#conscious usage

[attheideality]

Sustainable Living: How to Reduce Your Carbon Footprint with These 10 Home Tips

[zippityzap]

I have a mini fridge in my room, and this morning I was taking my medicine so I had taken a bottle of water from the fridge and kept the fridge door open for a moment.

The cat walks over, stood on her hind legs, and pushed the door closed. I am incredibly amazed and incredibly confused

[tony-andonuts]

Why do vibrators have to be so loud 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[willinglyghoulified]

Excerpt from Book 2, Chapter 16

Oops, super emotional Shaun piece. Enjoy this sappy dialogue. Warning: spoilers.

Full works here.

(v Dialogue Only v)

Shaun: My father's name was Shaun. My mother's was Madison. Father always used me as his model for the Perfect Synth. He hardly talked to me if I wasn't being studied in his lab. He didn't want my mother or the other scientists to get too attached to me. Both the Synth and I had free roam of the facility but were kept at arm's length. I could tell my mom wanted to spend time with me, but... And when I found out that Father was going to give that Synth to you, I... I got so angry! He was going to save the Synth and not me! I... killed it... I murdered it. Him. It was during the evacuation. I followed him after Father sent him to the Relay room, and... with my bare hands, I —

Gwen: Enough! Stop. Please.

Shaun: You must hate me. I do. Every day, I... wonder if that Synth felt as lonely as I did. But I was so afraid I wouldn't make it out alive if I didn't take his place...

Gwen: I don't hate you. I could never. I've come to love you too much. And I feel better knowing the truth. You should, too. You can't carry a secret like that with you forever. Look, we all have done things to survive. Unfortunately, it's a part of this world now. And you were scared.

Hancock: Kid, lemme tell ya somethin'. The first time I ever killed someone was when I was eighteen. I was high on Buffout, and angry as hell, too. I was tricked and used, and I wanted justice. It wasn't until later that I regretted what I did. No amount of runnin' from your past will wash the blood off your hands, but... it helps to find people that understand. Trust me when I say you're in good company. Heh, I won't front, shit never gets easier. But it's our job to make sure that every death meant somethin'.

Shaun: What did it mean when I killed the Synth? What did it mean? Was it worth it?

Hancock: You have to decide that for yourself, kid. Grownup actions come with grownup consequences...

Shaun: But I killed someone. He was just a kid, like me.

Gwen: Exactly. You're still just a kid. So for now, we'll let this go, yeah? You still have to rest up. And here's an idea: how about we start over?

Shaun: Okay... My real name's Liam Jude Isham.

Gwen: Funny. I wanted to name your father Jude when he was born, but your grandfather voted against it.

Liam: My mom picked it. And Hancock? I hope you're not mad at me.

Hancock: 'Course not. But now that we've got it all cleared up, your mom — I mean, your granny — needs to get some rest. It's way past her bedtime.

Gwen: Oh, don't you start that "grandma" bullshit. I'm still younger than you.

Liam: Hey...

Gwen: Yeah, hon?

Liam: As far as I'm concerned, you're still my parents.

[nicolanlang]

Did You Know You Can Save $1000 a Month with These Sustainable Living Tips?

Introduction Sustainable living is all about making conscious choices that are kinder to our planet. By adopting sustainable living practices, you not only help the environment but also enjoy the added benefit of saving money. Why Adopt Sustainable Living? Environmental Impact: Reducing waste, conserving resources, and minimizing pollution have a direct positive impact on our planet. Personal…

[freshlypeeled]

This morning my gf woke me up during a dream where I was sitting in a car with my dad and his father (who just passed a few weeks ago) while we listened to a woman on the radio who was analyzing one of the characters in the book I’ve been working on for the past decade. It was surreal because for one it was so vivid, and secondly she was using words that I’ve honestly never thought/used to explain the portion she was talking about, but everything was very accurate. It was super surreal and vivid.

[akuma-homura]

i have a deep, strong urge to start working on my own kaito v3 cover of Yanderenka

and I could probably restrain myself enough to do a simple enough video for it, esp since I don't actually have.... a muse idea for it. technically.

I mean I can imagine the situation but...

[7kh]

༉ vi finally has you.

cw — wlw, oral sex (f! receiving), strap usage, strap is referred to as ‘cock’, overstimulation. men and minors dni.

after so many visits to a particular bar to see a particular person, she finally has you exactly where she wanted you. finally.

with stolen glances, sly and slick smiles, flirtations exchanged had you laying on her bed, legs thrown over her shoulders as she ate you out like you were her first meal out of prison. like she could survive off of your sweetness alone.

you all but writhed under her touch, your sniffles and whines filling the room while vi messily ate your pussy accompanied it. a long and sensual lick from your slit to your clit has you arching your back from her, your attempts of backing away from her touch falling short as two strong and calloused hands held firmly around your waist. “don’t run. taste so fuckin’ good right now. been waiting f’this…” the vibrations of her voice made you tremble, having no choice but to sigh and buck up her hips to your touch, desperate to feel more of her tongue-fucking you.

as if she heard your silent plea, her nose rutted up to your clit, tongue delving deeper into your hole to find more of the delicious results of your arousal, begging for the taste like a starved man. “ooou fuucckk vi..” you whined, throwing your head back as tears blurred your vision. she took that as a chance to take one of the hands that were holding down on your waist to take your swollen clit, her thumb prodding and rubbing experienced circles on it that’s guaranteed to give her those sweet mewls that make her throb. with the same hand that was working on your clit, she teasingly slides a finger from your slit and sinks one in your pussy. so tight, so warm—it could get her drunker than any amount of alcohol.

she knew she had you when you arched as her long finger easily finds and presses firmly against a squishy spot, taking it as a sign to add another finger. “pussy’s sucking me up so good, gonna be as good for my dick, yeah?” she smirked as she pressed and moved even deeper, causing you to cry out her name like a devotion to her, to a woman you only just met a few days ago at a stupid bar you worked. “mmh— yes, yes, vi! gonna be just as good f’you..” you babbled out. you didn’t even know what you was saying for real. as long as she kept on finger-fucking you through it.

“yeahhh, i know you will.” she dipped and gave your clit a nice kiss, like an reward to you for clenching around her fingers, feeling you getting closer and closer. “can feel you baby, squeezin’ me so tight. you wanna cum? c’mon..” she egged you on. but all you can do is nod pathetically as the knot in your stomach became unbearably tight, searching for release at the precipice when her thick and long fingers abused your insides, your juices messily coating her fingers, mouth and even the sheets.

“i got you, baby. c’mon, let go for me. i’m right here.” she mumbled against your sex, eagerly lapping and slurping up your juices. your chest heaves and you swear your vision got even blurrier, “d-don’t stop! fuuckk please don’t stop,” your thighs practically squished her head as she brought you there. she didn’t mind it through. why would she? she would die if it meant a pretty girls thighs crushed her head open as she came on her tongue.

“cumming, ‘m cumming vi, fuck—!!” you braced her as you threw your head back, beads of tears falling from your eyes as you came impossibly hard. gripping the sheets tightly as spots of white clouded your vision. strings of clear and cloudy ropes glazed her fingers and mouth, having her chuckling against your clit as she eagerly lapped and took it all, having you turned into a pathetic, melted mess.

after she was done, she kissed you up to your stomach, your neck, journeying all way up until she found your lips. when she finally made it back to your mouth, her lips and chin were glistening in your essence, so much so it made you a little flustered and self-conscious, but that all quickly disappeared as her lips captured yours. when you moaned into her mouth, her tongue slickly slipped inside your mouth, making her taste you on her tongue. she pulled back slightly, speaking against your lips, “y’taste that? taste so fuckin’ good, huh?” you could only nod weakly as a response, not letting you reply verbally as she kissed you again, making sure you tasted all of you.

you feel her fat cock slide against your slippery and wet slit teasingly, earning her a weak mewl against her lips. “yeah? you want it?” you feel her shit-eating grin against your lips, having you sniffle under her. “a-ahuh, want it so bad vi, please..” she kissed just right besides your lips before she angled her hips in a way that her tip would tease your entrance but not going quite there yet. she wants to feel you squirm first. she quickly got what she wanted, of course. “please—please, vi..” you pitifully bucked up your hips, desperate for any type of friction. your begging brought a chuckle out of her, standing up fully as she grabbed your thighs, folding you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“alright, alright, i’ll give ya what you want. you don’t gotta beg no more, i got you.” she spreads your thighs further, wanting to see her slide into your pussy and watch her cock slowly disappear in it. “look at that..” she murmured under her breath, the sight giving more heat to her core. you bit your lip down, tilting your head back slightly as you failed to keep your voice leveled as she filled you up so good, inch by inch. “oh my gods, vi,” you breathed out, barely even having the time to actually react as she fully sheathed in you, filling you up impossibly good. she groaned as she slowly thrusted into you, getting off at your pussy making sweet squelching sounds that filled up the room. it spurred her on, making her increase her pace so that the noises of wet skin smacking contributed to the nasty sounds that surrounded the room as well.

you squeezed your eyes shut despite looking at you through it all. having vi so deep inside you just felt so, so right. you could get used to this. “mmh, been thinkin’ about this for so long..” you repeated her past saying to her. she rocked into you more, pulling out a little more than wanted before she slammed back into you again, earning a delicious cry from you. “you wanted this so bad, doll? thought about it a lot?” she tilted her head at you. “s-so bad, vi..” you sniffled. “yeah baby?” she panted out, “how much? tell me.” you mewled, your back taut at her words. you were too turned on to care about the potential embarrassment of your confession right now. “nngh, ‘til it hurt— fuck!”

vi let out a low growl, her fingers gripping your thighs a little tighter. “you're gonna kill me," she panted. she took it as a sigh to go harder, deeper, making sure she can do better than your pesky fantasies.

“haah.. yeahhh, that’s it, take it just like that baby..” she moaned, her grip on your thighs growing more firm as she increasingly went harder and deeper, grinning when she heard you moan under her. “oh fuuuckk, vi—!! in s’deep, s’full..” you cried out. you felt her hand graze your tummy before slowly pushing down on it, making you both feel her cock poke through your stomach, your breath caught in your throat. “yeah? y’feel that? feel me deep inside you?” you nodded pathetically, your pussy clenching around her at her words. “ahuh, so deep, feels so…” she leaned in closer at your words, the action making her angle her hips better so that she can hit the spot that makes form tears in your eyes. “mhmm, feels so what? tell vi allll about it.” she pressed a soft kiss right besides your lips as she continued to drill into you, such a vast contrast knocking all of the words from your mouth. babbles of her name spilled from your lips as if it was the only word on your mind right now. mind full with just vi, vi, vi.

“vi— shit! getting close, ‘m getting close..” her cock reached impossibly deep, making your legs shake around her. you didn’t even know that you could get as deep as this until vi came around. thank the gods for leading her to you. her abdomen clenches, feeling herself slightly quivering from her own pleasure. she could cum just like this, deep inside you and hearing pretty wanton moans fall from your pretty mouth. every ridge finds comfort in the home of your pussy, fitting like a puzzle, like the gods lined you together just for you to take her cock. “yeah? you getting close f’me baby?” she breathes out, punting her cock deeper and harder, determined to bring you to that edge again, splitting you open with every jarring snap of her hips.

“cum, pl-leease vi, need t’cum so badly, baby please—“ she looked down at you, and fuck weren’t you ruined. tears lumping up your pretty eyelashes, drool from your pretty mouth, cheeks stained by your tears. you were so beautiful. “c’mon, give it t’me, cum alll over my cock, i got you, fuuckkk…” with a few final thrusts, you crying out her name and the both of you cooing out dirty praises, you came harder than last time, spoiling her cock with creamy cum that even gave a pretty white ring around the shaft.

it didn’t take long at all for her to cum right after you, trembling slightly as she moaned out your name and fucked you through your orgasm. she started kissing all over your face, each kiss followed by sweet nothings against your skin. she never pulled out fully, only slightly as she raised herself up, grinning and looking down at your fucked out expression. no way she was going to stop now.

“think you can give me one more?”

© 7KH 2024, all rights reserved — do not claim, modify, copy or translate my content.

[it-la-technical-support]

Introduction The advent of home automation systems has transformed our living spaces into dynamic environments that adapt to our needs. The rise of smart home automation has made our daily routines more streamlined, energy-conscious, and secure. But with a myriad of choices out there, how do you craft the ideal smart home system that caters to your unique needs? Let's navigate the fascinating world of home control and automation to help you make an enlightened choice. Decoding Home Automation Systems At its essence, a home automation system empowers you to control various aspects of your home environment - from lighting and temperature to security systems and appliances - all through a unified interface. This could be a dedicated panel mounted on your wall, a smartphone app, or even voice commands via devices like Amazon Alexa or Google Home. The Advantages of Smart Home Automation The benefits of smart home automation are extensive. For starters, it offers unmatched convenience. Picture adjusting the temperature, dimming the lights, or monitoring your security cameras, all without having to move an inch. Furthermore, home automation systems can significantly boost your home's energy efficiency. With features like automated lighting, intelligent thermostats, and energy-efficient appliances, you can cut down on energy usage and reduce your utility bills. Crafting the Ideal Smart Home System When it comes to crafting the ideal smart home system, it's crucial to consider your specific needs and lifestyle. Are you looking to focus on security, energy efficiency, convenience, or a blend of these? Begin by selecting a reliable and user-friendly home control interface. This could be a smartphone app, a voice assistant, or a wall-mounted panel. Next, choose the devices and systems you wish to automate. These could range from lighting and HVAC systems to security cameras and smart locks. Remember, the ideal smart home system is one that integrates seamlessly with your lifestyle, enhances your comfort, and caters to your specific needs. Conclusion In the age of intelligent technology, home automation systems are not just a luxury but a valuable asset for enhancing our daily lives. By understanding your needs and exploring the available options, you can craft the ideal smart home system that offers convenience, security, and energy efficiency. Welcome to the future of home living.

[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[jinxvex]

Hiiiii! I love your work! Do you think you could do Vi x reader hcs where the reader is like very day-dreamy? Like head stuck in the clouds a lot? Tysm <33

♱ gf!vi x daydreamy gf!reader ♱

hey!! so excited to put something out 4 violet!!

you could interpret this as a modern!au or arcane!u 😌

cw: sfw & nsfw, dom!vi + sub!r, wholesome at the beginning, vi is an amazing and understanding gf, vi is v flirty, teasing, dirty talk, mild choking/slapping, possessiveness, dumbification, degradation/praise, vi's a bit condescending, etc!!

+ strap usage, she eats you out + uses her fingers!!

♱ vi LOVES the fact that you’re so daydreamy and always in your own world. she appreciates your uniqueness + the way your mind works!

♱ vi thinks you’re so adorable when you slowly trail off in the middle of speaking to her—the vibrant imagery, thoughts, and inner workings of your mind too overwhelming for you to handle! she lets you look off into the distance for a bit before you’re quickly scrambling to apologize for getting lost in your own head (again lol)!!

♱ she’s quick to shut down your apology with a, “nah, babe it‘s okay. take your time, yeah?” + “you in your own head again, huh?” (EVERY SINGLE TIME!)

♱ after boxing/the gym, she often comes home to your shared apartment to you blasting music through your headphones. you’re bopping your head and bouncing your leg at your desk. lost in how the music speaks to you and flows through your veins like a constant electric current. you don’t hear or even notice her until she comes up behind you, wraps her arms around your shoulders, and nuzzles her head into your neck, “whatcha doin’, pretty? what’re you listening to?” + “love comin’ home to you all happy and shit—makes my day sweetheart.”

♱ in public, when you’re walking together, holding hands, and enjoying each other's company in silence, you can’t help but get in your head! your brain buzzing with thoughts about how nice vi’s hand feels in yours and how nice they feel in… other places… all of a sudden, you’re not paying attention to where you’re going and she gets a little stern with you. before you run into anyone or anything she’s telling you to, “watch where you’re goin’, hmm?” + “careful, babe. don’t want you gettin’ hurt now, do we?”

♱ when you're upset, whether it be because you're self-conscious about something or having other negative thoughts, you get sort of locked in your own mind--endless flashes of darkness encompassing your headspace. when this happens she's whispering comforting praises into your ear, "it's okay, princess. 'm here. not goin' anywhere." and she's pulling you into her chest to tell you to, "listen to my heartbeat, come back to me." + "hey. hey, look at me, baby."

♱ vi nudges your cheek with her fingers to get your attention when your attention has strayed away from her, "talkin' to you, babe."

♱ she totally notices when you’re fantasizing about her.

WHAT!! who said that?! 🤭

nsfw incoming...

♱ you and vi love to partake in your separate hobbies while in each other’s presence so when she’s cooking, writing, or boxing in the corner(?), you’re almost always on the other side of the room reading a book. she knows the books you read get a little dirty. when she glances at you from across the room she isn’t surprised to see you staring off into the distance (again) with your book loosely resting in your lap. you’re biting your lip and pressing your thighs together. she smirks knowingly and stops what she’s doing to walk over to you, “what’s got you thinkin’, baby?” + “wanna show me what’s got you so worked up?”

♱ she won’t stop teasing you until you’re reading her the sentence that threw you in for a loop—thinking of her hands and mouth pleasuring you. images of her muscles rippling against your skin as she fucks you into the mattress with her strap momentarily stunning you.

♱ your daydream does become a reality when she's doing just that. minutes later. she's forcing you to make eye contact with her, to give her your full attention and focus when she has you in missionary with your legs propped up on her shoulders. her pace is brutal, plunging her strap deep into your cunt with her hand wrapped around your neck; choking you and holding your head in place so you can't look away.

♱ she's a sucker for dirty talk so you know she's all up in your ear like: "fuck, baby. yeahhh, yeah. look at me when you take this dick, pretty girl." + "don't want you goin' off in your own head when i'm fucking you, need you to see exactlyy how i'm treating this fuckin' pussy."

♱ she will NOT let you cum until she knows for sure that you aren't thinking of anything except for her—she wants your brain to be mush by the time she's done with you. she wants you to let go, fall, and trust that she'll catch you. take care of you.

♱ she's not afraid to rough you up a little if you aren't listening. she'd tap your cheek and tighten her grip on your throat as she stuffs you even fuller; as deep as she can go, "*thrust* look. *thrust* at. *thrust* me." she's drilling you now, "c'mon, babe, can't you follow a simple direction? or are you too cockdrunk to function?" + "yep, thaaat's it, baby."

♱ vi also enjoys eating you out from the back while she shoves her middle and ring finger into your sopping wet cunt. as she eats you out like it's her last meal on earth, tongue zigzagging and sloppily mouthing at your heat, her fingers are curling up against your g-spot. she knows your brain thinks nothing but her because of every whimper, moan, and chant. "yes, yes, fuck yes! right thereee, vi. fuuuck" you're practically screaming at the top of your lungs. not long after she's pulling her mouth off of you and rising up to lean over your back and dig her fingers deeper inside, "there, huh? that's what she needs, isn't it? pussy's swallowing my fingers whole. greedy girl."

feel free to send more reqs about vi!! love her real bad 🤠

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (12)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 7k words

Aliyah's Notes: me when i come back to life after a month of inactivity ☝️😈 say goodbye to the good times guys we're slowly falling into hell

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, surrounded by a chaotic pile of clothes scattered across the floor. Dresses, skirts, jeans, and even your old sweatpants were strewn about like the aftermath of a fashion war.

Living with Rafe for the past two days had been an adjustment—his penthouse was sleek, modern, and always spotless… a stark contrast to your current state of disarray. It made you self-conscious sometimes, like when you’d spilled coffee on the pristine marble countertop and panicked while scrubbing it clean before he noticed.

Your brows furrowed as you held up a pair of ripped jeans and a plain white crop top. “Too casual,” you muttered, tossing them aside. Next came a flowy sundress. “Too try-hard.”

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you sank onto the edge of your bed, arms crossed. Why were you putting so much thought into this? It wasn’t like this basketball game was your debut as his fiancée. Well, technically it was, but it’s not like anyone expected you to look the part. 

Or maybe they did? 

Rafe hadn’t given you any details, just a cocky grin and a, ‘Don’t embarrass me.’ The memory of his smirk made you groan.

You picked up a sweater, holding it against your chest before throwing it onto the growing pile. Why does it even matter? It’s just his stupid game. You’re going because… You paused, biting your lip. Because you lived with him now. Because you were his fiancée. Because showing up wasn’t optional.

Your gaze drifted to the jersey draped over the back of your chair. His number, 13, stood out in bold print. Would wearing his jersey to the game feel too... personal? No, that was ridiculous. People wore jerseys all the time. It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything. 

Right?

Right.

You hesitated before picking it up, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It smelled faintly of his cologne, and something about that made you pause. You shook the thought away and slipped it on, the material loose and comfortable against your skin. It paired surprisingly well with the black mini skirt you’d put on earlier—a little sporty, a little casual. Perfect. You turned to the mirror, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric.

For a split second, you wondered what he’d think when he saw you. Would he tease you? Would he flash that grin that somehow made your stomach flip? The thought made your chest tighten, and you scolded yourself immediately because you didn't care about his opinion.

Your cheeks warmed despite your internal protest. Grabbing your bag, you made your way to the door, slipping on your shoes with determined efficiency. Your phone buzzed just as you were about to leave. Unlocking it, you found a series of messages from Rafe.

Rafe: You better not be late. Superstition or not, you’re about to be my good luck charm.

Rafe: BTW, try not to drool too much when you see me on the court.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile creeping onto your face. You quickly typed back:

You: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just going there for the snacks.

His reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Liar. You’re obsessed with me.

Rafe: BTW, that jersey on the chair? My idea. You’re welcome.

You blinked at the screen, heat prickling at your neck. How does he know? The man must’ve had a sixth sense for reading your mind. Or he’d guessed—he did that a lot too. Before you could think of a retort, another message popped up.

Rafe: Also, don’t leave without turning off the kitchen lights again. Unless you want me to write you a manual for living here.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile breaking free. He was insufferable, and yet the thought of him noticing the smallest things—like your mistakes or your outfit—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

You: Good luck, Rafe. You’ll need it.

Rafe: The only luck I need is you in that jersey.

You rolled your eyes, locking your phone and shoving it into your bag with a shake of your head. His ego was unmatched, but as you stepped out the door, a tiny flicker of anticipation stirred in your chest—a feeling you couldn’t quite name but weren’t ready to let go of either.

The leather seats of the car felt cool beneath you as you shifted in place, fingers tapping restlessly against your bag. Gregory, your driver, glanced at you through the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about the delay, Miss. It’s the construction on 5th Avenue—completely backed up. I’ll do my best to get you there on time.”

“It’s fine, Gregory. Not your fault,” you replied with a sympathetic smile.

Outside, the glow of brake lights illuminated the street, a reminder of how hopelessly stuck you were. The distant sound of car horns blended into the hum of the city, making the minutes feel like hours. You glanced at the time on your phone. Rafe’s game had probably started, or was about to.

With a sigh, you opened your messages, typing quickly.

You: Traffic’s insane. Running late.

The reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Typical. My fiancée can’t even show up on time.

You rolled your eyes, already expecting the teasing.

You: Not my fault NYC doesn’t know how to manage its roads.

Rafe: I’ll pass the message along to the mayor. Very helpful.

You could practically hear the smirk in his words.

You: Be serious for once.

Rafe: I am serious. If you miss me scoring, it’s grounds for annulment.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, fingers hovering over the screen before typing back.

You: Don’t tempt me.

Rafe: Tempting you is, like, my full-time job.

You leaned back against the seat, biting back a grin. The nerve of this man. The audacity. Still, his ability to lighten the mood—even when he was being insufferable—was irritatingly effective.

You: Just play well. I’ll be there soon.

Rafe: Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’m saving all my best moves for when you’re watching.

You locked your phone with a shake of your head, stuffing it into your bag. Gregory, ever the professional, glanced at you again.

“Almost there, Miss. Just a few more blocks.”

“Thanks, Greg,” you murmured, tugging at the hem of Rafe’s jersey. The fabric felt oddly comforting against your skin, a reminder of the strange new reality you were navigating. Living with him, wearing his number, showing up to his games like a dutiful fiancée—it was all so... surreal.

By the time the car pulled up to the arena, the faint roar of the crowd was already audible. You stepped out, adjusting the strap of your bag and smoothing down your skirt. Gregory gave you a small wave before driving off, leaving you standing at the entrance with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the lingering stares. Heads turned, whispers followed, and you caught snippets of conversations that made your stomach twist.

“Oh, my God! That’s her, isn’t it? YN YLN?”

“She’s gorgeous. I saw her in that Vogue spread last month.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s a weird match? She doesn’t seem like his type.”

“I heard their engagement was super sudden. Like, out of nowhere.”

You kept your head high, forcing yourself to focus on the sound of your heels clicking against the floor. The familiar pressure of public scrutiny was something you’d grown used to as a model, but this was different. This wasn’t about your career. This was about you—your personal life, your choices, your supposed love story with Rafe.

The tension only grew as you climbed the stairs to the seating area. You found your seat with your name on a piece of paper, sliding into the seat and exhaling slowly. The crowd around you was buzzing with excitement, their cheers and chatter filling the air. You adjusted the jersey again, pulling it down slightly as your eyes scanned the court below.

Players were warming up, their movements fluid and confident. Your gaze lingered on Rafe almost instinctively. He was standing near the bench, laughing at something one of his teammates said. Even from a distance, his presence was magnetic—broad shoulders, easy swagger, and that stupid grin.

You were so focused on him that you almost didn’t notice the glances directed your way. A group of women a few rows ahead whispered behind cupped hands, casting subtle looks in your direction. Two men seated nearby exchanged knowing smirks, as if they’d just shared some private joke at your expense.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts.

Rafe: You better be watching. Game’s about to start.

You glanced down at the message, your lips curving into a faint smile.

You: I’m here. Stop texting me and focus.

Rafe: Can’t help it. You’re too pretty. I can’t look away.

You stared at his reply, the words making your chest tighten. He had a way of saying things that left you questioning whether he was teasing or if there was something deeper hidden beneath the surface. Shaking your head, you locked your phone, determined not to let him get to you.

But as you tucked your phone back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the pull to look up. Your eyes scanned the court, weaving through the blur of players warming up and the steady hum of the crowd. Then, you found him.

Rafe stood near the bench line, towel slung casually over his shoulder, his stance relaxed but commanding. He wasn’t talking to his teammates anymore or listening to the coach’s instructions.

His attention was fixed on you.

The moment your eyes met, it felt like the air shifted. The noise of the arena—the cheers, the clapping, the announcer’s voice—all seemed to fade into the background. It was just him, standing there, looking at you like the game didn’t matter. Like you were the only thing that did.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that was entirely too confident for its own good. Slowly, he tilted his head, his blue eyes holding yours with a softness that contrasted the cocky energy he carried on the court.

Then, he mouthed the words, “You’re so pretty.”

You felt your breath catch, the heat rising to your cheeks as his gaze lingered. It wasn’t just the words that made your chest flutter; it was the way he looked at you, like he was seeing something no one else could.

Heart pounding, you mouthed back, “Focus on the game.”

His smile deepened, transforming into a grin that made your stomach flip. He shook his head lightly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Can’t.”

The unspoken word hung between you, and for a moment, it felt like the space between the court and the stands wasn’t so far after all. There was a vulnerability in his expression, a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he meant more than he was letting on.

He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb across his chin in a subtle motion, but the meaning was unmistakable: he was thinking about you.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply, breaking the spell. Rafe turned back toward the court, tossing the towel to a teammate with a practiced ease, but not before glancing at you one last time. His gaze softened, and for a fleeting second, you could have sworn there was something unspoken in his eyes—something that felt dangerously close to longing.

You exhaled shakily, your hands tightening around the strap of your bag. Around you, the crowd erupted as the game began, but your focus was still on him. The way he moved, so sure of himself, every step purposeful, every pass calculated—it was mesmerizing.

The arena buzzed with energy as the game commenced. The rhythmic dribble of the basketball and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished court filled the air, blending with the cheers of the crowd. You found yourself transfixed, your gaze locked on Rafe as he moved across the court with the ease of someone born to dominate the game.

He was commanding a force of nature. Every movement was deliberate, powerful and precise. He wove through the opposing team effortlessly, his presence undeniable as he directed his teammates with sharp gestures and focused intensity. The scorebag flashed: 2-0. Rafe’s team was already pulling ahead, and it was clear who the driving force was.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every time he scored, the arena erupted, but your heart thudded for a different reason. There was something magnetic about the way he played—a mixture of skill, confidence, and an edge that made it impossible to look away. Even from a distance, you could see the determination etched on his face, the slight smirk when his shot landed perfectly in the net, the way he winked at you.

This was Rafe Cameron at his peak, untouchable and undeniably captivating.

Suddenly, the seat next to you shifted. You felt the slight weight of someone standing next to you, but you didn’t glance over. Your attention remained locked on Rafe as he leapt to intercept a pass, the sheer athleticism in his jump drawing another cheer from the crowd.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and dripping with condescension.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Your stomach dropped, and for a fleeting moment, the lively arena seemed to tilt and blur around you. Reluctantly, you tore your gaze away from the court, where Rafe had been dominating with his usual confidence, and turned to the source of the interruption.

There she was, Chiara Romano, lounging in the seat beside you like she owned the place. She looked as impeccable as ever, her designer coat draped artfully over her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Her lips curved into a smug smile that made your stomach churn, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against the armrest.

“Chiara,” you greeted flatly, forcing a polite smile that didn’t come close to reaching your eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here... sitting next to me,” you added under your breath, your tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

“Of course I’d be here,” she said breezily, flipping her hair over one shoulder in a gesture so practiced it felt rehearsed. “Rafe and I go way back, you know. I’ve been to more of his games than I can count.”

You clenched your jaw but refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you turned back toward the court, your eyes automatically searching for Rafe. “That’s nice,” you replied tersely, hoping to end the conversation there.

But Chiara wasn’t one to take a hint.

“You know, basketball games can be overwhelming if you’re not used to them,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “The noise, the energy, the spotlight—it’s not for everyone.”

“I’m managing just fine,” you replied evenly, your voice steady despite the simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

“I’m sure you are,” she said with a patronizing little laugh. She leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long chat. “So,” she said with an air of faux curiosity, “how’s life been since we last saw each other? It’s been, what, almost a month?”

You resisted the urge to groan. The last thing you wanted was to engage in small talk with her. “Not much,” you replied curtly. “You?”

Chiara’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if she relished the power dynamic of the exchange. “Oh, nothing too exciting,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then, with a calculated tilt of her head, she added, “But ‘nothing much’ seems like a strange way to describe getting engaged. That’s pretty big, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Chiara’s smile widened, and she leaned in just a fraction, as though to share some intimate secret. You instinctively recoiled, unnerved by her sudden proximity. Whether it was meant to intimidate you or to ensure you heard every word of her next comment, you weren’t sure.

Either way, you didn’t like it.

“I have to admit something,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was surprised to hear about the engagement—” Womp womp, you thought. “—I mean, Rafe never struck me as the settling-down type.”

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her with a calmness you didn’t quite feel. Your voice was smooth, but the edge was unmistakable. “Maybe he wasn’t with the right person to give you that impression.”

Chiara’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together in a thin line. The sudden shift in her posture told you everything—you’d struck a nerve. “And you think you’re the… right person?”

You leaned in just slightly, your gaze sharp and unyielding, your lips curling into a smug smile that didn't reach your eyes. “Well, I mean, I’m the one he plans to marry, aren’t I?”

The words landed like a slap, and for a brief moment, her face flickered with a blend of jealousy and frustration, a brief vulnerability that she quickly tried to mask.

“Right,” she nodded, the sound forced. “But you do realize, Rafe isn’t usually into girls like you. He has... a type. Or at least, he used to.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by her attempt at a jab. “Okay?” you said, a little too casual.

She laughed bitterly, flapping her hands in the air, clearly trying to backpedal. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that. You’re beautiful, sure, but you’re just not the type Rafe typically goes for.”

Was she serious right now?

What’s so surprising about a white guy only being interested in white girls? Did she think I was born yesterday?

You scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that info, Chiara? Am I supposed to fall apart? ‘Oh no, another white guy who doesn’t like brown girls like me. My life is over. I wish I was white.’ Is that the reaction you were hoping for?”

Chiara blinked, clearly thrown off by the intensity in your voice. The color drained slightly from her face as you held your ground, watching her squirm just a little.

“You think you're clever, don’t you?” she said, her voice now tinged with frustration, but you could see the crack in her facade.

“Not really,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just tired of people thinking they can throw their insecurities at me and watch me flinch. But I don’t play that game.”

Her jaw tightened as she glanced around, searching for a way to regain control. “You know, you’re not exactly what he needs. You’re all—” She gestured to you, eyes sweeping over your appearance, “—flashy, a model, all glitz and glamour. But Rafe needs someone real. Someone who actually gets him.”

You leaned forward just a bit, a challenge flickering in your eyes. “I’m pretty sure I get him just fine. What you’re really trying to say is that you can’t stand the fact that he’s chosen me. And it’s not because I’m not ‘his type.’ It’s because I’m the one who got him. And that’s something you can’t wrap your fucking head around.”

The words landed heavy, and you saw the small twitch in her eye. For a brief moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. Then, just as quickly, the facade slipped back on.

Chiara scoffed, her lips curling into a tight smile. “You’re just a placeholder. He’s going to get bored of you eventually.”

"Listen," you began, stepping closer to Chiara, your voice steady and sharp. "I’m here to watch my fiancé win his match, not waste my time arguing with someone who clearly peaked in high school. So why don’t you take your insecurities and your cheap, high-school jabs and shove them so far up your—"

"Hey, baby," a familiar voice interrupted, smooth and warm like honey.

Your head snapped to the side, and there he was—Rafe, running to you, with that signature cocky grin. His hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead, and his jersey clung to every ridge of his chest, leaving very little to the imagination. The gleam of sweat gliding down his forearms and neck made your mouth dry, and for a moment, you completely forgot where you were.

"Did you see that dunk I just pulled off?" he asked, his tone a mix of pride and boyish excitement.

You barely registered the words because all you could think about was how ridiculously good he looked. His muscles practically strained against his jersey, his shoulders broad and commanding. Even the sweat dripping from his jawline seemed unfairly attractive.

Damn it, why did he have to look like that right now?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus as Rafe jogged up the steps toward you, his eyes lighting up when they met yours.

"Did you see it?" he pressed, still grinning.

"Yeah," you lied, your lips curving into a soft smile as you reached up to adjust the collar of his jersey. "Don’t let it go to your head, though."

“Too late,” Rafe chuckled, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “That dunk? It was for you. Thought you might like it since, you know, you’re my good luck charm and all.”

You raised a brow, fighting to keep your expression indifferent, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Really? Do I look impressed?”

He inched closer, the grin on his face softening into something that felt almost intimate, his voice dropping lower. “You look hot, actually.” His eyes flickered to your lips for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “Seeing you out there with my number on your back? It’s driving me insane.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat when his gaze lingered just a little too long, sending your heart racing.

“Cameron! Get your pussy-whipped ass back on the court!” JJ Maybank, his teammate, shouted echoed from across the gym.

Rafe groaned, the spell broken, before dropping his head dramatically onto your lap with a low chuckle. He turned his face to press a quick, feather-light kiss to your cheek, the touch leaving you both flustered and breathless, before he jogged back to the court.

For the next 30 minutes, everything was perfect. The energy was electric, Rafe’s team seemed to win and every time he did so he’d send a wink in your direction. You felt good, peaceful. You felt comfortable, almost like you were meant to be here cheering for him. It was too good that you almost forgot Chiara’s presence next to you… until she spoke.

“You know, Rafe and I used to have this little tradition after his games,” she said casually, as though the memory had just occurred to her. “We’d go to this rooftop downtown—he always said it was his favorite view of the city. We’d stay up there for hours, just talking about everything and nothing. It was… special.”

Your grip on your drink tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the court. Rafe had just stolen the ball, and the crowd roared as he raced toward the basket.

“You know,” she began, almost lazily, “Rafe and I used to have this little post-game ritual. He’d always say I was his good luck charm—”

Your heart clenched painfully. The phrase echoed in your mind, sharp and cutting like broken glass. Good luck charm. That was what Rafe had called you just today, his lips brushing your ear as he teased you in the stands. It had felt personal, intimate, like a secret between you and him. But now it seemed cheap, rehearsed—just another line he used, a meaningless phrase recycled from his past with others.

You kept your face neutral, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“He always said he couldn’t play his best unless I was watching,” Chiara continued, her voice tinged with amusement. “It was sweet, really. Afterward, he’d grab my hand, pull me into his car, and we’d drive down to this diner he loved. He insisted the milkshakes there were the best in town.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from finding Rafe on the court. He was electric, his movements precise and powerful, his confidence unmistakable. But as you stared at him, anger and hurt churned in your chest. You felt foolish, betrayed, for letting yourself believe you were special to him.

“And when he scored that game-winning shot last season,” Chiara added, leaning slightly closer as if to deliver the final blow, “he said it was because I was there. He made me feel like I was part of it, you know? Like we were a team.”

The game’s final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to clap. Your hands stayed clenched in your lap, your eyes locked on Rafe as he turned toward the stands.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on you.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t even standing. You just sat there, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to mask. Hurt, anger, and disappointment simmered beneath the surface, your expression giving away enough for him to know something was wrong.

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his grin disappearing entirely as he took a step closer, clearly intending to come over. But you didn’t wait. You pushed yourself up from the seat and turned on your heel, weaving your way through the crowd toward the exit.

“YN!” His voice carried over the noise, confusion laced in his tone. You didn’t stop.

He called your name again, louder this time, his footsteps heavy behind you as he tried to catch up. “Hey, wait—what’s going on?”

But you couldn’t face him. Not now. Not with your chest tightening and your mind replaying Chiara’s words like a broken record. Good luck charm. The phrase rattled in your head, mocking you for ever thinking you were something new to him.

Just as you reached the corridor leading out of the stadium, Rafe’s hand grabbed your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“YN, stop,” he said, his voice firmer now, though there was still a trace of confusion in it. He turned you around gently, his blue eyes searching yours. “What the hell is wrong?”

You yanked your wrist free, your emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “You're such a fucking asshole,” you snapped in your native language.

“I don’t know what you're saying!” he said, confused. “What is this? Why are you walking away from me?”

“Hey!” His tone was sharper now, frustration evident as he jogged after you. You were halfway down the empty corridor when his voice rose again, louder this time. “What the hell is going on?”

Still, you didn’t look back.

Rafe finally caught up, his footsteps heavy as he moved in front of you, blocking your path. “YN, stop!” he barked, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His blue eyes searched your face, desperate for answers. “What is wrong with you?”

You gave him nothing, your expression unreadable as you stared past him, silent and unyielding.

“Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?” Rafe demanded, his voice rising with irritation.

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening as you stepped around him and continued walking. He let out a low curse behind you but followed, his confusion giving way to simmering anger.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured as he touched his hair before going back to shower quickly and change.

Rafe stepped into the dimly lit private parking lot, his thoughts tangled in knots as he tried to make sense of your behavior. The tension from earlier lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took. What could he have done to make you this angry? He replayed the events in his mind, searching for answers but coming up empty-handed.

Then, he spotted you.

You were leaning against his car, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as though shielding yourself from more than just the cold. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, a deep frown etched on your face. Rafe froze for a moment, his confusion momentarily replaced by something softer.

Even now, angry and upset, you looked stunning.

He noticed the way your bottom lip jutted out slightly in an unconscious pout, a habit he’d come to associate with your frustration. It was endearing, almost enough to make him smile if the circumstances weren’t so tense. His eyes softened as he watched you, taking in the delicate lines of your profile and the way your hair shifted slightly with the cold breeze.

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the sudden noise shattering the stillness. The sound caught your attention, and your head snapped up to meet his gaze.

The moment your eyes locked, Rafe felt like he’d been struck.

Your glare was fiery, your anger radiating in waves that he could feel even from a distance. It was a look that could melt steel, and for a fleeting second, Rafe thought you might actually set him alight with sheer willpower.

In stark contrast, his own gaze held nothing but intensity, a raw, unguarded passion that made him forget to breathe. He knew you were furious, but he couldn’t stop the way his heart ached for you—or the way you made it race despite everything.

The phone in his pocket buzzed again, but he didn’t bother checking who it was. He pulled it out, pressed ‘decline’ without even glancing at the screen, and slipped it back into his pocket. His focus never wavered from you.

“Can I walk over,” he called out, his voice a mix of humor and hesitation, “or are you going to eat me alive?”

You didn’t respond. Your piercing stare didn’t falter, and the silence felt deafening.

If Rafe was honest, he was a little scared.

Drawing in a deep breath, he willed himself forward. Each step he took felt heavier, weighed down by the intensity of your gaze. When he reached the car, he pulled out his keys, unlocking the doors with a soft beep.

The sound seemed to jolt you, and without a word, you slipped past him and climbed into the passenger seat. He noticed the way you folded into yourself, shrinking away from him as you hugged your arms tighter against the biting New York City air.

Rafe stood outside for a moment, his hand gripping the door handle as he stared at you through the window. You wouldn’t even look at him, your face turned resolutely toward the dashboard. The cold breeze tugged at his jacket, but he barely felt it.

With a quiet sigh, he got into the driver’s seat, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. The tension was suffocating, and as he started the car, he couldn’t help but glance at you again, his chest tightening at the sight of your distant expression.

The car ride was agonizingly silent.

Rafe’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he stole quick glances at you, each one more anxious than the last. The occasional flicker of streetlights illuminated your face, but you kept your gaze locked on the window, your expression unreadable.

"YN," he started, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on?"

You didn’t even blink.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "Come on," he said more firmly. "I’m not a mind reader. Just talk to me."

Still, nothing.

He sighed heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “I don’t know what I did to make you this mad, but—”

“Then stop talking,” you interrupted, your voice sharp and cold.

That shut him up. The rest of the drive was thick with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

By the time he pulled into the parking garage, Rafe’s patience was stretched thin. He parked the car, cutting the engine, and turned to you.

“Are we really going to keep doing this?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation. “You’re acting like I killed your dog or something. Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You ignored him, pulling open the door and stepping out into the cold. The slam of the door echoed through the garage.

“Great,” Rafe muttered under his breath, getting out and slamming his own door harder than necessary. “This is just perfect.”

He followed you into the building, his longer strides catching up to you easily. “YN, stop,” he said, his voice growing more urgent. “Will you please just stop for a second?”

You didn’t.

The moment you stepped into the apartment, you made a beeline for your bedroom. But Rafe was right behind you, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm. “What the hell is going on?”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him with such ferocity that he actually stepped back. “Don’t,” you snapped, your voice cutting like a blade.

Without waiting for a response, you stormed into your room and slammed the door shut so hard the walls seemed to vibrate.

Rafe stood there for a moment, stunned. His hands rested on his hips as he exhaled a shaky breath. “Seriously?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you for real right now?”

From the other side of the door, you could hear him pacing. His voice grew louder, tinged with disbelief and frustration.

“YN, come on! What the hell is your problem? Why are you acting like this?”

You pressed your back against the door, your arms wrapping around yourself as your emotions warred inside you. Chiara’s words played on a relentless loop in your mind—good luck charm—and your chest ached with a confusing mix of anger and betrayal.

When Rafe’s voice came again, it was louder, more exasperated. “I don’t get why you’re so mad!”

That was it.

You flung the door open, your eyes blazing as you stepped out to face him.

“You don’t get why I’m mad?” you snapped, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Are you serious, Rafe? You really have no idea?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “No! I don’t!” he shot back. “One second we’re fine, and the next you’re acting like I did something unforgivable!”

“Your good luck charm!” you practically yelled, the nickname tasting bitter on your tongue. “Every time I think you’re finally getting better, that I can finally get along with you, something comes along and ruins everything. It’s like I can’t trust a single thing you say, Rafe!”

Rafe’s brows furrowed deeply, his confusion palpable. “What are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” you snapped, your voice breaking as emotion overwhelmed you. “Chiara. She said it—she said you used to call her your good luck charm. That you couldn’t play without her watching. And then you—you turn around and call me the same thing. Do you have a script you use with women, or am I just another recycled chapter in your pathetic little book of tricks?”

Rafe’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at you, stunned, as if trying to process what you were saying. “I—I never said that to her,” he finally managed, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t even know why she’d say that. I’ve never called her my good luck charm.”

“Oh, so now she’s the liar?” you shot back bitterly, crossing your arms. “Convenient, isn’t it? Blame her, act like you didn’t do anything wrong. But why would she make that up, Rafe? Why would she lie about something so specific?”

“I don’t know!” he said, his voice rising in frustration. “But I swear, YN, I never said that to her. That nickname—it’s yours. I called you that because I meant it. Because that’s what you are to me. I don’t just throw that around like it’s nothing.”

His words were raw, almost pleading, but they didn’t soothe the ache in your chest. You shook your head, stepping back. “How am I supposed to believe you? After everything—after all the lies, the games, the constant reminders that I’m just another person in your long, messy history—you expect me to just take your word for it?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his every movement. “I’m not lying to you, YN,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I know I’ve screwed up in the past, and I know I’ve given you a million reasons not to trust me. But this—this isn’t one of those times. Chiara’s lying, or twisting things, or—I don’t know. But I do know that I’ve never felt about her the way I feel about you.”

Your breath caught at his words, but you forced yourself to stay guarded. “And what way is that, exactly? Because it feels like I’m constantly walking a tightrope with you, Cameron. One wrong step, and it all falls apart.”

Rafe took a hesitant step closer, his expression pained. “I don’t want it to fall apart,” he said softly. “I’m trying, YN. I’m trying to be better—for you. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I don’t always get it right, but I care about you."

“If you care about me as much as you say you do,” you said, your voice trembling but steady, “then tell me what happened between you and her.”

Rafe froze, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words hit him. He took a small step back, almost as if putting physical distance between you could lessen the pressure. His eyes darted away, avoiding yours, and you could see the conflict etched into his face.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant.

“Why?” you repeated, your voice rising as the flood of emotions inside you threatened to break free. “Why?!” Your chest heaved as you tried to contain the frustration boiling over. “Because if we’re going to have something real, something fresh and healthy, I need to know what happened between you two. I need to understand, Rafe.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and you could see the panic in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t think I can,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your breath caught in your throat. You felt your heart tighten, the ache in your chest spreading as tears stung your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling, but it was no use.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice cracking. It wasn’t angry or accusatory—it was resigned, heavy with disappointment.

“YN, wait,” Rafe pleaded, stepping toward you, his voice desperate. “I—”

“No.” You cut him off sharply, your voice suddenly firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You held up a hand, keeping him at bay. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. But for the first time, you didn’t want to hear them.

Before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked back into your room, slamming the door shut once more, leaving him standing there in silence.

The silence between you was deafening.

Rafe’s hand hung loosely by his side as he stood outside your door, staring at the wood like it would somehow provide answers. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of your words still pressing on him like a heavy stone. The anger in your eyes, the way you looked at him—he could still feel it burning into him. But more than than, there was something else, something far deeper that gnawed at him, something that felt like it was tearing him apart.

With a frustrated groan, he let himself slide down the door, his back hitting it with a thud. He bent his knees, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he exhaled deeply, his mind racing with confusion. Why did this feel so goddamn difficult?

He had always been good at avoiding things, at keeping his distance from complications, at never allowing anyone to get too close romantically. But with you, it was different. Every touch, every look, every moment felt like something that mattered. More than that, it felt like it was changing him in ways he wasn’t sure he could handle.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him like a storm waiting to break.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. Why am I so messed up about her?

The sound of movement behind him made him glance up. You had shifted as well, and now you were sitting on the floor with your back against the door. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, your face buried in your hands. It wasn’t a sobbing kind of silence, but more like two people utterly drained from the weight of everything that had happened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But words felt useless right now.

Ten minutes passed. Neither of you moved, both of you stuck in your own swirling thoughts. Rafe could hear his heart thundering in his chest, the confusion churning inside him. He wanted you. Badly. He could feel it—every inch of him aching for you, wanting to close the distance between you, but something held him back.

It wasn’t just the anger. It wasn’t just the words that had been said. It was the fear.

The fear of losing you, of fucking everything up, of showing you the side of him he’d spent so long burying deep inside.

Chiara. The past. His mistakes.

He had told himself that he could protect you from all that. That you didn’t need to know. But sitting here, staring at the door like it held all the answers, he realized how much he needed to open up. He needed you to understand.

“YN,” he muttered, his voice strained, “I… I can’t do this anymore. I’m so fucking lost.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling his throat tighten. “I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed, his voice breaking just a little. “I don’t know how to make it right between us. I just… I need you to understand. I need you to know what happened.”

Behind the door, you still didn’t look up, your face hidden in the shadows of the room, your eyes closed as though bracing yourself for the storm that was coming.

Rafe’s hands shook as he finally opened up, his emotions raw and unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be.

“Chiara,” he started, his voice low and rough. “She wasn’t just some ex. She was part of my life when I was at my lowest. When I was 19, I was… I was a fucking mess. I was lost. I was drowning in everything—drugs, alcohol, all that shit. I didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t care. I was just… numb. I needed something to keep me afloat, and Chiara, she was there. She was a part of that world. I don’t know why I thought she was the one who could help me, but she was. And I used her, just as much as she used me. We were a fucking disaster.”

He stopped there, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, but they were true. They were the only truth he had been hiding.

“I went to rehab, and when I came back, everything was different. But Chiara, she was still there, still holding on, and I didn’t know how to cut her off. I didn’t know how to let go. She was struggling, and I felt guilty—so I kept her around. I thought if I just… if I just stayed close, maybe I could make up for all the shit I did. I don’t know. But I wasn’t being honest. Not with her, not with mys I saidelf.”

His breath hitched, the weight of the past crashing into him like a wave. “And when I’ve never called her that. My good luck charm. I don’t know how she knows about it but I promise you, on everything precious in my life, I’ve never called her that… But when I say it to you, it’s different. It means something. You’re not some… replacement for her. You’re not some fucking substitute. You’re real. And that scares the hell out of me.”

He exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper.Rafe leaned back against the door again, his head pressed to the cool surface, his eyes closing as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He was exposed now, more vulnerable than he had ever been, his heart in pieces. He had said everything that had been suffocating him, and yet, the silence still felt like it was swallowing him whole.

He waited, his breath shaky, his thoughts a whirl of regret and hope and fear. All he could do now was wait for you to respond, to open the door—or for you to walk away, to decide that he wasn’t worth the risk.

The waiting was unbearable.

chapter thirteen

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[rafescvntyclubgf]

“𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥” - 𝐀 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐆𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

*total fic is 15k

7K

𝓇𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓎𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒷𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙/𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖊

⚠️ warnings contain spoilers ⚠️

Mean!Rafe, Bully!Rafe, bulling, Rafe is an ass, name calling, degredation, swearing, drinking, smoking, drug usage, kissing, praise, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), rough oral, multiple orgasms, spanking, violence, fighting, ownership kink, pet names, multiple POVs, violence, gore, horror, stalking, blood mentioned, gaslighting, lovers to enemies to lovers, reader is quick to forgive, mentions of mutual masterbation, teasing, cheating, possessive Rafe, jealousy

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂: Sweetheart! Reader isn't from the OBX. She met Kiara (roomate) at college and quickly became friends with the Pogues. The group decided to join the reader, working at Camp Salem which she attended every summer since she was little. After junior high she became a camp counselor herself. Sweetheart!Reader is just that, a sweetheart. She's a lover-girl and quick to forgive. She's hard to read regarding her sexual experience-her sweetness is irresistible to Rafe. He fantasizes about corrupting her and stripping her of that. Sweetheart!Reader wears her heart on her sleeve, making her the perfect target for her bully, Rafe Cameron.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂: Canon-wise this Rafe is the closest to Season 1 Rafe. He is the definition of touch starved, touched but untouched, craving intimacy because it makes him feel better, even if it's just for a few moments. The only awful thing he did in his past in this AU is to be an asshole to the Pogues. He and the Kook trio are serving community service hours assigned from the university at Camp Salem after getting in trouble for something at the end of the last school year (undisclosed drinking violation). This being something they couldn't pay their way out of.

Reader’s POV:

You wrap your towel around your wet hair, twisting it in place before gathering your toiletries, stepping toward the door into the night. It’s late as hell, the camp almost completely dark, but you needed to wash the night off you.

You hike through the clearing, following the path from the shower house to the sidewalk, returning to your bunk. All of the lights in Rafe’s cabin are off; a part of you hoping that the light would be on so you could stop by and apologize for leaving things the way you did… He was right. In the morning, he’d gone. Nothing would be resolved. The two of you would go separate ways until you ran into each other in the fall. But maybe that’s for the best.

SNAP.

Your head turns on a swivel, looking into the woods. A squirrel hops out of a tree onto the grass, bounding into the darkness. The little spike in your heart rate falls almost as fast as it rose.

SNAP.

There’s another crack, leaves rustle in the distance. Your heart starts to pick up speed again as you try your best to concentrate on your surroundings, but it’s so dark. You shine your flashlight toward the path of the sound, watching as a shadow shifts in the trees. “Hello?” Your voice comes out small and feeble. It’s Rafe… It’s gotta be. Maybe JJ? Assholes. “Ha. Ha.” You fake a laugh, tone dripping with disgust.

You look toward Rafe’s cabin, now lit. Rafe walks past the window with a beer, passing it to Kelce. Your heart starts to pick up pace again as you become more and more conscious of the sounds around you, each seemingly more threatening than the last. You scream bloody murder as a big figure moves past you fast in the direction of safety, leading you to flee in the opposite direction.

You sprint into the woods, branches whipping against your face and body as you maneuver from whatever terrors are behind you. Your lungs burn as you race faster than ever, stumbling and clinging to trees as you do your best to stay on your feet. “HELP ME!” You shriek as you cut to the left, racing along the woods on the backside of the cabins toward your own bunk. “HELP ME. PLEASE.”

You can hear the pounding of feet against the earth behind you, too terrified to look back, knowing that if you do, you’ll lose ground. Panic courses through your system as the noises around you get louder and louder. Just a little further.

You tumble over the brush onto the land below, hitting the forest floor with a bang. You look back for a second, catching the shadow of a towering figure, making it all that more real. He walks toward you as you claw your way to your feet, struggling through the damp ground, blundering to stand. You feel a hand slam against your back, grabbing your arm as well, jerking you the rest of the way to your feet.

“Rafe!” You gasp.

“We gotta get somewhere safe,” he whispers sharply as he takes his hand in yours, dragging you toward your cabin. You glance over your shoulder, looking back to the woods, watching the shadow of the man unmoved. “C’mon,” he pleads for you to move faster, dragging you through the woods toward your bunk.

“Why are you out here?” You pant.

“I saw you,” he huffs. “I saw you walkin’ back from the showers at night by yourself. Are you fuckin’ crazy?” He scolds. “Then I heard you screamin’. There’s someone in the fuckin’ woods. He grabs the door to your cabin, pulling it open before slamming it shut, throwing the lock closed, shoving a chair under the handle. “Where the hell are Zoey and Laura?”

“I don’t know. I don’t fuckin’ know,” you panic, the two of you fall to the old wooden floor, scurrying against the wall, falling out of sight. Your heart continues to pound in your chest, anxiety and fear, making it impossible to think clearly. Rafe looks down at you, clasping your hand in his.

“It’ll be alright. Okay?”

You pinch your eyes shut, nodding fast. “Do you think it was JJ? It had to be-”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispers.

“What? I said ‘do you think it was JJ?’”

“Probably… I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he tries again.

“It’s fine,” you answer quickly, knowing he wants more from you.

“It’s not fine-”

“Rafe! We can’t do this right now. Are you fucking kidding me? There’s someone in the woods chasin’ us, and you want to talk about us. Are you serious right now?” Rafe takes a deep breath, running his hand through his bangs, gritting his teeth as he tries his best to comply with your wishes but he just can’t.

“It’s important.”

Your eyes tighten on his; your fear shifting to anger as well. “You’ve had months to talk to me, Rafe, and you chose right now to have another heart-to-heart?”

“I need you to understand how I feel.” His voice wavers.

“You're unbelievable.”

“Ya know what. Fine,” he huffs, through hurt feelings. You look back at him in disbelief, shaking your head. Crawling to your knees, you lift the curtain, staring down the line of cabins—everything’s still. “Y/n…”

“Fuck, Rafe! What?” You snap in annoyance as you reach for your toiletry bag, fishing out your walkie-talkie.

“STOP!” He gasps, resting his hand on it, stopping you.

“Why? I need to make sure everyone else is okay. I need to know if it was JJ or not.” Rafe keeps his hand on top of yours, looking back at you shamefully before hanging his head. No… Your anger builds as you look at him, the man too guilty to even make eye contact. “You didn’t…”

“I’m sorry…” He whispers. ”It was Topper. Okay? I’m sorry.”

“RAFE, LOOK AT ME,” you scream, showing him your body covered in dirt and gashes. “I could have gotten really hurt. If I had a weapon, I would have killed Topper. Why would you do this?”

He takes a deep breath. The weight of your questions all valid; his behavior inexcusable yet again, and he knows it. “You weren’t gonna fuckin’ talk to me. You weren’t gonna let me be alone with you. You were done with me. I just wanted to get you alone. Zoey and Laura are fine. Okay? I paid ‘em a hundred bucks each to hang out at the cabin with the boys.”

”They’re in on it too?” You ask disgustedly.

“No. Fuck, just me and the boys. I told Zoey I wanted a night alone with you and that Topper and Kelce were sad saps with no fuckin’ game. Okay? They think they’re doin’ us a favor. Nothin’ more.”

“A favor,” you laugh ailingly, looking back at him in disbelief.

“I needed to get you alone. I needed you to listen.”

“And you thought terrorizing me first was the best way to do it? I was looking at your cabin. I was walking down from the showers looking for a light in your bunk so I could apologize to you for how I left things… You know. LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!”

“I’m sorry,” he blubbers.

“‘I’m sorry. I’m SO sorry. I'm fucking sorry, y/n.’” You mock him, at your wit’s end. “Why can’t you just act normally? Huh? Why couldn’t you just apologize to me before? Why did you have to terrorize me all fuckin’ year? Why couldn’t you have just used your goddamn words for something good? What kind of logic led you to this, Rafe?”

“Stop, please. Just stop yellin’ at me. I’m just fuck— I’m sorry.”

“Stop yelling at you? Fuck you! I have every right to yell at you. You know what a dick you are?” You scream, your voice rising as you stand up, backing away from him, heart pounding. He stands with you, arms up, trying to calm you down, but you're too upset.

“Stop, sweetheart,” he pleads as he reaches for you.

“Sweetheart? Sweetheart, Rafe? Bitch, whore, slut, priss, prude. Those are just some of the names you’ve called me TODAY and now I'm sweetheart?”

He grabs you and you fight against him, trying to break out of his grasp, shoving and banging on his chest as tears flood your eyes. “Stop, baby. I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry. Stop,” he whispers, his voice soft and coarse, an undercurrent of pleading flowing beneath. He's not giving in, unwilling to let go, still letting you get your jabs in.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“No. I'm not gonna let you go.”

“FUCK!”

You stop completely, hiccuping and battling for breath. Your eyes lift open, face to face with Rafe, chests rising and falling together. Your muscles soften, shoulders falling; Rafe wraps his big arms around you, hearts banging against each other. Rafe turns his head, the warmth of words ghosting across your sweat-glassed skin. “Please listen to me. I swear I'll leave you alone,” he whispers, his words tight with sentiment. You tilt back, looking for his face. Rafe lowers himself to his knees in front of you submissively. “M’begging you… Just let me explain myself. Just let me apologize, princess. I don't deserve anymore of your time, but I'm begging you for it.” His eyes sparkle with tears as he continues to plead wordlessly for your forgiveness. His eyes shut, tears tumbling down his flushed cheeks as his chin quivers.

Rafe… Him leaving me alone is the last thing I want.

Leaning down you claim his lips, kissing him soft and sweet, shattering the tension. Rafe’s eyes flutter open, completely caught off guard before they close again. You reach out, wiping your thumbs across his cheeks as you cup his face, catching his tears. For the first time in months, the weight has lifted. Rafe wraps his arms around you, standing up again, his large hands grab your waist, trembling slightly. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, hoping you’ll speak. You exhale slowly as you realize just how much you needed that…

“I’m listening,” you whisper, barely above a breath.

His eyes swell with a storm of emotions—pain, shame, and that bitterness he’s been carrying for months. “Thank you…” He says, his voice trembling with feelings. “ I - I tried to move on. I thought I could, but I can’t. It’s like… nothing works anymore. I’ve been depressed—ever since I lost you. Being with other people used to help, distract me… but not anymore. Nothing helps. I got so angry, really fuckin’ angry because I kept telling myself I could get over it. But all I’ve done is watch you from a distance, and it’s driving me crazy. It makes me hate myself because I’m the one who messed it all up. I pushed you away, and now… Now, I’m paying for it.” His frustration and sadness pours out in a confession that’s been held for too long; it breaks something inside you, too, hearing how upset he is. He’s not angry at anyone but himself, consumed by shame and fear; clashing with the reality that it might be too late to fix anything.

He pulls you closer, expecting you to tug away, but you don’t. “I’m bad at this. Alright? I don’t know how to tell people how I feel. I don’t know how to act. I'm selfish, y/n. I'm an awful fuckin’ person. I don’t deserve you. I know that. But I cannot stop thinkin’ about you. It makes me so mad that you are so deep in my head. I was tryin’ my best to leave you alone all year, pushing you away by bein’ a complete ass. Why would you want to be with someone who treats you like shit? I like you… Way too fuckin’ much. N’I haven’t been with anyone since I lost you. I'm not gonna lie to you I tried but it just wasn't working. I'm the worst version on myself, y/n. And, that's really fuckin’ bad.” You look back at him as tears pool in your eyes, completely overwhelmed yourself, still not over the mess in the woods or the truths leaving Rafe’s lips.

“What did you think was gonna happen, Rafe?” You ask shakily. “You were gonna scare me to death, save me, and everything would be okay?”

He bites his cheek, brows pinched together as he hears just how ridiculous that sounds. “I mean… Yeah. That’s exactly what I was hopin’ would happen,” he sighs. “Maybe you’d stop hatin’ me and see how much I care. I don’t fuckin’ know. Didn't think that far ahead. I was fuckin’ desperate, y/n,” he sighs.

“You wanna know what you could have done, Rafe?” You mumble as he looks up at you with puffy, tear-filled eyes, making your heart melt at the pitiful man. “You could have just stayed for the rest of the summer and tried to make it work. Earned my trust. Stopped being such a fuckin’ dick.” He hangs his head and nods, taking in every word.

Rafe breathes deeply, holding in his breath before pressing it out nice and slow. ”I hate it here. You know?” He mutters.

“We all know.”

“I’d do it for you… But fuck, this place sucks,” he sighs tiredly.

“Why did you choose this instead of doing something else? Why here?”

“You remember when we went to breakfast at that shitty diner downtown?”

“Mhmm…”

“Well, I remember you tellin’ me that you came here every summer. And when the dean asked me where I wanted to complete my probation hours, it was an easy choice.” You reach over, caressing his bruised, tear-soaked cheek in your hand. He melts into your touch, his beautiful blue eyes opening on yours. “Every time I spit that bullshit, it was just that—all the mean things I threw at you, it was all a lie. I didn’t mean any of it.” He swallows hard, his thumbs brushing lightly over your fingers as if he still can’t believe you're letting him speak. “I never stopped wanting you,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I said some awful shit to you.”

“You did.”

“I did…” He mumbles pathetically, his eyes glass over like he’s recalling each one. “You were right; that night, you told me I was a boy, not a man. I’ve been actin’ like that since. I’ll work on it, I swear. I'm just sorry-”

“I forgive you,” you stop him in a gentle tone, whispering those three words he was hoping you’d say. Rafe stares at you in disbelief, letting it sink in.

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, hoping you won’t agree again, knowing it’s not what he deserves. “I don’t think I’ll ever be done apologizing.” Rafe leans in this time, pressing another kiss against your lips. “So… Am I stealin’ you from, Heyward?” He asks, already knowing the answer. You shake your head ‘no,’ making him smile.

“Just tryin’ to make you jealous,” you admit.

“It worked,” he answers quickly. “It worked a little too well.”

You sigh, anger fading as you look back at the beautiful man before you. “Are you gonna stay?” You ask. Rafe grabs your hand, kissing your palm, basking in your request.

“‘Course I’ll stay. It might kill me, though,” he laughs weakly.

“You might enjoy it a little more now,” you smile as you step a little closer, feeling your body warm up.

“Why’s that?” Rafe asks coyly as he tilts his head, giving you a look that has you all but falling to your knees.

“Guess we’ll see how the night goes.”

“Yeah?” He asks surprisedly.

“Mhmm…”

“Well, damn…. You don’t really hate me. Do you?”

“I hated how you were acting, but I’ve never hated you, Rafe.”

“Never ever,” He asks, his voice deep, just a little playful, making the two of you smile as you both push closer and closer.

”Never…” You whisper against his lips, feeling him smile against yours.

“What about five minutes ago? You were pretty mad, princess.”

“That was mean, Rafe Cameron.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “You still think I’m a pussy?” Rafe asks as he cocks an eyebrow.

“Depends…”

“Depends, baby? What the hell?” He drawls with a husky laugh as he puts his large hand on your thigh, squeezing tight.

“Are you gonna take what you want-”

Rafe’s lips crash into yours as you give him the green light. The two of you ripping off clothes between deep, heated kisses until all that’s left is your skin against his. Rafe pulls you into his lap, slowing down the pace enough to savor your kiss just like he did the first night you were together, making it that much sweeter.

He wraps his big arms around you tightly, laying you down on the bed. “Oh shit,” he gasps, letting out a lusty laugh as you roll yourself on top, straddling his lap, bearding your weight on your hands, pressed against his firm chest. His heart races underneath as he looks up at you in awe, holding your hips in his large hands, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, following your movements as you grind your wet pussy on his hard dick. “You a virgin?” The question lingers in the air, raw and vulnerable as you hesitate, unsure how to answer. Before you can say a word, his expression changes—something dark flickers across light eyes. His jaw tightens, Rafe shakes his head, pulling back slightly as if the very thought is unbearable “I can’t hear it. I can’t handle it,” he sighs. “I don’t even know why I asked. Just the thought of you with someone else, it—it kills me. I can’t stand it. No one existed before me. Understand?” He huffs, his word fading to a deep moan as you move your hand between your thighs, wrapping your fingers around his thick dick, tilting your body closer.

You breathe against his mouth as you stroke his long length nice and slow. “That goes for you too, Rafe. And after…” His eyes roll back as you feed his possessive side. A deep, gravelly moan thunders in his throat as you kiss along his jawline.

“There’s no one before or after, baby. You're mine.” Rafe’s head falls deeper into the pillow, giving you access to his skin, your lips taking purchase of his neck, kissing lower and lower, his muscles tightening under your soft touches. You tease him with the tip of your tongue, tracing his deep v-line as you work your way between his thighs, finally getting a good look at his rock-hard cock; pussy pulsing, body aching to be stuffed full of him.

You wrap your fingers around his dick, holding him straight, licking along the side of his dick, making him moan needily. Your tongue travels across his hard skin, exploring every inch, taunting him some more. He grips your hair suddenly, making you gasp, goosebumps fanning across his thick thighs. You flick your eyes at him, catching his rapid breathing.

"Y/n... Please," he begs, causing a smirk to stretch across your lips.

“After all that teasing, Rafey, you don’t think you deserve some of that treatment,” you mock.

A little trail of precum rolls down the side of his heavy cock, making your mouth water. You trace the trail of his vein, making him shudder out a breath. “You’re bullying me…” He pouts as he shakes his head and smiles, the man on cloud nine, as you kiss and suck on his head sloppily. “N’you’re tellin’ me I coulda had these pretty lips wrapped around my dick for the last year,” he lauds as you rub his tip against your pillowy lips, his swollen head sheened with spit.

Rafe rests his big hands on the top of your head, scratching his rough fingertips in your hair, causing your eyes to fall shut. You take his cue, wrapping your lips around him, taking him inch by inch. "Yeah, baby. Just like that," he groans. Rafe guides you, stroking his cock with your mouth, pitching his hips, driving his tip to the back of your throat, causing you to gag. You suck in your cheeks, keeping your lips tight around his thick cock, feeling a slight ache in your jaw as you bob up and down. “Ugh, shit - Mmphf… You’re so fuckin’ good at suckin’ dick. Fucking hell,” he praises.

You add your hand, working him closer and closer to his peak. Your wrist moves in tandem with your mouth, laboring messily, thoroughly coating his cock with your saliva, slurping and squelching, making his toes curl with each stroke of your fist. Praise falls from his lips as he mutters incoherently, trying to keep his eyes on yours.

Rafe’s grip on your hair tightens as a husky moan releases from his lips. You take him deep in your throat before sucking back to his tip, pulling a pathetic whimper from his mouth as he looks back at you, watching as tears roll down your cheeks. Rafe reaches out, brushing them away with his thumb before sucking it clean as you stroke his cock in your hand. "Fuck you look good, princess, Mmm... Gonna cum-”

"Where do you want it," you whisper warmly against his throbbing dick.

"Mouth… Fuck, I wanna cum in that pretty fuckin’ mouth," he pleads as your lips circle him again, spit seeping down to his balls. The sensation and pleasure of it all sends him over the edge. Rafe’s toned hips jolt upwards, thighs trembling and flexing tightly. “Fuckk, y/n,” he moans as his sticky load paints the back of your throat. His eyes pinch shut, cock throbbing on your tongue as you milk out his last bits of pleasure. You draw your lips off him slowly, Rafe’s big body melting into your bed. "Co’mere, princess," he whispers drunkenly, sighing as you slink higher, working toward his lips. “You’re my girl,” he mumbles between kisses. “My fuckin’ girl.”

"M’Yours, Rafe,” you whisper, kissing deeply.

“No more makin’ me jealous. Aight? Makes me fuckin’ crazy.”

“You don’t say,” you chuckle breathily, rubbing your thumb across his bruised cheek.

“Honestly, it scares me how much I like you, y/n. Thinking about anyone else getting to be with you, getting that… Fuck, baby. It’s too much to think about. That was so much better than I imagined…” You lean down, kissing him nice and slow, tasting a slight tinge of blood from his split lip. He hums against your lips, taking in the sweetness of your chapstick and the taste of himself lingering as well.

“You think about me?”

“All the time. Thought about you suckin’ my dick way too much,” he laughs as he rubs his hands over his eyes. "Are you gonna let me take care of you, princess?" You bite your lip and nod as Rafe rolls you to your back, staring down at you with lust-filled eyes, the damp fringe of his bangs skimming his forehead. He leans down for a kiss, claiming your mouth; his tongue works between your lips, reeling slow.

Rafe leaves your kiss, working toward your jaw, sucking along your neck, making you moan. "You make some pretty sweet sounds, y/n," he sighs as he moves to your chest, kissing and nipping at your skin. “Bet you’re pussy’s even sweeter.” His mouth makes its way over to your nipple, tracing and flicking, blowing lightly, making your back arch off the mattress of the small bunk.

Goosebumps spread across your skin as he works lower, following the curve of your waist with his rough fingers. Rafe lowers himself, landing between your thighs, nearing your cunt with a smile. "Shit, y/n," he pants as his hand grazes your pussy, running his large fingers through your slick folds. You purr at his touch. "So fuckin' wet for me," he rasps. You gasp as he hooks your legs in his big biceps, pulling you close.

“I-” You feel your heart start to race again as Rafe licks a line up your slit, circling softly when he reaches your clit. “I - shit. I haven’t done this before.”

Rafe moans into your pussy at the sound of your admittance. Your thighs draw in, squeezing his broad shoulders. He gropes your legs, pushing you against the mattress, looking up at you with a fire in his eyes. “Never?” He asks curiously. You shake your head ‘no’, staring back at him with doll-like eyes that has him yearning to corrupt you in any way he can.

“No. I just haven’t done this…”

“Saving it for me. Huh?” He toys as he kisses down the inside of your thighs, nibbling at your sensitive skin, making you mewl. The warmth of his breath hits your soaked core, making you whimper at the new sensation. Rafe’s tongue hits you again, brushing from side to side. You wiggle away slightly; your sensitivity at an all-time high but Rafe doesn't let up, curling his arms tighter, pulling you even closer than before.

"Fuck, Rafe," you pant.

"Mmm... Look at you. Takin’ my mouth so well, princess. Feels good. Huh?" He hums as he works a little lower, spitting on your pussy, teasing your entrance with his tongue.

"So good," you weep, bucking your hips. His nose brushes against your clit; tongue slipping in and out. Your thighs start to tremble. "Oh, Rafe... So—So fucking good,” you babble as he licks a stripe up your silk, landing on your clit again. You glance down, meeting his eyes, his half-lidded stare brimming with pleasure, pussy-drunk off your taste. He plunges two thick fingers in your entrance, making you cry out.

"Such a good little slut for me,” he burns, fucking you with his digits.

"Yes. Fuck!"

"Say it."

"I'm a good — oh.”

"Say it, princess. You don’t want me to stop. Do you?” He bullies.

“If you stop— Fuck. If you stop…” He robs you of your words completely as he sucks down on your clit.

“If I stop. What? You threatenin’ me?” He mumbles against your drenched cunt, giving you a sleazy laugh before slapping your pussy.

"Fuck! I'm a little slut for-” Rafe cuts you off yet again with two curled fingers, hitting that special spot. You feel yourself tightening around his hand as you near your bliss.

"For who, now? Loss for words, princess?"

"Shit," you snivel. “S-Stop teasing me, or I'm not gonna let you fuck me. How does that sound?”

"Oh shit. Yeah? Really? Fuck, princess… You - You want to? You want that?" He asks in a barrage of words, his tone needy and charged with desperation. He replaces his tongue with his thumb, fingers thrusting wildly.

"Yes! Yes, Rafe," you squeal as you cum for him, clenching around his big fingers. You soak his hand and the sheet below, back arching as Rafe continues to please you, applying firm pressure, bottoming you out with his hand.

"That’s my girl," he praises as he watches you writhe in pleasure. You relax around him, fighting for a breath. Rafe draws his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean, tasting your essence. "Mmm... Fuck me," he groans as his eyes roll back.

Rafe pulls you into his chest, holding you close as you come down from your high, kissing your neck, your cheeks, your lips, anywhere and everywhere he can reach “How was that, y/n?” He smiles against your kiss. “Think you’d wanna do that again?” He brushes your hair off your dewy skin, kissing your forehead and the tip of your nose before meeting your lips as you come down from your high.

“You can’t leave. Please promise me you’ll stay,” you plead through panting breaths, making him chuckle and smile.

“Goddamn… That good. Huh?”

“So good. Oh my god,” you mumble as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm. You look at him, giving him a smile that has him melting.

“Can’t believe I treated you so bad. I’m gonna make it up to you. I promise. How could I treat someone so fuckin’ perfect like I did? Huh?” He mutters as he kisses your neck and chest.

”Not sure,” you whisper, feeling butterflies in your stomach as his eyes flick to yours, hanging on to every word. “But, you can start makin’ it better.”

“Mhmm… I caught that little threat,” he breathes, his smile heard in his low tone. “Were you serious or just fuckin’ with me? That's cruel. But, I’d deserve it,” you pull back, catching his pouted lip.

"You're my weakness, Rafe,” you whisper, watching a smirk tug on the corner of his lips. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

"Shittt… S’that so?" He bites his lip, hearing exactly what he wanted to hear. “How are you so forgiving? Why are you bein’ so nice to me?” He asks as he crawls to your lips; hard cock dragging against your tummy, smudging precum along your warm skin. Rafe lays himself down on top of you, pinning you to the bed. He grabs your cheeks with one hand, kissing your lips roughly.

“‘Cause I like you. You’re showing me how much you care… That’s all I wanted, Rafe. I just want to be all you wanted. I think I am-”

“You are.” He stops you. “You… You are all I want, Y/n. I'm gonna make you feel that.”

“I need it, Rafe.”

"So damn needy, baby doll. I love it," he croons as he leans in, breathing heavily with you as he swirls his fat tip around your drooling hole, pressing in just enough to make your mouth fall in a soft “o,” moaning into his mouth at the stretch. “Mmm, fuck. Sounded better than I dreamed it would," he mutters; thrusting into you roughly, giving you all of him, making you scream his name. "Fuck, sweetheart. Keep goin’. Yeah? Keep saying my name," he lives as he grips your thighs, slinging them over his big shoulders. Your eyes widen as his large cock stretches you out; Rafe presses his full weight into you, making your trembling hands reach for his hips.

“So deep, Rafe,” you blubber.

“Too much?” You bite down on your bottom lip, shaking your head ‘no’. “So damn tight. Mmpfh - Shit. This fucking pussy, princess.” Rafe starts to move, rolling and snapping his hips into you at the perfect pace. His gold chain sways with each movement, Rafe’s eyes rolling back as you catch it between your teeth. Your eyes flutter shut as you toe the line between pleasure and pain, the knot in your belly threatens to break. "Look at that baby… Holy shit,” he chuckles raspily. His large hand rests on your lower stomach; the tip of his big cock making a slight bulge in your tummy.

Rafe drops your thighs from his shoulders, taking a bruising grip on your hips, fucking into you rough and fast, causing the hardware of the bunkbed clatter. You grab his wrists from your hips, dragging them up your body, curling them to your neck, urging him to squeeze. “Thought you were innocent…” He smiles as he tightens his hold even more, making you choke and sputter. Your rapid pulse raps against his palm, the metal of his rings chilling your dewy skin.

"Tighter," you pant. Rafe laughs wickedly, applying further pressure, making your eyes fall closed, breasts bouncing with each thrust. Rafe lifts his hand, slapping your cheek just enough to sting. Your pussy tightens around his cock, you, holding back your release knowing he won’t let you cum ‘til he says so.

"Don’t cum. Don’t fuckin’ do it," he drawls, saying those words aloud. Blessing your ears with the type of shit you only dreamed about when you were pleasing yourself to the thought of him.

"Rafe... I." You stutter as you feel your pleasure about to burn through you. "I can't..."

"Mmm... Not until I tell you. You understand?"

"Please!" You moan. You can't hold back your bliss even if you tried. Your climax claims your body. "Rafe, fuck!" You sob. He continues to rail you, not letting up. You force your eyes open, meeting his stare; Rafe quickly hides his smile.

"What the fuck did I say, y/n?

"I'm so-” He cuts you off with his big fingers pushing through your kiss-swollen lips, landing on your tongue.

“Suck.” Rafe draws his fingers down to your clit, circling them quickly. You feel yourself right back at the edge of ecstasy; your eyes start to fall shut as exhaustion sets in. “Look at me, or I might just stop.” He slows his strokes, hands toiling slower as he threatens to cease altogether, smiling at you darkly.

"What? N-No. Don't fucking stop," you whimper as you stare into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Fuck. You’re too easy to tease, baby. You look so pretty when you’re worked up… When you’re fuckin’ desperate,” he breathes as he picks up the pace again. “That’s gonna be a hard habit to break.” He lowers himself to your lips, his muscular body clapping against you again and again. “You like it though. Don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. Fuck. I love it.”

“I knew it. M’not gonna tease you anymore, but I want you to be a good girl and cum f’me. Think you can do that?” His mumbles between kisses. "Can you say my name? It sounds so fucking good, y/n... So fucking good."

"Yeah, Rafe. Fuck," you whine. "Are you-" You start, voice cutting short, as pleasure takes complete control.

"Yeah, baby, I am. Fuck. I'm right there." You pull him in tighter, hooking your ankles around his trim waist, praising his name as he worships you. "Y/n... Ugh, shit," he groans, hips pumping one last time, filling you full. He kisses you deeply, breathing heavily with you as tears of pleasure wet your cheeks. “M’not fuckin’ leaving you.”

Rafe wraps the blanket around your shoulder, pulling you in closer, the warmth of his big body presses against yours. Your head falls against his chest, taking in the silence of the night. Everything changed for the better; apologies were said, plans were made for the fall; the rest of the summer ahead of you both. Rafe rests a cigarette between his lips, thumbing his lighter, the flickering of the flame glowing on his beautiful features in the darkness. He takes a drag, casting smoke up into the dim sky.

It’s silent, as it has been for months between you, other than Rafe’s blistering words, but this stillness is different. There’s no stress between the two of you, just you. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, making his rosy lips curve into a smile. He rests the cigarette in his mouth, taking another puff before stamping it out, snuggling close, resting his lips on your bare shoulder as he fiddles with the soft material of your cotton cami.

“Rafe,” you chuckle weakly, hearing him mumbling against your warm skin, preparing yourself for another round of ‘I’m sorry’s’ from him, “It’s alright’s’ from you.

“I know I’ve said it a million fuckin’ times tonight, but I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he mutters, his voice raspy and worn from the smoke. You turn your cheek, kissing him, nuzzling in.

“I forgive you. I promise.”

“Can’t believe that… And after that shit, I pulled earlier. What the hell is wrong with you? Huh?” He knocks as he tickles your sides, making you nestle into him more. “I can’t wait for the fall,” he beams. “College life; frat life, and we get to do all that. I mean with you… And me - like us. Together. You and I. We get to do that together, princess,” he fumbles nervously over his words, making you smile even harder at his excitement.

“Together?”

“Mhmm…” He hums. “I mean, you’re mine, to be clear.” He kisses your neck roughly, giving you a playful bite.

“So, I'm your-”

“Girlfriend,” he answers confidently. “You have been for months. Didn't you know?”

A scream pierces through the night, making Rafe jump; his body tightens around you as you watch Zoey stumble into view. Her battered body glowing in the luster of the moon. You’re frozen in place, watching as the horror she was running from steps out from behind a cabin, like something out of a movie. He walks toward her as she struggles on the ground, clawing at the wet earth, doing her best to stand and flee.

The masked man lifts his axe, striking her with a loud thump as the blade connects with her back. Her sickening scream echoes through the camp, causing the lights in the surrounding cabins to flick on. Counselors step out into the twilight, responding with horrified screams of their own, some running, some hiding as you and Rafe watch on, unable to move as the madman continues to swing his axe again and again.

The killer’s head slowly turns, locking eyes with you. He breathes heavily, the chest of his bloodied plaid shirt heaving. Rafe comes too first, pulling himself together enough to yank you to your feet. Before you have time to react, Rafe’s massive truck comes barreling in reverse, plowing down the way from the pogue’s cabin, blaring on the horn. JJ hangs out the driver’s side, weaving around obstacles, closing the gap between you, dodging the masked man narrowly.

“My fuckin’ truck, Maybank?” Rafe’s voice breaks.

“Keys were in the ignition, slick. Get in the fuckin’ truck,” Maybank barks at the two of you. Rafe quickly pulls you down the steps, helping you into the truck as the killer looks around for his next victim. The tailgate’s already open. Rafe helps you inside before slamming it shut behind you, making your stomach fall.

“Get in the truck,” you pant. He looks at you and shakes his head ‘no’ before grabbing your cheeks, kissing you hard and fast.

”I’ll meet you at the main road. M’gonna find Top and Kelce. You’re gonna be okay. Alright? RIGHT?” Rafe barks at the pogues, who assure him quickly that you’ll be fine. JJ smacks his palm against the side of Rafe’s truck, urging the two of you to hurry up.

Rafe runs ahead, steering away from the killer, spriting close to the cabins as JJ peels out. You watch him in the strobe of the headlights closing in on his cabin as JJ takes off, his speed throwing you against the cold metal bed of the truck. You scooch back, gripping the edge of the vehicle tightly as your body jolts forward again. The killer moves in JJ’s path, causing him to swerve and break to avoid running over Zoey’s dead body on the cold ground.

I can't do it.

Fuck. You leap out of the truck without much thought, feet hitting the dirt, unable to leave without him. JJ slams on the breaks, the group of them screaming at you to come back as you stream toward Rafe’s cabin. “Just go! I’ll meet you at the main road!” Your voice cracks with terror as you watch them go back and forth with what to do. “JUST FUCKING GO!” The tires spin fast, spraying the killer with rocks and dirt as the engine roars, quickly speeding away.

The slasher’s soulless eyes peer through the mask, locking with yours, sending chills down your spine. Just run. You look over your shoulder, scrambling the rest of the way to Rafe’s bunk, hearing the murderer’s feet pounding into the ground behind you. You grab the door, tugging it open before slamming it shut, pushing your back against it as you gasp for a breath.

CRACK.

You look to your left, just mere inches from your head, at the slasher's axe sliced through the old wooden door. Your wide, horrified eyes looks back at you in the reflection of the metal, a mess with blood. Rafe rushes at you in a panic, holding your cheeks, kissing your lips between frantic questions. “Why didn’t you just fuckin’ leave? What - What are you doin’, baby? What were you thinkin’? Huh?” He mutters through trembling lips.

“We gotta go, man,” Kelce pleads, his voice strained with the horrors of the night as he holds Topper up, their friend’s blood soaking through his clothes, pooled on the floor below him. You look at Topper’s body, his right arm almost completely gone, cut off at the elbow. So fresh the boys weren’t even able to offer aid. Topper’s breaths are shallow and labored as he fights for consciousness.

“What the fuck was that?” Topper slurs in a haze.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, man. We just gotta get outta here-”

CRASH.

The killer’s axe smashes through the glass, sending shards of the front window flying in every direction, glinting all around. You recoil slightly as Rafe shields you, quickly pulling you to run again. Rafe passes you the keys to Topper’s Jeep before looping his arm around Thornton’s waist, helping Kelce ease him out the back.

You look back in horror, watching as the monster steps through the window, crushing the chips of shattered glass under his old leather boots. You slam the back door shut behind you, unable to lock it, terrified knowing you were just seconds away from seeing him again. The boys quickly help Topper inside as you leap into the driver’s seat, turning it over.

CRASH.

The axe crashes through the back window of Topper’s Jeep. Kelce screams out in pain as the weapon grazes his shoulder, blood and glass showering the back seat. You press the pedal to the floor, tires struggling to gain traction in the uneven grass. The Jeep takes off fast. Your fingers bind tight around the wheel, knuckles turning white.

Rafe shifts in his seat, staring out the back window toward the lake, his blue eyes wide with fear. You look out the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the killer’s silhouette in the moonlight. You swerve slightly, overcorrecting, your reactions heightened; body and mind on edge. You breathe a sigh of relief as Rafe’s hand reaches over, gripping your thigh.

The Jeep plows down the road pushing 80, getting the four of you about a mile away from camp. Not far enough. You swerve out onto the main street, tires screeching. Rafe’s truck lights beam ahead. You slam on the brakes, throwing it in the park, reaching for a breath. “Let me, baby,” Rafe soothes, placing his hand on the wheel over the top of yours, gesturing that he can take control if you need it.

Your tears fall heavily, relief setting in as you run around to the front of the Jeep. Rafe pulls you into his strong arms, breathing heavily with you. “You’re okay. We’re alright. We’re okay. Okay?” He stammers, fighting back his own emotion for you. “We gotta get Top to a hospital. We gotta get outta here-” Rafe looks over his shoulder, down the long dark path back to Camp Salem. You grab his cheeks, turning him back to you before pressing your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“I love you.”

Rafe pauses, his trembling lips hovering over yours. “Say it again, baby,” he pleads.

“I love you, Rafe.”

“I love you too.”

The End.

[nicolanlang]

Did You Know You Can Save $1000 a Month with These Sustainable Living Tips?

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[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 .

# with akagami no shanks.

the captain was drunk — and a bit self-conscious. not to fret, for you were his favorite entertainer.

KINKTOBER, day ten. smut (mdni!). strip-tease. lap dance. masturbation (reader!receiving). thigh riding. dry humping. usage of conqueror’s haki. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 1.9k.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm.

upon his return to the wild seas of the new world, those had been the most frowned upon words. the fearsome captain, the unmovable force, somehow would miss a limb forevermore. the reactions were but a divergent cacophony. fear — for what human could achieve such a feat? was it even a human? if not so, how close was the beast? if it had been enough to face him, what chance did the commoners have? anger — for mihawk no longer had a worthy rival. it would be far from honorable to face in combat a swordsman whose dominant arm was gone. and, at last, curiosity — for why was the truth hidden? one did not brag about a loss, but aside from overused jokes, shanks refused to spare a single word. who was he protecting? it was hilarious to witness the fuss as part of the select number of people aware of what had, in truth, happened.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm. and you had been the one to hear his puns ever since.

of course, he faced decent struggles. waking at night phantom pain; forced to master the art of the sword yet again with a hand he had no experience with whatsoever. yet, above the frustration soared an undeniable truth — for luffy, it had been worth it. besides, a decade past and shanks had grew accustomed to the mandatory shifts, living as though had not lost a thing.

however, as it seemed, there was yet one he would never cease to whine about.

the man was drunk — a common occurrence — and awfully clingy — another common occurrence. you had dragged him from the bar, pitying the poor beckman, for the man deserved a break from the captain’s shenanigans, and shanks had been hugging your waist ever since. he sat on the bed, drooling on your flesh, not allowing you to at least go fetch some water. his grip was a prison of itself on usual hours, but it did not help that you, too, were a bit intoxicated, swaying to the sides and failing to pull his face off your body.

“dooooooooooooll,” he drawled out, hiccuping. “i miss your ass.”

shanks gripped a considerable amount of flesh, daring to whine. “get over it, you’re a grown man.”

“how mean, i am half a grown man,” he laughed at said joke, biting the bare inch of your waist.

“half a man deserves half an ass,” you stated matter-of-factly, fighting off the urge to let out a hiccup yourself.

“but i miss groping both sides at the same time,” shanks insisted, dragging his nose on your belly, daring to grow drunker on your scent.

“you never had this complaint with my tits,” you pointed out, to which he liked his lips, seemingly aroused all of the sudden.

the hand pinching at your waist trailed itself up to rest on one of your breasts, his once slouched figure straightening up so that he could drag a sloppy stripe across your covered nipple. he had no problem with it whatsoever, for he was a man of considerable height.

“i can tease both of my girls at the same time,” he stated, wetting the fabric of your shirt, grinning at the elicit expression. “i can’t slap both your asscheeks at the same time anymore.”

your nipple hardened due to his ministrations, all but his for the taking, for you hadn’t felt the need to wear a bra that night. shanks closed his lips around the bud, humming as he sucked on it, spit soaking clothing and skin alike.

“and you like it,” the man teased, voice a bit muffled; rough.

you arched your back with a sigh, gripping locks of red hair, falling prey to his sensual tongue. yet, though your glance was tethered to his face, shanks’ own eyes seemed ever-so-lost, melancholic, even. you caught on the instance he moved his other shoulder, as though aiming to grip your hip with a nonexistent arm — a maintained instinct despite the absence of the limb. shanks laid down, retreating from your figure altogether, explicit vulnerability that would not have been shown otherwise, was he not drunk.

“see, doll? half a man,” he scoffed, to which your eyes narrowed; face scrunching in concentration as you then pondered on how to comfort him.

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his pants, whistling with faux innocence. shanks observed your approach with hooded eyes, laughing with delight once your chest was pressed against his own.

“my poor, poor husband,” you teased, pleased to witness the sudden shift in his attitude.

shanks and you hadn’t officiated the marriage; no celebration to be seen whatsoever. it had been the initial plan, two years prior. however, with newgate’s death and the aftermath of the war, waiting on a better period was the agreement. that did not mean the titles weren’t used, and shanks, in particular, never failed to be aroused whenever the word husband fell past your lips. a decade worth of lovemaking, too, made you more than attuned to what had him squirming.

“how i hate to see you so sorrowful,” you hummed, kissing the scars etched on the flesh of his eye. “i will fix that.”

“yeah, doll?” he grunted, growing excited when you dodged his advances. “how so?”

shanks sat on the edge of your shared bed, widening smirk and lustful eyes following your every move. you spun around the room, strutting your hips and nearing the corner, positioned far from his reach.

“you’re not allowed to touch,” you ordered, far more daring due to the alcohol. “just watch.”

shanks had his legs spread, a growing erection visible through the thin fabric of his pants. you opened the small, circular window, allowing the music from the outside bar to travel inside. your hips moved accordingly to the beat, an established sensual pace that had your fingers hovering over your breasts as you spun and approached him with languid steps.

you danced around the border of his reach, teasing the thin grip he had on his self-restraint. when he dared move, you dodged with a fit of giggles. “how should we start, sea emperor?”

he groaned at the title. “let me see your tits, doll.”

you hummed, rolling your hips with a languid sensualness born from the usual influence of alcohol. your fingers teased the straps of your shirt, trailing down the fabric until you reached the button of your shirts. rather than listening to his request, you sluggishly tugged down the zipper, perching your ass up as you slowly turned around, movements following the rhythm from the music outside.

the loose piece of clothing threatened to fall, yet you held the hem, controlling the pace of its trajectory, rolling your hips; lowering yourself on your knees. when it was, at last, off, you kicked it away, snapping the strap of your underwear. shanks had a brief sight of your soaked cunt before he was forced to face your front yet again. he cleared his throat, eyes trailed to the lacy, borderline transparent, fabric that left near nothing to the imagination.

“tits?” you mocked, trailing your fingers down your clothed labia.

shanks was left conflicted, his inebriated mind struggling to wrap itself around what to answer. would you concede if he reacted positively? or would you tease him yet again, offering the much desired sight of your intimacy? how could he outsmart that? shanks was far too drunk for an elaborate plan.

“thighs,” he answered smugly, a grin that indicated he felt all much too quirky.

you parted your legs open, pinching and grabbing the bare flesh, mimicking his touch. your lover was drooling, observing the outline of your intimacy; stroking his clothed member. yet again, a temptive roll of your hips deprived him of what he yearned for. shanks gripped his cock, growing out of patience as your fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, raising it ever-so-slowly, a languid set pace. you stretched the fabric, biting on it in order to keep your nipples covered, using your fingers to tease said hardened buds, muffled moans and dancing matching the melody of the song.

when the saliva started dripping down your chin; staining your shirt; you removed it, spinning it on your finger until it fell at his feet.

“doll,” he warned, sweat surging on his temples, ceasing the ministrations of his hand on the hardened member. “c’mere.”

“nuh uh,” you sang, turning around on purpose. shanks had the entire sight of your cunt when you lowered down to remove your panties, dancing with it stuck between your teeth, growing hot at the explicit lust on his eyes.

“come to me,” he demanded, the applied pressure stealing your free-will.

your dance ceased altogether, for shanks had dared use his conqueror’s haki to guarantee compliance. your figure stumbled towards the awaiting man, his index beckoning you in a mocking manner.

“sit on my lap,” you conceded, no questions asked. shanks gripped your chin, a lonesome finger tugging at the lacy underwear dangling from your lips. “i want that.”

he opened his mouth, forcing yours to mimic the movement. your panties fell on his tongue, and he moaned at the taste of your essence, the loud slurping causing your walls to clench around air. you whimpered, neglected and unable to move, and shanks all but spat out the piece of clothing, rutting his hips as though a hound in heat.

“turn around,” he instructed, groaning when you brushed against him. your ass rested on his clothed cock, legs spread and back arched, prepared for whatever he had in store. “dance for me, doll.”

the music fell on deaf ears, overthrown by the choir of your moans once you started to move, the roll of your hips teasing your clit, growing swollen due to the texture of his pants. shanks panted, leaning forward. he sucked on your earlobe, twisting one of your nipples as he teased the clothed erection under your bare entrance. the dancing grew sloppy, for he had your back pressed against his chest; his lips latched to your neck. shanks made out with the flesh, spit trailing down your breast, the wetness used to tease your abused nipple.

shanks’ feet sunk down on the ground for further support, and he interrupted the languid roll of your figure on his lap by rutting his hips, forcing his clothed cock to rub itself on your folds. he licked a trail up your chin, biting on the bone, tilting your head with his nose. expert fingers left your breast to dance down your stomach, finding themselves a home amidst your folds. he drew fast-paced circles on your clit, and you closed your eyes, moaning at the sensation. your legs trembled, thighs burning, yet the pressure of his command lingered. you were but a puppet whose strings he pulled, dancing despite your own tiredness.

the growing knot at the pit of your stomach snapped, your orgasm arriving with treacherous swiftness, for the alcohol had done its part when enhancing your pleasure. shanks laughed, shoving his fingers past your parted lips without warning, forcing you to taste yourself; to lick him clean.

he wrapped his arm around your figure to throw you against the mattress. you had but a brief sight of him — removing his clothes, standing in naked glory — before he hovered above you, teasing your slick, sensitive entrance with his leaking tip.

“you were kind enough to dance,” shanks mocked, his lips mere inches away from your own; hot breath fanning over your face. “but the spectacle won’t be complete until i have you singing.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : i’m running out of things to write here omg, happy kinktober? 😭