice the eye contact (or lack thereof). I think with period dramas and women, it's easy to just go "oh she's just shy" or "she's just being demure like she's supposed to" but like NO. This girl does not want to meet anyone's eyes.

Until she does. Because in moments where she's talking about music or enjoying quiet, it's worth it to purposefully meet his eyes and see how he's feeling too. To make sure he can see she's happy.

ANYWAY, it was so much better than him writing a song for her.

SO. MUCH. BETTER.

Because he didn't just give her any ol' music. He sought out the music they'd specifically heard in the street, and he took her exact specifications on what was "wrong" with the music, and he FIXED IT. He then put the whole thing on sheet music and handed her a copy with no further explanation than this.

Our autistic lass was so excited she basically sprinted out of that ball so she could find a piano. (Which, the fact that she does this rather than try to stay and flirt/dance with the man who just gave her this incredible gift ALSO says a lot, just saying. Daphne could never.)

So our girl finds a piano and GUYS. LOOK AT HOW HAPPY SHE IS.

I'm pretty sure this woman would accept a proposal right this second. Maybe make one herself. She is so head over heels in love with this man that it's absurd. We have watched her mask in these first four episodes, but the last two where she's interacting with John are the first times she seems genuinely happy and like the real her is shining through.

Like, does she enjoy her family? Sure. But it's obvious (and she even tells us) that she finds them overwhelming and generally to be A Lot. But these scenes? This gesture?

You can just get how seen she feels. How weird and wild and amazing it is to her that this man can see who she actually is and wants to join her there instead of making her play some part of the perfect Bridgerton who likes to be the center of attention.

(And even here - the EYE CONTACT. She glances at people when she's talking to them, but the way she looks at the sheet music is so much more intense and intimate and personal than anytime she's looking at the average person in the show. She still even in places she's most comfortable, such as sitting at the piano, makes very little eye contact and only at very specific moments.)

Anyway I'm going to sleep now but I'm sure I'll add more thoughts as they come to me. Feel free to add your own case for why Francesca is autistic and/or otherwise neurodivergent. I want to hear allllllll the thoughts.

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

[littlelamy]

Could you write a Rafe x reader fic where reader says she wants to spend more time with Rafe, but he gets upsets and says something mean in the heat of the moment. Reader is upset and stops "bothering" him and initially Rafe doesn't realise it, but he figures out you're ignoring him

Maybe with a fluffy HEA ending, but if you want to keep it angsty I'm also all for it (:

hope you like it! ⭐️ it was a quiet friday night when you finally found the courage to bring it up. things with rafe hadn’t been the same for a while. he was always out with friends or buried in work, his phone practically glued to his hand. you could see him drifting further and further away, and it left you feeling like an afterthought. you missed him, missed the little moments when he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world.

so, you decided to say something—softly, carefully—as the two of you sat on the couch with takeout boxes scattered around you.

“hey…baby,” you started, keeping your voice light. “i was thinking… it’d be nice if we could spend a little more time together, you know? just us.”

rafe barely looked up, shoveling food into his mouth. “what’re you talking about?” he mumbled through a bite. “we’re together now, aren’t we?”

you forced a smile. “yeah, but… i mean like actually spending time together. like doing something fun. or even just… talking.”

he let out an irritated sigh, setting his food down with a clatter. “are you serious right now? i’ve got so much shit to deal with, and you’re really gonna start whining about ‘spending time together’? Jesus, can you just not be so goddamn needy for once?”

the words hit you like a punch. you froze, staring at him, trying to process the fact that he’d actually said that. rafe’s face was already turned away, clearly oblivious to the way his words had cut through you.

you felt your throat tighten, but you managed to swallow back the hurt, forcing yourself not to react. the last thing you wanted was to give him more reason to see you as a burden. so, you nodded, blinking down at your food, even though you suddenly couldn’t eat a bite.

“sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. but rafe didn’t hear, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to ask you to repeat it. he’d already gone back to his phone, acting like the conversation had never even happened.

that night, you made a decision. if rafe wanted space, you’d give him space. you stopped asking him to go out with you, to spend time together, to do any of the little things you used to enjoy. when he came home late, you didn’t wait up. when he sat down on the couch, you found something else to do. if he wanted room, you’d make sure he had more than enough of it.

at first, rafe didn’t seem to notice the change. he thought you were just busy with work or hanging out with friends, maybe that you’d taken his words to heart. it wasn’t until a few days had passed that he started to feel the shift, the strange, nagging quiet in the air whenever you were around.

you were no longer the warm, lively presence you used to be, filling the silence with laughter, stories, and little gestures of affection. instead, you felt distant, almost guarded, your movements careful, like you were tiptoeing around him. you didn’t smile at him the way you used to; you didn’t light up when he came home. you’d become polite, restrained, keeping just enough distance that he felt it even when he didn’t want to.

one night, rafe came home late, expecting to see you in the living room with a book or a show. but the lights were dim, the place eerily silent, and when he checked the bedroom, you were already asleep. he stood there for a moment, feeling an odd pang of emptiness. he brushed it off, but as the days went by, the feeling gnawed at him more and more, leaving him with an ache he couldn’t ignore.

finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. one night, he found you alone in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea with your gaze far away. he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you, his expression unreadable.

“are you avoiding me or something?” he asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

you looked up, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a tight smile. “no, i’m not avoiding you, rafe. i just… didn’t want to bother you.”

that word—bother—hit him hard, dredging up the memory of his own callous words. he felt something twist in his chest as he realized what he’d done, how his careless anger had made you feel so small, like you didn’t even deserve to be there.

“fuck,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “look, i’m sorry, alright? i was a complete asshole, princess. i was stressed, and i took it out on you, and i shouldn’t have done that.”

you shrugged, your face guarded, unreadable. “it’s fine. i get it. you’re busy, and i didn’t want to get in your way.”

“Jesus, stop saying that,” he mumbled, stepping closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “you’re not in my way. you’re the only person who… who makes all this shit bearable. i just didn’t see it until you started pulling away.”

for a long moment, you said nothing, just staring at him, weighing his words. finally, he took a tentative step forward, reaching for your hand. when you didn’t pull away, he felt a flicker of hope.

“let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice rough. “i’ll cancel my plans this weekend. we’ll do whatever you want, i swear. just… give me another chance.”

your gaze softened, and a small, hesitant smile crept onto your lips. “alright. one chance.”

he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in a tight embrace, his relief flooding through him. you relaxed into him, and for the first time in days, you felt the warmth return, that aching void in your chest slowly filling up again.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, genuine. “i swear, i’ll never take you for granted again. you mean too fucking much to me.”

you let your head rest on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath you, his arms strong and comforting. and as he held you there, you felt the hurt start to fade, replaced by a quiet, growing hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole