#drew all this in a fevered haze

[clowncorpze]

₊˚♬ ﾟ.Introducing DJ D3MON!. ♫⋆｡♪

& yes, it's pronounced d-three-mon >;D

[amourane]

why can't we love freely?

pairing: theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader

genre: angsttttt, secret relationship

w/c: 2k

summary: you're tired of being a secret and it was time to let theo know.

warnings: HEARTBREAK

a/n: this was initially meant to be for a request and i started writing it and i got on a roll only to finish the piece and go back to check the request to realise i did it all wrong lmao, so i decided to just post this instead <3 enjoy!

The busy chatter that filled the Great Hall was one that you were familiar with, afterall it had been the same for the past few years that you had been a part of Hogwarts. There was a hint of the sunlight peeking through the windows as the early morning bustle reached its peak. Everyone was rushing to pile breakfast onto the porcelain plates but you couldn’t help but linger at the entrance, looking back ever so often to check if a certain someone had arrived yet. 

“Y/n hurry! Bloody Ernie is going to have devoured all the croissants before I even have a bite.” Hannah whined as she pulled you along towards the Hufflepuff table.

Her incessant nagging eventually made you move and you dragged yourself towards your fellow house members albeit a little sad you hadn’t seen the person that had been on your mind. You dig into your own meal, stabbing the fruits with your fork and shoving them into your mouth. There was the normal hubbub that surrounded you and you felt yourself melt into conversation with your friends once again.

A voice caught your attention and you immediately perked up at the deep chuckle that had your heart skipping a beat. There he was: Theodore Nott. Quite arguably the most handsome person in all of Hogwarts and, of course, your boyfriend. His tousled hair framed his angled face perfectly with single strands that fall into his eyes. You watched as a smirk danced on his lips as he sauntered over to his side of the hall. Theodore Nott had always possessed an aura that drew you into him. Even when you both weren’t dating you often found yourself staring at the handsome boy from your table, wondering what he was really like.

As Theodore's gaze met yours in that fleeting moment, a silent exchange passed between you, laden with unspoken emotions. In the depths of his eyes, you saw the words he couldn't voice.

“I love you.”

It’s silent but it’s there.

The both of you had agreed to keep the relationship under the wraps, not wanting anyone to know about the two of you. It would cause an uproar and neither of you were sure if you wanted to handle the aftermath of the situation. So this was what it came to. Secret glances and whispered love confessions. You couldn’t walk up to him, you couldn’t kiss him in front of everyone, you couldn’t even talk to your friends about him.

Although you had said it would be fine for it to be a secret you didn’t think that he would still want to keep it a secret after so long. You didn’t want to hide your affection for Theo. You truly loved him more than anything and it had already been a year since you officially started dating. Surely it didn’t matter that much that it was a secret.

"Hello? Y/n? You there?" Hannah's voice pulled you from the depths of your thoughts, and you blinked, feeling as though you were emerging from a distant haze. Her concerned expression hovered before you as she waved a hand in front of your face, urging you back to the present moment.

You glanced down to find a forgotten cup of pumpkin juice in your hand, its contents untouched. How long had you been lost in your own thoughts?

"I'm... I'm sorry, Hannah." You murmured, offering her a weak smile as you tried to shake off the lingering tendrils of distraction. "I guess I just...drifted off for a moment there."

“You alright? You don’t look well.” She reached her hand to bring it to your forehead, trying to feel if you had a fever. “You were properly zoned out there.”

“Yeah yeah I’m fine.” You tried to brush off her concern and you offered her a meek smile. “Just didn’t have a good night’s sleep, that's all.”

Your friend looked at you, her lips pursed, a sign she didn’t actually believe what you said. You forced another smile in Hannah's direction, you silently hoped that she wouldn't press any further

Truth be told, you weren’t fine. The past couple of weeks had consisted of your thoughts rampaging in your mind. The continuous stream of worries that clouded your view as you tried desperately to reason with yourself. It wasn’t a huge issue that your relationship with the Slytherin was a secret but gradually what were stupid thoughts now turned into ones that plagued you everywhere you went. You’d be lying if you said you were okay with not even being acknowledged as his girlfriend as he ignored you in class and everywhere public.

Your eyes locked with Theo’s once again and you saw the way there was concern etched into his face. Your boyfriend knew when you were upset and he definitely knew that you were far from okay right now. He mumbled something to Blaise who was beside him before getting up to leave - a signal for you to do the same.

“I think I’m going to go take a nap before class starts, can you come wake me up later?” 

Hannah nodded and you thank her quickly before whisking yourself away in the direction the Slytherin had set off to. The chatter faded as you walked down the hallway and you were now left alone with your thoughts once again. It was bad you knew but you couldn’t help but feel as though you were something to be ashamed of. Was that why Theo was so desperate to cling on to the secrecy?

“Principessa?” Your boyfriend gently grabbed your wrist, twirling you around to face him and you realised you had been too caught up in your mind to even notice he was there. “You okay? You seem a bit off my love.”

His eyes twinkled with concern and you saw the love and affection you were familiar with and it warmed your heart. You loved Theodore Nott more than anything but the questions had plagued your mind for too long now and you needed to voice your thoughts. Otherwise, you thought you would go insane.

“Why are we a secret?”

It was barely above a whisper but Theo heard it. He knew that you weren’t one for loud environments, preferring the quiet of the library and the solitude of your dorm. You were always shy and introverted, rarely speaking to others. You liked to keep to yourself. Even with Theo you were shy and meek but that didn’t mean you weren’t happy. There was always a smile on your face, a loving beam that would make his own heart stutter. Yet your lips weren’t drawn into the bright grin he knew, instead they were in a frown and he recognised your nervousness as you wringed your hands.

Theo would have never considered himself to notice little details. He had always ignored everyone else around him and he never paid enough attention nor did he care enough about others to recognise the little tell-tale signs that everyone did. Until he met you. Then he noticed every little detail, from the way your nose would scrunch when you tried to bite back a laugh to the way you would tangle your fingers in your hair when you were trying to solve a problem.

So it was only natural he realised that you weren’t okay.

“Y/n we talked about this-”

“Yes I know it’s just that.” You paused. The words were bubbling up your throat, you felt them rising and rising and rising and you were unable to stop. You took a sharp inhale. “I don’t understand why, not anymore.”

“Y/n, mia cara, we’ve been through this. No one will accept us. People won’t understand the love between us and they’ll try to tear us apart. My friends, they won’t understand.”

“Then make them understand.”

You didn’t get it. You couldn’t get it. Was he ashamed? Was he embarrassed? Why couldn’t he fight for you, for both of you? 

You felt the tears welling in your eyes, threatening to roll down your face. It was all too much, the constant doubt, the dread, the shame. You had thought you would have been free of these thoughts for a day but who knew that today was when you would finally break. 

Your boyfriend wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He felt warm and your arms loop around his body. You cling onto him, unwilling to let go. It was too late to stop the tears now and you felt them fall as you sniffled in his arms.

“Theo, Merlin knows we've been together for more than a year now, and it's been like living in a shadow. I've kept us a secret from everyone - my friends, my family - and I don’t even know anymore. I want to be able to love you openly, without fear or hesitation. I want to hold your hand, kiss your cheek, wake up beside you without worrying about who might see. And I know that there’s issues but we can work through them together can’t we? I want to love you freely…don’t you?”

You pulled away from his chest as you searched his eyes, pleading with him to agree with you. Theo stared at your figure. He watched as the tears he promised not to make fell from your eyes. He felt his heart twist at your words, unable to find the words he wanted to say. Silence. You waited. And then you saw it. The sliver of doubt. That was all you needed before you were recoiling from his touch, pushing his hands off you.

Theo was quick, he tried to pull you back, tried to keep you near him but it didn't stop you from trying to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Y/n, please, stay please.” 

His voice was a desperate plea, each syllable heavy with the weight of his love. But as you backed away, tears streaming down your cheeks, Theodore's heart shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. He watched helplessly as you retreated from him, the distance between you growing with each shaky step you took.

You shook your head as you backed away from the boy you loved. You tried to steady your breathing but all you could manage were shaky breaths as the tears kept falling. It was all too much. It was overwhelming, the feeling that engulfed you whole when you first met Theodore Nott had spit you back out and now you were left not knowing what to do.

“I-I…I can’t.” You stuttered, refusing to look him in the eye. “I can’t do this, not when you don’t feel the same. I can’t, not anymore.”

“No.” Theo reached forward but it only made you step further away as if his touch would burn you like acid. His outstretched hand fell limply to his side, his heart breaking with each word you uttered. “No, don't do this. Y/n please don’t do this. Mia cara, I love you so much you know that. I love you to the moon and back and I will never stop loving you so please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

“Not enough.” Your voice wavered as the words left your mouth. “You don’t love me enough and you’ve made that clear Theo. I can’t do this, I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

And then you were gone, disappearing into the depths of the corridor, leaving Theodore standing alone. Each word you said replayed in his mind. His emotions toss and turn in the turmoil he had been thrust into. You were gone. You left. He felt his heart burn and ache, pounding at his ribcage. There was a numbing pain that overtook his senses as a wave of anguish washed over him. He reached a trembling hand to his cheek, only to find it damp with tears

It was then that Theodore Nott realised it was the first time he had cried since his mother’s death.

[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part seventeen

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

author's note: this series has been a long time coming and i am so happy it has taken off the way it has. i appreciate all the love and support you all have given this story, but we have reached the end. i do not want to overkill this story or beat a dead horse, because the longer it goes on it leaves room for more to happen than i planned for. i plan on pursuing other stories from here but this one will always have my heart because it was my first ever on tumblr. <3

Sofia’s admission hit Rafe like ice water on a fevered brow, jolting him out of his haze with a suddenness that nearly knocked the air from his lungs. The dim, pulsing lights of the club blurred as he shoved through the writhing crowd, his mind teetering on the edge of panic. Every step felt like wading through quicksand, the noise of laughing strangers and the thrum of bass only deepening his disorientation. His chest tightened, his breaths coming short and rapid as the realization of your danger tunneled his vision, choking his throat with an unfamiliar dread.

By the time Rafe burst through the doors and into the humid night air, he was gasping. His hands gripped his knees, his body doubled over as he fought for control, the sharp sting of fear pumping through his veins like a poison. The streetlights cast jagged shadows across the cracked pavement beneath him, their orange glow flickering with every unsteady breath he drew. His heart hammered against his ribs as if it were trying to tear free, every pulse of it screaming a warning that reverberated through his entire being.

His thoughts came in fragmented bursts, spiraling—she’s in danger—a relentless echo. He pictured you, vulnerable, caught in some trap his father had set. His mind spun with worst-case scenarios, each more terrifying than the last, while the terror of losing you drove him to the brink of collapse. A wave of nausea hit him, but he forced it back, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing down the panic threatening to unravel him.

He couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not like this.

Standing upright, Rafe ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat surging beneath his skin. The world outside the club seemed to spin in slow motion, people passing by oblivious to the storm raging within him. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus, adrenaline igniting something feral and primal in his chest. He knew only one thing: he had to find you, and there wasn’t a second to waste.

Rafe’s eyes darted wildly around the street as he paced, his mind racing with chaotic thoughts that he struggled to piece together. His fingers raked through his dirty blond hair, pulling at the strands in frustration, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. Every muscle in his body was tight with anxiety, and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. He had to calm down—he knew that. But the fear gnawed at him, relentless, pulling him deeper into a spiral.

Get it together. Focus. He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rush of his own breathing. The thought of you being in danger sent another wave of panic through him, but he forced himself to push it down. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. He couldn’t afford to. Not with you on the line.

The idea of getting in his truck crossed his mind, but the very notion of driving in the state he was in felt like a death sentence. His body still buzzed with the remnants of coke and alcohol, the drugs pulsing through his bloodstream, clouding his judgment. If he got behind the wheel now, it would be reckless, maybe even fatal. And then there was Topper—no help at all, slumped somewhere back in the club, likely even more wasted than Rafe was. No, he was on his own. Or at least he thought he was.

Then it hit him like a bolt of clarity: Barry.

He grimaced at the thought, but desperation left him with no other choice. Barry was the last person he wanted to rely on, the kind of person you only called when things were far past the point of no return. But that’s exactly where he was now—past the point of no return. If anyone had the connections, the means to track down his father or whatever shady plot Ward had concocted, it would be Barry.

Rafe’s phone trembled in his hand as he pulled it out of his pocket, the screen blurry as he scrolled through his contacts. His fingers hesitated above Barry’s name, but he took a breath and tapped the call button. The dial tone seemed to stretch on forever, each ring tightening the knot of anxiety in his stomach.

Finally, a gravelly voice answered on the other end. “Rafe? The hell you callin’ me for at this hour?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his voice strained as he spoke. “I need your help, Barry. It’s… it’s about my dad. And it’s about her.”

There was a pause on the line, a low chuckle from Barry that sent a chill down Rafe’s spine. “This better be worth my time, Cameron. You know how I work.”

“I know,” Rafe gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the situation settle even heavier on his shoulders. “Just meet me at the docks. I’ll explain everything.”

With that, he hung up, his jaw clenched as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. His hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t just from fear—it was anger. Anger at his father, anger at Sofia, anger at the world for putting you in this mess.

Rafe’s feet pounded against the pavement, the night air sharp against his flushed skin. His vision tunneled once again, the world around him reduced to nothing but a blur of shadows and streetlights. His breath came in ragged gasps, the sting of adrenaline burning in his lungs, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. His legs carried him forward with reckless speed, driven by the sheer force of desperation.

The dock wasn’t far, but it felt like miles as he sprinted down the road, heart hammering in his chest. Maybe it was the cocktail of substances still coursing through his veins, or maybe it was the raw fear gnawing at him, but he ran like his life depended on it.

No, not his life—yours.

Every thought, every heartbeat, was consumed by the image of you in danger, your face flashing before his eyes as he pushed himself harder. The world around him felt surreal, distorted, like a fever dream where time slowed and sped up at random. The night sky seemed to tilt above him, the ground swaying beneath his feet, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t.

The familiar smell of saltwater hit his nose as he neared the dock, the wooden structure looming ahead, dimly lit by a few flickering lamps. His steps faltered for just a second as he spotted a figure leaning against one of the posts, the outline unmistakable even from a distance. Barry.

Rafe forced himself to slow down, his heart still racing as he approached. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice, but there was no turning back now. He needed answers. He needed you safe.

Barry lifted his head as Rafe came into view, his smirk visible even in the low light. “You look like shit, Cameron.”

Rafe's words came out in a frantic rush, barely coherent as his panic clawed its way to the surface. His breath was uneven, and his eyes, wild with desperation, darted toward Barry with an intensity that made it clear how urgent this was. “We have to find Y/N. I need you to help me find her, please, I—”

Barry narrowed his eyes, exhaling another lazy stream of smoke, clearly enjoying watching Rafe unravel. "Whoa, slow down," he said, his voice thick with amusement, like he was savoring Rafe's desperation. "You're all worked up for what? A girl? I thought you'd grown a spine by now."

Rafe took a step closer, fists clenched at his sides, his voice strained as he tried to steady himself. “This isn’t a joke, Barry. My dad’s involved. Sofia’s involved. They’re coming after her, and I can’t—” his voice broke for a moment, "I can’t let them hurt her."

Barry tilted his head, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding it under his heel. “Ward’s always got his hands in some deep shit, doesn’t he?” His smirk widened, but his eyes sharpened with interest. “So, you’re saying there’s trouble. Sounds like a dangerous game, Rafe. How do I know your daddy won't turn around and fuck me over next?"

Rafe’s jaw tightened as Barry’s smirk deepened, the question lingering like a taunt. He knew Barry wasn’t the type to jump into anything without weighing the risks—especially when it involved the Camerons. Taking a shaky breath, Rafe tried to steady himself, to present some semblance of control. "Because I’ll make sure it doesn’t. This is on me, not you. I just need your help."

Barry let out a low chuckle, amused by Rafe's desperation. "Oh, so now you're the hero? What makes you think you can keep me out of the crossfire when your whole family’s knee-deep in it?"

Rafe ran a trembling hand through his dirty blond hair, feeling the weight of the substances in his system pulling him down. "You won't be on the radar. My dad won’t even know you're involved. This is between me and him. Sofia’s already in, so you’ve got leverage."

Barry’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as he considered the offer. His fingers drummed against his side, eyes studying Rafe. “Leverage, huh? Sounds like you’re neck-deep in something nasty. And if it backfires...”

“It won’t,” Rafe interrupted, his voice sharp and pleading all at once. "I’ll make sure it doesn’t."

Barry stared him down for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally, he flicked a glance at Rafe, sizing him up. “Alright,” he said, his voice slow, calculating. “But if this does turn sideways, I’ll bury you before Ward even gets a chance. You hear me?”

Rafe nodded quickly, the words slicing through his panic. "Yeah, I hear you. Just help me find her."

"Well alright," Barry sighed almost in defeat, his shoulders slumping as he turned his heel, motioning Rafe to follow, "let's get goin'."

Rafe let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his pulse still racing but with a flicker of hope now threaded through the fear. He quickly followed Barry to the beat-up truck, the gravel crunching under their feet. The night air felt heavy, thick with the tension of what they were about to do.

Barry opened the driver’s side door, glancing back at Rafe with a half-smirk. “Get in. And try not to puke in my truck, yeah?”

Rafe ignored the jab, climbing into the passenger seat as Barry started the engine. The old truck roared to life, and they took off down the road, the headlights slicing through the dark.

As they sped away from the dock, the inside of the truck was filled with the low hum of the engine and the rattling of loose parts. Rafe stared out the window, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the knot in his stomach tightening with every mile. He couldn’t stop imagining what his father might do, or what Sofia’s resentment might lead to.

Barry, sensing Rafe’s silence, glanced over, his eyes flicking between the road and his passenger. “So, what exactly does your daddy have planned this time?” he asked, voice casual, but there was a sharpness behind it.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he replayed the chaotic events of the past few days. Ward’s betrayal, Sofia’s confession, the looming threat that seemed to press down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know all the details,” Rafe finally muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “But it’s bad. Real bad.”

Barry raised an eyebrow, his hands steady on the wheel as they sped down the dimly lit road. “Define ‘bad,’ Rafe. You’re talkin’ like your old man’s about to blow up the island or somethin’.”

Rafe shook his head, running his hand through his disheveled hair. “He put a hit out on her. On y/n.” His voice cracked slightly, as if saying it out loud made the threat even more real. “He thinks she’s tied up with John B and the Pogues, thinks she’s some kind of liability. But she’s not, Barry. She’s innocent.”

Barry let out a low whistle, shaking his head slowly. “Ward Cameron never could tell the difference between business and personal, could he?”

The truck hit a bump in the road, but neither of them flinched. The silence stretched, the gravity of the situation settling between them like a storm cloud.

“So, you’re up against Ward now,” Barry said, glancing sideways at Rafe again. “Man, you’ve got balls. Most people would’ve run for the hills by now.”

“I’m not running,” Rafe snapped, his anger flaring up again. “I’m not letting him ruin her life like he’s ruined mine.”

Barry grinned, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that familiar, crooked way. “Alright, man. I’m in. But just know, whatever comes next—it’s gonna get ugly.”

Barry's truck roared down the deserted streets, the engine's growl a constant, urgent reminder of the time slipping away. Rafe sat in the passenger seat, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat, knuckles white and strained. The road stretched out before them like an unending ribbon of asphalt, the dim streetlights casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to dance with his growing panic.

Every minute felt like an eternity as they drove through familiar yet alien landscapes. They passed by the docks, the bars, and the places you’d once frequented. Rafe's eyes darted around, desperately scanning for any sign of you, but the night remained stubbornly indifferent. The neon signs of local bars blurred into a chaotic smear of color, each one a reminder of how many places he had searched and how many hours had slipped by.

“Damn it!” Rafe yelled, his voice cracking with frustration. He punched the dashboard with a force that made the truck’s interior shudder but didn’t quite break anything. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he tried to keep himself calm, but the fear that something terrible might happen to you was relentless.

Barry's eyes flickered over to Rafe, a mix of concern and impatience etched on his face. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, the knuckles on his hands turning a stark white. “Look, we’ve been driving around for half an hour, hitting all your usual spots. There’s no sign of her,” Barry said, his voice steady but edged with frustration. He glanced at Rafe, who was staring out the window with a look of desolation.

Barry’s gaze shifted back to the road, then to Rafe. “Alright, look, why don’t we just show up at John B’s and ask ‘em where she’s at? I mean, it won’t hurt to check. We might find something there.”

Defeat etched over Rafe's features as he slumped down into the passenger's seat, momentarily peering over at Barry as if he was contemplating his suggestion. Everywhere else seemed to be a bust, therefor it was the only option left for him to go. "Alright," he sighed, throwing his hands up, "let's go."

Barry's eyes softened with a hint of empathy as he observed Rafe's expression. The stark contrast between Rafe's usually confident demeanor and the current look of defeat was jarring. Without a word, Barry turned the truck around, the vehicle's headlights slicing through the night, leading them back toward familiar terrain.

The road felt endless under the truck’s tires, each mile stretching out with agonizing slowness. The lights of bars and shops, once vibrant and promising, now seemed to mock Rafe’s anxiety with their indifferent glow. He sat in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed on the window, eyes following the blur of passing streetlights and shadows.

As they approached the chateau, Rafe’s mind raced. The enormity of the situation pressed down on him, the fear for your safety overwhelming every other thought. Barry parked the truck outside John B’s place, the vehicle’s engine rumbling to a stop. The street was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of a late-night radio.

Rafe glanced over at Barry, his face drawn and weary. “Thanks for doing this,” he said, his voice heavy with gratitude and exhaustion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before they approached the front door.

Barry nodded, giving Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping out of the truck. They walked up the path to the house, the porch light casting long shadows that danced with their footsteps. The door loomed ahead, a barrier to answers and perhaps, hope.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked. The sound of the knuckles hitting the wood was sharp and clear, breaking the silence of the night. The minutes felt like hours as they waited, the anticipation almost unbearable. Rafe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind replaying every possible scenario.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a groggy John B with disheveled hair and a puzzled expression. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Rafe and Barry standing on the doorstep.

“Rafe?” John B’s voice was a mix of confusion and concern. "What are you doing here?"

Rafe’s voice trembled with urgency as he stepped into John B’s living room, his eyes scanning the space frantically. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you. “I need to find y/n. Is she here?” he asked, his voice laced with desperation and a tinge of fear.

John B’s expression shifted from surprise to a mixture of concern and secrecy. “No, she’s not here.” He swallowed thickly, his gaze darting away briefly as if grappling with something unspoken. His demeanor was tense, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing nature.

Rafe’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean? Where is she? John B, I need to know.”

John B hesitated, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. “Look, Rafe, there’s more to this than you realize. We’re trying to protect her. Ward’s threats— they’re serious. If we don’t keep her hidden, things could get worse.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, panic and anger mixing in his gaze. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re hiding her? Why wouldn’t you tell me? She’s in danger, and I need to find her!”

John B’s face hardened with resolve. “We’re hiding her because it’s the safest place for her right now. Ward’s dangerous, and if he gets a whiff of where she is, it could end badly. I know you’re desperate, but honestly, you’re the last person who should see her right now. You’re the reason she and all of us are in this.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t you dare say I did this to her.” His voice cracked with a mixture of outrage and anguish.

John B’s expression softened for a moment, but his resolve remained firm. “He’s your dad, Rafe.”

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting through the tension like a knife. Rafe’s face contorted with a mix of pain and frustration. “What does that have to do with anything? You think I’m just going to sit back and let him hurt her? I don’t care who he is—he’s not going to touch her.”

John B’s gaze was steady, though there was an undercurrent of sorrow. “It’s not about who he is. It’s about what he’s capable of. He’s dangerous, and you’re right in the middle of it. That makes it harder for us to protect her if you’re involved.”

Rafe’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait? I can’t do that. I need to find her.”

John B stepped closer, his tone firm yet sympathetic. “I get that you want to help, but right now, the best thing you can do is stay away. We’ve got a plan to keep her safe, and bringing you into it could complicate things further. You need to focus on dealing with Ward.”

Rafe wasn't simply going to let it go, not when it involved your wellbeing. His frustration began bubbling higher and higher, his anticipation eating away at him as time passed. John B's refusal to give up your whereabouts only complicated things for Rafe further, leaving him to feel like he was backed into a corner waiting for a war to erupt. He knew John B was not one to back down when he stood his ground, but neither was Rafe.

"Look John B, I know we have never gotten along and probably never will, but for just this instance can you please just put that aside and at least give me a clue to where she could be? I've looked at every corner of the Cut and you guys are my only chance to figure out where she is."

John B's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he considered Rafe’s plea. "You think I’m just going to give her up? After everything?" His voice was sharp, defensive.

Rafe stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "I’m not asking you to trust me, or even forgive me. I just need to know that she’s safe. Ward’s not going to stop, John B. And if I can’t find her, he will."

John B's hardened expression faltered for a moment. He could see the desperation in Rafe's eyes—the desperation of someone who was genuinely afraid for you. Still, he shook his head, taking a breath as he crossed his arms. "Rafe, I don’t trust you. And I don’t trust that you won't lead your dad straight to her, even if you don’t mean to."

Rafe’s shoulders slumped in defeat, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I would never let him touch her. I’m trying to protect her—same as you. I just—" His voice wavered, barely a whisper. "I can't lose her."

John B hesitated, his brow furrowing as he watched Rafe. There was something different in his voice, something more genuine than he’d expected. He wasn’t used to seeing Rafe like this—vulnerable, pleading. It made him hesitate.

"She’s safe," John B finally said, his tone quieter now. "But that’s all you need to know. You need to back off. The more you push, the more danger you put her in."

Rafe’s frustration flared again, but he swallowed it, knowing that arguing more would get him nowhere. He stared at John B for a moment longer, feeling the helplessness creeping up on him. "Just… just tell her I’m trying to help. Please." His voice broke on the last word.

John B nodded stiffly, his expression unreadable. "We’ll make sure she knows," he said, turning to walk back toward the house. "But you need to leave this alone, Rafe. For her sake."

Rafe swallowed hard, the fear and frustration mixing with a sense of helplessness he hadn’t felt in years. "I don’t know how to walk away from this," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I can’t just leave her in danger."

John B’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You love her, don’t you?”

Rafe’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He looked away, staring at the floor as he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

A silence settled over the room, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, John B placed a hand on Rafe’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Then trust us,” he said quietly. “Trust me. We’re on the same side here.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Rafe had never been good at handling silence, and the last three weeks had felt like an eternity. He’d made it through plenty of rough patches before, but this time was different. There was an emptiness he couldn’t shake—a nagging, constant fear gnawing at him from the inside out. The usual distraction tactics weren’t working anymore.

He'd spend hours at the golf course with Topper and Kelce, making small talk about future trips and complaining about the latest club drama. But every time he lined up a shot, his mind wandered back to you. He could see you in his peripheral vision, your smile, your laugh—always just out of reach. Even at the Pelican Yacht Club, with its sun-drenched decks and cool sea breeze, he found no comfort. He'd sit there with a drink in hand, zoning out as his friends talked about plans for the next regatta. It felt like they were in another world, one he couldn’t access.

Rafe had told himself you were with the Pogues, hiding out, and that they were probably getting into their usual reckless trouble. At least if you were with them, you weren’t alone. It should’ve been enough to reassure him, but it wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he knew that if Ward had any idea where you were, he’d already have made a move. The thought made him nauseous. Ward was gone too—radio silent. It wasn’t like his father to stay off the grid this long, and the eerie stillness around his disappearance made Rafe’s skin crawl.

Every time his phone buzzed, his heart would leap into his throat. He'd drop whatever he was doing, half expecting your name to light up his screen. But it never was. It was always Topper asking about plans for the night, Kelce wanting to hit the links again, or one of the Kook girls trying to make conversation. He was slipping—losing his grip on his usual cool demeanor. His patience had worn thin, and the smallest annoyances set him off. He could feel his friends’ stares when they thought he wasn’t looking, exchanging concerned glances behind his back.

“What’s with you, man?” Topper had asked him last night, standing on the deck of the club, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “You’ve been out of it lately.”

Rafe had forced a smile, brushing it off with a shrug. “Just family stuff,” he’d said, offering no further explanation. Topper didn’t press, but the worry in his eyes lingered, as if he could see the cracks forming in Rafe’s facade.

In moments of quiet, when the noise of the club died down and the laughter from the other tables faded into background chatter, Rafe felt the crushing weight of his own powerlessness. He didn’t know where you were, if you were safe, or if you were thinking about him at all. And the thought of you being hurt—or worse, alone and afraid—made him want to tear apart the entire island until he found you.

It had never been like this before. He’d never cared so deeply for someone that their absence felt like a physical wound. And now, with both you and his father missing, Rafe felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath his feet.

He pulled out his phone again, his fingers hesitating over your contact. He hadn’t called you in weeks, not since the last time you’d spoken—the argument you’d had before you disappeared. He wanted to hear your voice, to know that you were okay, but he was afraid you wouldn’t pick up. Afraid you would, and he wouldn’t know what to say.

In the end, he just stared at your name on the screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. He hated how weak he felt, how much he needed you. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair, staring out at the horizon.

Rafe couldn’t stand the noise anymore. The laughter, the clinking glasses, the mindless chatter—it all grated on him like nails on a chalkboard. He clenched his jaw, feeling the tension building in his chest, and before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed back his chair and stood up abruptly.

"I'll catch you guys later," he said, his voice flat.

Topper and Kelce exchanged puzzled looks, caught off guard by his sudden departure. "You good, man?" Kelce called after him, but Rafe didn’t even bother to turn around. He gave a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he made his way out of the club, ignoring the murmurs of confusion from the group behind him.

He needed to be alone, away from the forced smiles and meaningless conversations. He needed to escape the pressure building inside him like a storm ready to break. His feet carried him quickly to his truck, his hands already fumbling for his keys as he approached. The second he got inside, he slammed the door shut and let out a long, shaky breath.

For the first time all day, he felt a sliver of relief. The silence of the truck enveloped him, offering a brief respite from the chaos swirling in his mind. He leaned back against the seat, staring at the steering wheel as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was the first quiet moment he’d had in weeks, and he felt like he could finally breathe.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, as if the pressure could somehow force the pain out of his head. The knot in his chest tightened when he thought of you—where you were, if you were safe, if you even missed him. He was used to feeling in control, to having answers, but right now, he felt like he was spiraling, clutching at straws to make sense of it all. And then there was Ward's disappearance, which left an eerie silence hanging over his life, amplifying his uncertainty tenfold.

After a few minutes, he exhaled deeply, starting the truck. The engine’s rumble filled the air, grounding him in the moment. He pulled out of the lot and headed back home, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He needed to get away from it all, to shut the world out until he could figure out how to mend the mess inside him.

As he drove, the familiar scenery of Figure Eight blurred past him, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows on the road. It was a drive he’d made a thousand times, but today it felt different. The wind blowing through the open windows didn’t bring its usual comfort; it only reminded him of how empty everything felt without you by his side.

When he pulled into the long driveway of his family’s estate, the house loomed before him, its white facade glowing in the fading light. It was eerily quiet. He cut the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the mansion he’d grown up in. It was supposed to feel like home, but right now, it felt like a prison—a stark reminder of everything that was slipping through his fingers.

He made his way inside, letting the door click shut behind him. The silence of the house was suffocating. Rafe threw his keys on the table and headed up the stairs to his room. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he took in the familiar sight of his space. It felt just as empty as everything else.

He sank down onto the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands. For once, he didn’t try to push the feelings away. He let them wash over him—the fear, the frustration, the longing. He knew he couldn’t hide from it anymore. You were gone, his father was missing, and everything was falling apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering into the darkness of his room, “Where are you?” The words were a plea, a question directed at you, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. He just hoped that, wherever you were, you were thinking of him too.

Rafe's chest tightened, and the room seemed to shrink around him as his emotions threatened to boil over. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears, but they welled up regardless, turning his vision blurry. His eyes became red and glossy, the ache in his heart growing unbearable with every passing second. It was like a ghost of you lingered in the room, haunting him with memories he couldn’t escape—your laugh, the way you’d look at him, the feel of your hand in his. Now, all he felt was emptiness.

He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that this was his fault. He had made a grave mistake, he was sure of it. If only he had kept a closer watch, if only he had been more careful, maybe you wouldn’t be in danger now. The thought of you being out there, vulnerable and alone, tore him apart. He could almost see you, scared and needing him, but no matter how hard he tried to reach out, you slipped further away from his grasp.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he bit down on the words. The apology felt hollow, echoing back at him in the empty room. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to make the pain stop—but he was trapped in this limbo of not knowing, of being helpless. And for someone like Rafe, who thrived on control, the helplessness was its own special kind of torture.

His hand tightened around his phone, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it like it was the source of all his pain. In a sudden burst of frustration and grief, he hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, then fell to the floor, the screen shattering into pieces. For a moment, the silence after the impact felt almost comforting. He stared at the wreckage, chest heaving, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

But the brief satisfaction faded quickly, replaced by a hollow ache. He started pacing, the walls closing in on him as his thoughts spiraled out of control. His mind raced with all the worst-case scenarios, images of you hurt or scared flashing in his head. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it as if the pain could snap him out of this nightmare.

“Dammit!” he shouted, his voice breaking with a mixture of anger and desperation. He felt like he was losing it. He needed to do something—anything—but there was nowhere to go, no one to fight, and no way to find you. He was stuck, and it felt like drowning in quicksand.

Rafe stopped pacing, leaning against the wall as his body sagged under the weight of it all. His fingers dug into the plaster as he tried to ground himself, taking deep, shuddering breaths to calm the storm raging inside. The tears he had been holding back spilled over, streaking down his cheeks. He wasn’t used to this—crying, feeling this vulnerable. It made him feel weak, and he hated it. But right now, he couldn’t help it. He felt broken, shattered like the phone on the ground, and the pieces were too scattered to put back together.

He slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. He couldn’t escape the thought of you—your smile, the way you’d look at him like he was more than just a Cameron, more than just the troubled son of Ward. He hadn’t realized how much he needed you until you were gone. And now, he was left with nothing but the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he heard the knock echo through the house, slicing through the heavy silence. He froze, wiping his tears quickly and forcing himself to compose. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours, and he certainly wasn’t expecting company. The confusion quickly morphed into paranoia. He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting to the front door. His mind raced, imagining who it could be. His father? Back from wherever he’d disappeared to, ready to follow through on his threats? The thought alone sent a chill down his spine.

He needed to be ready.

Rafe’s gaze shifted to his bedside table, where the knife gleamed under the dim light. He reached for it, gripping it tightly in his hand, finding some comfort in the cold metal pressing into his palm. He moved cautiously, his steps light and silent, like a predator stalking prey. As he descended the stairs, every creak of the old wood sounded like a gunshot in his ears, making his heart hammer against his ribs. He held his breath, trying to keep quiet as he approached the door, his pulse throbbing in his throat.

He reached the bottom of the steps, his eyes locked on the door. It was slightly ajar, as if whoever was outside had hesitated, not yet willing to push their way in. Rafe moved closer, his back pressed against the wall, knife held at the ready. He strained to listen, trying to pick up any hint of who it might be on the other side. He didn’t hear much—just the faint sound of someone shifting their weight, maybe a shaky breath. His grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles turning white as he mentally prepared himself for an attack.

With a deep, steadying breath, he reached for the doorknob. His fingers trembled as they wrapped around the cool metal, twisting it slowly. He pulled the door open just a crack, peeking through the small sliver to catch a glimpse of whoever was on the other side. He gulped, his throat dry, as he took in the figure standing in the dim porch light.

Rafe's breath hitched as he stared at you, feeling a wave of emotions he couldn't quite place. Relief, disbelief, anger, and something else he couldn’t name all swirled together, leaving him speechless for a moment. His hand trembled, the knife still held in a death grip at his side. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He just stood there, taking you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real and not some figment of his imagination.

"Y/N?" he whispered, voice cracking. It was as if saying your name aloud might break the fragile spell of the moment. He’d pictured this reunion a thousand times—what he’d say, how he’d react—but now that you were actually here, all those plans evaporated. He felt paralyzed, his eyes scanning you up and down, searching for any sign of harm.

But you looked...fine. Unscathed. Healthier than he'd expected. It threw him off completely. He’d been imagining the worst for weeks, thinking you were in danger, or worse—hurt. Yet here you were, standing on his porch, seemingly calm and collected.

Rafe’s shoulders slumped, his posture collapsing under the weight of all the worry he'd carried. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, feeling the knife slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor. He didn’t even care. He just took a step closer, his eyes fixed on yours, desperate to make sense of what was happening.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he croaked out, his voice breaking. “Where have you been? Why—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as he raked a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”

“I’m tired of hiding, Rafe,” you said flatly, your voice carrying a strange calmness in the chaos of his thoughts. “Nobody else knows that I’m here. I left without telling them.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed in confusion, his mind trying to connect the dots. His heart still pounded in his chest, the weight of everything he’d been through over the past few weeks making it hard to focus. “I... I don’t get it. I thought you hated me because of all of this. I don’t get why—why you’re here.” His voice was shaky, filled with uncertainty as his gaze darted between you and the ground, as if the truth might be hiding in the space between.

"I never hated you," you said, your voice surprisingly steady. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes unflinching, though there was an underlying tension in your shoulders. "I did what I had to do to stay safe."

Rafe's brows furrowed as he processed your words, a painful confusion swirling inside him. "Why didn’t you call me? Why did you disappear without telling me where you were?" His voice cracked with the strain of his emotions. Every inch of his body screamed for answers, for the clarity he'd been missing for weeks.

You stood there, taking a deep breath before answering, the calmness in your voice betraying the storm brewing in your chest. "Because I didn’t want you to come looking for me. Ward knew you would be wherever I was, and I couldn’t risk it."

The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, and he felt his world tilt for a second, the weight of your actions now making sense, but only in the way that left him struggling to breathe. He didn’t know how to feel. His hands tightened at his sides, fists clenching as the frustration built up inside him.

"Of course I would look for you, Y/N," Rafe finally choked out, his voice rough with emotion. "I had to make sure you were safe, and it was killing me having to just sit here and hope you were protected."

Your gaze softened, the conflict in your eyes clear as you watched him struggle with the words. You could see the hurt, the years of worry in his eyes, and it made your heart ache in return. But there was something else there too—something you couldn't ignore any longer.

"I know, and I’m sorry." Your voice came out quieter, more fragile, as if it hurt you just as much to say those words. "But I don’t want to do this anymore. No more games, no more hiding, no more danger."

Rafe’s breath caught in his throat as he took in your words, his chest tightening. His first instinct was to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and keep you safe, to make up for the weeks of fear and confusion. But there was something else behind your words, a finality that stopped him in his tracks. He stared at you, disbelief and pain mixing together.

"What do you mean, Y/N?" His voice cracked again, and he fought to steady himself. "What do you mean, 'no more hiding'?"

You took a deep breath, stepping forward slightly, your posture firm but vulnerable. "I mean I want to stop running. I want to stop being afraid. I’ve been through enough, Rafe. And I don’t want to keep living in the shadows, waiting for the next threat to come."

Rafe’s eyes softened, a mix of guilt and understanding crossing his features. He wanted so badly to fix things, to make everything right, but the weight of what you were asking him to do loomed heavy between you both. The past few weeks, the pain, the fear—it was all more than he knew how to handle. But looking at you, standing there, finally free of the fear that had controlled you, he knew what he had to do.

Rafe’s heart hammered in his chest as he processed your words. His mind raced, but the ache in his chest intensified. "What do you want to do, Y/N?" he asked, the rawness in his voice betraying the vulnerability he couldn’t hide.

You didn’t hesitate. Your expression was steady, determined. “I want to leave this place,” you said softly, but with the weight of everything behind it. “I want to go somewhere nobody can find us. Somewhere we can live a normal life, without the constant fear. I can’t take this anymore, Rafe. I need out.”

His breath caught in his throat as you stepped closer. “I want a new life," you continued, your eyes locked on his. "A life where it’s just us, without all the chaos.”

The words hit Rafe like a storm. For a second, he couldn’t find his voice, too overwhelmed by the possibility of a life with you that didn’t have to be defined by the fear and danger that had haunted him for so long.

“You… you really mean that?” he choked out, the doubt evident in his voice. “You want to leave all this behind? For real?”

You nodded. “Yes, Rafe. I’m tired of running, tired of being afraid. I want to build something different. With you.”

Rafe’s chest tightened at the sincerity in your words. He had always known you were strong, but this—this was something different. The weight of what you were asking, what you were willing to risk for the two of you, settled in the pit of his stomach. It was overwhelming, but it also felt like the right kind of overwhelming.

“You’d really leave it all behind? You’d trust me with that?” His voice cracked on the last word, the depth of his feelings for you surfacing in a way he hadn’t expected.

You took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “I trust you, Rafe,” you said, your voice unwavering. “And I’m done with this life. I want more than this. I want a future. With you.”

Rafe stood there for a moment, his mind scrambling to catch up with the magnitude of what you were saying. The idea of a life without his father’s control, without the constant tension, without all the chaos—it was almost too much to comprehend. But the one thing that stood out, clearer than anything, was you. You were standing there, offering him everything.

He stepped forward, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if trying to ground himself in the reality of what was happening. “Then let’s do it,” he said, his voice fierce with determination. “Let’s leave this place behind, together.”

The words hit you like a breath of fresh air, lifting the heaviness that had been suffocating you. You didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to hide behind walls of fear or uncertainty. You could finally see a future, a future with him, far away from the chaos and the danger. Your heart swelled in your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a genuine smile spread across your face.

Rafe noticed it instantly—how your eyes softened, how the sadness and strain seemed to melt away. The corners of your lips curled upward, and without thinking, you stepped into him, closing the space between you. His hand tightened around yours, but before he could say anything, your lips found his.

It was sudden, but it was everything. The kiss was deep, urgent, and filled with the unspoken promises you both had carried in silence. Rafe responded instinctively, pulling you closer, his hand sliding to the small of your back as if to hold you in place, as if he could anchor you to him, keep you safe, keep you close.

In one swift motion, Rafe lifted you off the ground, his arms strong around you, as if he could carry all of your burdens with the ease of holding you in his arms. You let out a soft, surprised laugh as he kicked the door shut behind him, still holding you against him, your lips still locked in a kiss that spoke louder than any words could.

Once he gently set you back on your feet, he didn’t immediately pull away. Instead, he carefully brushed a lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering on your skin. His eyes softened as he looked at you, a mixture of love, relief, and something deeper—something raw that he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

“I’m gonna give you the life you deserve,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the conviction in his expression. This was no longer about survival or fear—it was about a future that was finally within reach.

You smiled, your heart full, your gaze unwavering as you met his. “You already are,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath, but it was enough. “Just being here with you... that’s all I ever wanted.”

Rafe’s expression softened further, a slow smile spreading across his face, and in that moment, you saw the man he could be—strong, protective, and driven by love rather than chaos.

"I love you, Y/N." The words hung between you like a promise, deep and unwavering. Rafe's breath caught for just a moment, the weight of what he'd just said settling in. He'd said it before, in fleeting moments, but now, in this moment, it felt different. There was no fear of loss, no uncertainty clouding his mind. It was just the raw truth.

"I love you, too, Rafe," you whispered back, your voice steady and sure. This time, you didn’t have to doubt it. It wasn’t just about the words—it was the way you felt in this moment, with him. Your pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the certainty of what was to come.

He pulled you closer, his arms strong around you as if to keep you tethered to him, to the life you were about to build. His lips brushed over your forehead, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze unwavering, filled with all the raw emotion you’d both buried for too long.

With a soft smile, Rafe leaned down to kiss you again, this time more tender, slower, as if savoring the moment, cherishing the bond that had been built through all the chaos and uncertainty. This kiss was a promise—one of protection, of understanding, and above all, of love.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

taglist: @rrosiitas, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87,

@augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols, @fastlovela, @wickedlovely121, @fals3-g0d, @givemylovetoall, @lucfics, @briefwinnerpersonaturtle, @maybankslover, @peachy4u2, @hockeybabe87, @yeosxxx, @zizouu23, @h34rtsformilli, @maybankslover, @yawnzshit, @rubixgsworld, @tsumudoll, @nosebeers, @literatureluster, @wearemadeofstardust0

[aesteries]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful? 〔incest, innocence and fantasies, romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

                 INTRODUCTION. 

Queen Alicent Hightower’s last pregnancy proved to be the most difficult out of all - unlike what the maester had predicted, she had been carrying a female babe during the pregnancy. She started her labors two moons before the estimated time since conception, bringing worries about her health and fearing this child lost. The young queen of twenty-and-two, already on her fourth birthing bed, spent numerous hours with a high fever while laboring, screaming in pain as the maester and maids were sent into a panicked frenzy when they found that the babe was being delivered feet-first with the threat of the umbilical cord somewhere around the body, possibly restricting in one way or another.

When informed, King Viserys was faced with the same decision that had taken the life of his first wife.

it was either his child or his child-wife.

The Hand of the King and father to the Queen Consort, Otto Hightower, advised the King to leave the matter of women in the hands of The Mother, though it is reported that he demanded to bar the doors to his daughter’s chambers in case someone dared to approach the said room, fearing The Stranger wearing an ally's face.

By the hour of the nightingale, when the day had begun to seep into the night sky, an experienced nurse grew tired of the uncertainty of the situation and grabbed the babe’s feet to drag its body out of the young queen in a last attempt to save both of their lives, a small rip to the queen’s body in sacrifice for the life of the child. The babe was awfully pale, even taking into consideration her Valyrian heritage, with hair as white as cotton, and eyelashes as translucent as a ray of moonlight but no sound coming from her parted lips. 

Otto Hightower sneered down at the silent child with obvious disdain while the old maester and his women rushed around the newborn, frantically trying to bring her back from The Stranger’s arms. The gender did not disappoint him as she had brought forth a daughter before, but it was the fact that she looked so different from her siblings that sent chills down his spine. She was different, and it was not acceptable for a daughter of the crown. They would whisper behind her back, just like Rhaenyra’s children, not for the truth of her heritage, but of the condition that shackled her future to uncertainty. Would this child be useful enough for a political alliance? or would other Lords reject the gift of the blood of the dragon in fear of the curse this child could bring to their House?

Alicent in a haze, still recovering from hours of childbirth, tiredly called out to The Mother for guidance and forgiveness, and in response, the babe let out a piercing cry as she drew her first breath, filling the birthing chamber with the sound of new life. Two of the Queen's children, Aemond and Helaena, were present to hear the ugly cries of the tiny princess.

The King named her Haera - after the stories of a forgotten Goddess of Old Valyria, who supposedly reigned over women and childbirth.

Life was an uphill battle for the young girl, as in her first few months of life, Princess Haera struggled to latch onto her mother’s breast or be comforted by a wet nurse, found it hard to sleep at night, and frequently suffered from delicate fevers that kept her young mother on edge. As her siblings had grown and developed, she found it increasingly difficult to keep pace with the milestones they had reached as she grew. They often found her crawling on her knees behind her siblings at an age where she should have been on her two feet.

The girl would be the first of Alicent and King Viserys’ union to have her dragon egg hatch in the cradle, a beautiful dragon of iridescent scales that was named Brightfyre, though Haera’s difficult life and condition seemed to have somehow infected her hatchling, as it found failure to thrive and passed in the young girl’s arms at the age of three. a sign, said one of the dragonkeepers, a sign of more tragedy to come.

Although from the same womb, her siblings did not find much in common with her, as she had spent most of her childhood in the safety of her bedchambers with maesters and nurses who would take care of her health. This limited her interaction with them and bound her to bed and her studies all day long. The only sibling who would constantly visit was Helaena, and even conversation with her proved difficult. Aegon was simply not interested in her existence and would even forget he had a second sister. To satisfy her curiosity and her need for adventure as the long days of sickness took over her childhood, she turned to books as companionship with her imagination being her only entertainment.

Aemond, the more emotional of the siblings and without anything to lose, would sometimes force himself to visit her during the late hours of the night, believing that it was what the young girl deserved. In a way, he avoided Aegon and their nephews’ teasing comments as he snuck around the castle to reach her chambers when everyone else had fallen asleep. Their talks would be short and very awkward, but she would be grateful nonetheless. Sometimes, he’d bring her books as she slept, and she would devour each one the next day. 

On the eve of her tenth nameday celebration, King Viserys decided that his youngest daughter, Haera, would join Lord Osmund Hightower in Oldtown to be cared for by the maesters of the Citadel, who would strive to find a cure for her so-called illness that had only progressed from birth, now threatening to take her vision from her. That day, almost a week after the announcement, Queen Alicent had to be supported by her maids as she watched her daughter be taken away from her at such a young age, tears rolling down her plump cheeks as she cried for her mother. 

Aemond did not feel the pain of her departure, somehow detaching himself from her, out of sight and out of mind. The remaining siblings watched from the top of their stairs as the carriage went out the gates and disappeared into the busy city.

Aemond suffered the loss of his eye in a fierce confrontation with his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon, a mere two moons after their separation. He would grow into a rough, seemingly emotionless man with no weakness, the memory of his younger sibling fading with time as the years went by without any contact whatsoever.

Now as adults, she returns. 

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

welcome to the sweetling universe! where instead of having daeron, alicent gave birth to another girl. i had planned to release this introduction as part of the first chapter, but it feels like it ruined the vibe in some way and i didn't really want to spend the first chapter building some backstory so the main character could be introduced so i thought a separate semi-chapter would fit better. i was trying to imitate maesters' writings in one way but of course i totally missed the mark.

haera targaryen is a character i have dreamed about so many times before, so i hope i can make her justice and write her just the way she is in my dreams. i have plenty of original characters created for my future fics, but she has her own special place in my heart for some reason, even if she's not my firstborn oc.

the ages are modified due to the nature of this story, and they are changed into this; aegon is twenty-two, as he is according to the books during the dance of the dragons. aemond is around twenty-one, helaena is nineteen, and Haera is eighteen years of age. jacaerys has been aged up to be around aemond's age, while lucerys is haera's age.

this story was originally a 'blink and you'll miss the plot' smut one-shot, but as haera came to be, i just had the desire to write more about her, so the mini-series was born. it won't be long, calculating about five chapters of 6k+ words each that won't go into the whole plot of the dance. it's taking place between season 1 and season 2, with different perspectives and more book!accurate characters.

that's it from me for now! before i continue rambling on. chapter one; Sunday 27th.

╰⪼ thank you for reading!

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 27: 8 Word Chorus

GIF by: @mporium

Bearblr Promptober Day 27: Nightmare

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) has a nightmare, and he comforts her. Fluff.

Warnings: Swearing, comfort, nightmare, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns (1157 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

27 Oct 2024

I’m the one with nightmares, so when I woke up seemingly for no reason, I was confused as hell.

I fall asleep pretty quick on workdays (and after a good fuck, I’ll be honest), but if I happen to wake up in the middle of the night, I’m usually cooked. If I can get back to sleep before the haze clears, sure, I’ll get some fitful sleep. I’ll wake up with a headache, but I won’t be miserable by the time dinner service starts. So, I did what I usually do, closed my eyes and refused to move a muscle, hoping the tides of sleep would take me again.

But then Darling flinched.

It wasn’t that little sleepy twitch of her leg that she does sometimes when she’s off in dreamland—this one was more like she recoiled from something. The immediate thought in my sleep-addled mind was that something was hurting her (spider, I don’t know, maybe I got a rat or something), so all hopes of sleep evaporated, and I propped up on my elbow to stare at her in the minimal glow from that annoying fucking streetlight coming through the drawn blinds. Faint shine on her brow, cheekbone, the bridge of her nose. She had her arms curled up tightly to her chest with the blanket bunched up under her chin. I just barely pressed the inside of my wrist to her forehead. Cool. Sticky. Not a fever. She flinched again and scrunched into a tighter ball, made a small sound, then drew in a sharp breath.

It’s funny how brains work, isn’t it? The only information I had was that she was curled up, she flinched, she was sweaty, and she didn’t feel warm, and I managed to piece together, even half-cranky from interrupted sleep, that she was having a nightmare.

I rubbed slowly between her shoulder blades, same thing I remember her doing on the nights I couldn’t seem to fend my demons off, and for a few moments, it seemed like she would doze back off. I even thought about lying back down and trying to get some amount of shuteye, but then she whimpered. Drew in another sharp breath. Whimpered again.

She was crying.

It might not have been the best decision to make, but at the time, I just needed to make it stop. I needed her to stop crying. It tore something raw in my chest, set off the buzzing in my ribs and in my temples that I got right after a sudden loud sound or when someone on the line didn’t answer me when I called for them.

“Baby girl? Hey,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. I didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but I couldn’t get my voice any louder, not even when she didn’t wake up, not even when I tried twice more to call to her. There was something else, something deeper, something painful twisted up at the base of my throat that stopped the words. All I could do was tug at the blanket to try dislodging it from her grip.

She screeched when she finally did wake up. Bolted upright with wide eyes, reached blindly for something, anything to grab.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here! Hey!” That at least had some volume to it, even if it sounded like I had strep.

She threw her arms around me and crushed me in a trembling hug. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t leave!” she sobbed.

“W-what? I’m not leaving! What are you-hey, it’s okay! It was just a nightmare!”

She heaved for air, coughed. I held her to my chest, rocked her back and forth, rubbed up and down her back. She shook violently, was digging her fingers so hard into the backs of my shoulders that my eyes stung.

“Hey, you’re okay.” I peppered kisses on her forehead, her temple. “Breathe. Breathe, hm? I’m not going anywhere. It was just a nightmare.”

Fucking hell, it was weird being the one calming her down. What’s weirder was that I sort of knew what to do? Maybe it was just subconscious learning, but I chanced resting my hand on her sternum. She released her grip on my shoulders, planted her hand over mine, and pressed it harder into her skin. Tucked her face into the crook of my neck, dragged in slow, shaky breaths. She intertwined her fingers with my other hand. I traced the pulse in her wrist with my thumb.

I heard her throat click when she swallowed. “Nightmare,” she breathed.

I kissed her forehead. “Yeah. Just a nightmare, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry. You have work—”

What?

“It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, princess.”

Darling slumped against me at that. An eternity went by with her just tucked into me like that. Her eyelashes brushed my neck every time she blinked, sometimes a beat every few seconds, sometimes a few rapid ones in succession. Could almost hear her thinking. Almost feel her attention snapping back and forth between our bedroom in Chicago and wherever her nightmare was. Don’t leave. She told me—almost screamed at me in her panicked state—not to leave. She’d said before that she feared waking up and discovering I was a figment of her imagination; I didn’t have a chance to think too much about it before, but now it played on repeat in my head, a cursed refrain, an 8-word chorus. All of this will have been a dream.

Did I act like I didn’t love her? Was she worried about Syd being in my life? Why? Why was she worried that I’d go?

All of this will have been a dream.

My heart lurched into my throat. My eyes stung. I loved her so much that it hurt me, why the fuck did she think I would leave?

 “Why are you scared I’ll leave?” I whispered into her hair.

She gulped again. Slid my hand off her chest, into her lap. Traced the scar on my palm. “I keep having this nightmare. That… you’re on my table. You have cuts everywhere. And I can’t find my tools.”—she took a deep breath—“I keep saying that, um, we need to get a mask on you so that you can breathe. But no one else is there. And I can’t find one. And you start crashing.”

Oh.

“You tell me you have to go. I keep begging you not to leave.”

Oh.

I kissed her forehead. Tried to kiss the memories of the nightmare away. Tried to reassure her somehow, I don’t know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry. Please, don’t worry. I’ve always had nightmares; they don’t mean anything. Just… part of being a trauma surgeon.”

Hate to break it to you, princess, but I was going to worry anyway. Nothing personal. Just part of being in love, I guess.

[godisshook]

Brotherly Love

Gavin was more than the average frat bro, it was obvious to see. Since he had joined the fraternity, he had been held in high regard by his brothers, and seen as a rising star. He was a sight to behold, and he knew it.

The sophomore was a popular figure within the Sigma Delta Rho fraternity, an adonis with a killer smile and a personality to match. He had it all, or so he thought. A single person would change all of this, and rock his world forever.

Casey.

The slender pledge had captured Gavin's attention from the moment he stepped foot into the frat house. His toned physique and boyish charm were undeniable draws, but there was something more to Casey that Gavin couldn't quite put into words.

Ever since pledging Sigma Delta Rho and moving into the frat house at the start of the semester, Casey had been infatuated with Gavin. There was just something about him that drew Casey in like a moth to a flame. He did everything he could to get his attention, from staying to clean up after fraternity events, to personally running errands for Gavin.

Months would pass, as Casey started to become his own in the fraternity, gaining the trust of his brothers, but, most importantly to him, gaining the attention of Gavin.

The two exchanged glances during frat meetings and shared brief conversations in passing, making Case. The unspoken tension hung heavy between them, both aware of the appearances they had to maintain with the fraternity. They were keenly knowledgeable of the traditional nature of their frat and knew that anything more than fleeting glances would draw suspicion.

Despite this, the two would talk in secret, forming a relationship while trying to keep their romance hidden. It was torture for Casey, as his need for Gavin would consume him entirely. Their romance bloomed slowly but blossomed nevertheless, and Casey would soon get his wish, as the frat was set to have a massive party in the spring.

The night of the party, Gavin and Casey found themselves alone in Gavin's room. The faint smell of alcohol still lingered in the air as they sat on Gavin's bed, lost in each other's gaze. The two had caught each other's gaze all night, and this had been their moment, their escape from the noise. The tension between them was palpable, and neither one could deny the sparks flying between them anymore.

As Casey leaned closer to Gavin, his heart pounded wildly in his chest, Casey couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to feel Gavin's lips against his own, but he knew that this moment could change everything for them both.

Taking the initiative, Gavin gently cupped Casey's face with his hands and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss. It started slow at first, with gentle brushes of their lips against each other's, but soon became far more intense as they explored each other's mouths with eager tongues.

In a drunken haze, the two intensified the moment, with the heat of the moment silencing the booming party outside. As clothes began to line the floor, Gavin's lips slowly brushed Casey's chest, creating more sparks as his hot breath caressed his sensitive skin.

Gavin continued to kiss along the contours of Casey's body, moving downwards at a slow but fiery pace, causing the heat between the two to reach a fever pitch. Gavin's muscular body heated up under Casey's touch, adding fuel to the burning fire of their passion. Before their moment could reach its expected crescendo, a knock on the door would cause things to end abruptly, forcing the two back out into the commotion.

It was a fleeting moment, but enough to leave Casey wanting more. Days came and went as he found ways to keep his mind off of Gavin. After days of monotony and stolen glances, a simple text would be Casey's saving grace, "Come to my room tomorrow at 4, don't keep me waiting." Still in class, Casey fought a smile, but as soon as he left, he darted back to the house, a smile growing from ear to ear.

Now steps away from Gavin's room, Casey could hear the familiar sound of the showers. A wicked smile came over his face as he knew exactly what to expect.

Casey took the towel lying on the bed, chuckling at the fact that it wouldn't be staying on if things went well. Despite a tinge of fear, the air was thick in the bathroom, as anticipation mingled with need. Casey looked at the form in the shower, and asked, "Gavin, is that you?" With his familiar low voice, Gavin replied, "Of course, get in."

Casey initially shivered as he entered the shower; allowing the cold water to wash over him, as Gavin quickly consumed him with his body, warming him up instantly. Within this embrace, Casey felt the unmistakable bulge of Gavin's cock pressing against his.

Gavin took a tuft of Casey's hair in his hand and began thrusting against his head; his body betraying him as he thrust into Casey's mouth. Casey choked slightly, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Gavin's thighs, pulling his cock deeper into his mouth.

In between thrusts, Gavin would turn up the temperature in the shower, causing steam to build up, and for heat to swell up inside both of them. The shower became even hotter as Casey got lower and lower, laying soft but burning kisses all over Gavin's muscled body. Casey's mouth surrounded Gavin's cock completely, and Gavin threw his head back as Casey began sucking.

Deliberate in his movements, Casey teasingly sucked Gavin off, as he slowly worked his way around Gavin's cock. Unable to handle the tension anymore, Gavin took control, taking a tuft of Casey's hair in his hand and thrusting it against his cock. Gavin's body betrayed him as he gave in to his desires, thrusting faster and faster. Casey choked slightly, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Gavin's thighs, pulling his cock deeper into his mouth. Before he could cum, Gavin raised Casey back up, and told him, "We're going to the bed." Surprised, Casey looked up into his eyes, as he was suddenly lifted by Gavin into the air, and out of the shower.

The two dried off, and Casey changed into a fresh pair of underwear. Ensuring the door was locked, Gavin said, "You're not gonna need that underwear for long, just saying." Casey smartly replied, "You know people will hear us if we do anything out here?" As if anticipating his question, Gavin turned up the TV, with the jumble of voices drowning out Casey's protests. Closing the distance with a smirk, Gavin grabbed Casey by the hips, pulling him into a deep kiss. Their tongues intertwined as the two were free to give in to their inhibitions fully dry.

Gavin pushed Casey back onto his bed, their bodies sinking into the soft mattress. He kissed his way down Casey's chest, pausing to tease his nipples and elicit soft moans of pleasure.

Lower and lower he went, trailing kisses along Casey's taut stomach and tracing circles with his tongue around his belly button. He could feel the anticipation building within Casey as he neared his ultimate destination - that throbbing cock that was calling out to him.

Gavin reached over to his nightstand and fumbled around for a moment before finding what he was looking for; a bottle of lube left over from one of his previous conquests. Noticing this, Casey remarked sarcastically, "Of course I'm not your first." Gavin laughed, saying, "If it makes it any better, you’re my first guy.” Noticing Casey’s surprise, Gavin asked, "Wait, am I your first…anything?" Casey's nod made Gavin even more delicate, as he sought to make it count.

He uncapped the lube and poured a generous amount into his hand, warming it between his palms before reaching down to prepare Casey for what was about to come.

Gavin's hand slid between Casey's legs, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin as he prepared Gavin for what was to come. Casey moaned, his body trembling with anticipation as Gavin's fingers slid inside him, stretching and preparing him for his massive cock.

Casey gazed up at Gavin in awe. It was like watching an expert at work, with Gavin somehow knowing everywhere that turns him on. With there being no chance of interruption, the two were completely consumed by the other. They were two souls intertwined in a moment of pure bliss, and Casey never wanted it to end.

In between kisses, Casey would give in to his need, "Fuck me," he whimpered against Gavin's lips. "I want you inside me."

Gavin's heart skipped a beat as he met Casey's gaze. The request caught him off guard; he was shocked by Casey's boldness, but there was no denying the hunger burning within him. Gavin simply replied, "As you wish."

Not missing a beat, Gavin thrust inside Casey, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. He lost himself inside Casey, as his most primal urges began taking over. Gavin's mind raced, his desire for Casey threatening to consume him entirely. His cock twitched, aching for release, as Casey started jerking himself off, matching Gavin's strokes. The two continued to fuck, their bodies slick with sweat. Each thrust sent shivers down their spines, their moans mingling together in a symphony of passion and desire.

Gavin's cock twitched, aching for release. Soon, his body tensed, and he came, his cock throbbing as spray after spray of hot, white cum shot all over Casey. The two would release at the same time, and they collapsed onto one another; with Gavin's grip on Casey's hips tightening, bucking over him as he filled Casey with his seed.

Casey lifted himself off Gavin, as they both tried to catch their breaths. Their eyes met, the raw hunger still present but now tempered as the two found release. As Casey laid on him, Gavin felt a sense of ease, "I've always wanted to see you blush." Gavin said, his voice low and seductive. Casey didn't respond and simply nestled harder into Gavin's body.

"You okay?" Gavin asked, concern in his voice.

Casey nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I... I loved every second of it, but it was... intense."

Gavin smirked, his strong hands ruffling Casey's sweat-slicked hair. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

[a-spicy-reader]

"Forbidden Desires"

Synopsis:

Mark eagerly anticipates a private lingerie show from his girlfriend Maya. As he succumbs to his desires, his senses sharpen, intensifying his longing for Maya's touch. Despite Maya's rule against touching, Mark's desire overwhelms him, leading to a passionate surrender.

Word count: 1,302

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes

The soft glow of candlelight danced across the room, casting warm shadows against the walls as Mark rested on the bed, a joint hanging between his fingers as he took a long drag. This night was special—his girlfriend, Maya, had promised him a private fashion show, and he could hardly wait to see what she had in store.

The weed worked its magic, wrapping Mark in a haze of relaxation as he waited for Maya's arrival. His muscles loosened, his mind wandered as he got lost in the gentle buzz of the herb. He closed his eyes, letting the sensations wash over him as he waited for Maya to arrive.

When Maya finally emerged from the bathroom, Mark's breath caught in his throat. She was breathtaking, her dark skin glowing in the dim light as she moved with effortless grace. The effects of the weed only sharpened his senses, making her beauty seem even more intoxicating.

With a sensual smile, Maya walked over to him, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm. "Ready for your private show, darling?" she purred, her voice sending shivers down Mark's spine.

He nodded eagerly, his eyes drinking in every inch of her. Maya had always been stunning, but tonight she was radiant, a goddess in human form.

As Maya began her private fashion show, Mark's heart pounded in his chest, his desire growing with each tantalizing move. 

The first set Maya revealed was a delicate lace bralette and matching panties, the fabric a rich burgundy that perfectly complemented her skin tone. Mark's mouth went dry as he watched her, his eyes tracing every curve, every dip and swell of her body.

Maya twirled, a playful glint in her eyes as she posed for him, running her hands over her curves with ease and practice. "Do you like it, darling?" she asked, her voice husky with desire.

Mark could only nod, his throat tight with longing. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips.

But Maya had made it clear: no touching allowed.

With a pout, Mark forced himself to sit up, his hands clenched into fists as he fought the irresistible urge to reach out for her.

Maya's smile widened as she moved on to the next set, a sheer nightgown that left little to the imagination. The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, clinging to her curves in all the right places as she swayed and twirled, teasing him with glimpses of what lay beneath.

Mark's breath caught in his throat as Maya approached, the scent of her perfume swirling around him like an intoxicating mist. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Maya's laugh was like music to his ears as she danced, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Not as beautiful as you, darling," she replied, her voice a husky purr.

But it was the third set that truly took Mark's breath away—a daring black lace bodysuit that left little to the imagination. It hugged Maya's curves like a second skin, the sheer fabric leaving nothing to the imagination as she posed and preened for him, her confidence shining with every movement.

Mark's pulse quickened as he watched her, his desire reaching a fever pitch as she teased and tormented him with every move. He could feel the heat building between them, a potent mix of longing and desire that threatened to consume them both.

But Maya held firm to her promise—no touching allowed.

Mark groaned in frustration, his body vibrating with need as Maya drew closer, her dark eyes smoldering with desire. "Please, Maya," he begged, his voice raw with longing. "I need you."

But Maya only shook her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she danced just out of reach. "Not yet, darling," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Not until I say so."

But Mark had reached his limit. With a growl of frustration, he surged forward, capturing Maya's lips in a fierce, desperate kiss. She gasped in surprise, her arms wrapping around him as he pulled her close, their bodies pressed together in a frenzy of need and desire.

Clothes were discarded in a frenzied rush as they tumbled onto the bed, their kisses growing more urgent, more desperate with every passing moment. Mark's hands roamed over Maya's body, tracing every curve, every dip and swell as he worshipped her with his touch.

Maya moaned into his mouth, her nails digging into his back as she arched against him, her body trembling with pleasure. "Mark," she gasped, her voice husky with need. "I need you."

Mark's lips traveled down her neck, peppering kisses along her collarbone as he moved lower, his breath hot against her skin. Mark buried his face between Maya's legs, his tongue darting out to lick her swollen clit. Maya cried out in ecstasy, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rocked her hips against his mouth.

"Oh fuck, Mark," she gasped, her voice trembling with pleasure. "That feels so good. Don't stop, darling. Please, don't stop."

Mark obeyed, his tongue working its magic as he explored every inch of her, driving her wild with need. Maya's cries grew louder, her body trembling on the brink of orgasm as she rode the waves of pleasure crashing over her.

And then it hit her—a blinding wave of pleasure that consumed her entirely. She screamed his name, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm as she fell into bliss.

Mark kept licking, drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling and spent beneath him. He kissed his way back up her body, his lips soft and tender as he pressed them to hers, his passion rekindling like a flame.

With a low growl of desire, Mark moved forward, burying himself deep inside Maya, his throbbing erection pressing eagerly against her slick entrance, the tight heat of her sex enveloping him in a delicious embrace.

Maya gasped, her body arching to meet him as he filled her completely, every inch of him sinking into her depths. She was so wet and tight, her walls clenching around him as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through them both.

Mark groaned, his hips driving forward with increasing urgency as he set a relentless pace. Maya's nails dug into his back, her cries of ecstasy spurring him on as they moved together in perfect rhythm, a symphony of passion and desire.

The sensations were overwhelming—the heat of her body, the tightness of her grip, the way she met his every thrust with eager abandon. Mark felt himself teetering on the edge of oblivion, his pleasure mounting with each stroke until he could hold back no longer.

With a primal roar, he came, his release flooding Maya in a hot, pulsing torrent of ecstasy. She screamed his name, her body convulsing with pleasure as she clung to him, her own orgasm crashing over her in a wave of bliss.

They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, their bodies slick with sweat as they rode out the aftershocks of their passion. Mark pressed a tender kiss to Maya's forehead, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the woman in his arms.

"I love you, Maya," he whispered, his voice soft with emotion.

Maya smiled up at him, her eyes shining with love. "I love you too, Mark," she replied, her voice a gentle whisper.

"Forever and always."

I hope you liked it, leave your comments here ☺️

[galaxyedging]

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

WC:1.2k

Follow on from Dum spiro, spero.

Series Masterlist

Marcus sets out his rules for your new arrangement.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and infidelity. Smut.

Acta non verba

Marcus was careful to set out the terms of your arrangement. His infidelity would only last long enough to ensure you carried his progeny. The child would be taken care of, as his many others were, but they would not be legally recognised as his. He would support you throughout the pregnancy, his servants would be at your bidding.

Sitting across the table from you in the afternoon sun Marcus's demeanour was business-like as he laid out his terms. You mind wandered to compare it to him speaking to his men before battle. Authoritative, self assured, with years of experience to inform his choices. As the sun highlighted the silver in his thick, soft curls and his words drew attention to his plush lips, you wondered if that was how he would speak to you in the bedroom. A shiver of a thrill ran through you. Hopefully it went unnoticed by Marcus.

The first night he came to call, your body felt as if it was torn in two, split between your desire and fear. If Marcus noticed he didn't speak of it. Instead he stole you away to the local baths. His men stood watch outside as he slipped you in under the cover of darkness. The heat of the baths coupled with Marcus's hand guiding you at your lower back almost had you feeling faint. You were grateful to the support of the chair that Marcus led you to.

“I know we have an arrangement but I am mindful that this is your first experience of the pleasures of flesh. I wouldn't want to taint any further expectations you have. You should make sure a man treats you right before taking you.” Most of Marcus's word fell on deaf ears as he began to remove his clothes.

His hooded cape was discarded, then his sandals, lastly his tunic leaving him bare to your eyes. He was a sight more beautiful than any craved from marble. His limbs were curved with muscle. His skin was smooth, peppered with freckles from a life under the sun. His manhood was intriguing. All the statues he put to shame had small penises to signify intelligence and self control. Two things that Marcus had in abundance but his manhood was large and stood proudly away from his body over two large testicles.

A small laugh passed Marcus's lips and it broke you out of your stare.

“My apologies, I've never seen…” Shame smoothed the rest of your words.

How would that sentence end? ‘I've never seen such a large penis on a man who wasn't uneducated. I am very intrigued by it.’

Marcus let the moment pass. “I'm going to bathe, join me when you are ready?”

Marcus turns to descend the stairs into the waters. Even the moisture heavy in the air is not enough to save your throat from going dry at the sight of his buttocks walking away from you. You are overcome with the desire to sink your nails in the taunt flesh there. The desire is enough to calm your nerves as you rid yourself of your clothing.

Marcus's eyes widen as you descend the stairs. “Breathtaking.” Is all he utters.

The rest of the encounter goes by in a haze. It's like a waking dream as Marcus's large hands skim your skin, cleansing you. They land on your shoulders and steadily knead at the tension carried there. A loud gasp escapes you as his lips meet your neck. The trail upwards grazing your skin, leaving the odd kiss until his lips find yours and take them with a passion you had never even dreamed of. In the fever of it all, his hands find your breasts, cupping the weight of them and squeezing them ever so gently, his thumbs find your nipples and the kiss is broken by your cries.

“Such pretty sounds, my lover.” Marcus's words heat your skin just as much as his actions as he dips his head to suck on your nipple. The action awakens something primal in you as you grip his head in place with a strong fist in his curls. It's Marcus's turn to gasp before returning to your nipple with his tongue laving over it.

“There's the fire in you, that helps you survive. It makes you so desirable under your beauty and intelligence. It is part of what brought me to be so bold with my offer. I don't see a delicate flower like some others do. I see a hardy bloom that can survive in the harshest of conditions. I see a lover who can take what I have to give.” As if to emphasise his words, Marcus's now fully erect length slips in-between your legs to bring you a rush of pleasure.

Another gasp from you allows him to devour your mouth, his tongue wraps around yours as the tip of his cock ruts lightly against your pearl.

“Would you let me make you climax? I want to see you take pleasure in this before I fulfil my duties.” Marcus’s words are barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears but you manage a nod.

Marcus grips your chin to bring your glazed eyes to his. “Words, my flower.”

The endearment makes his deep brown eyes even more enchanting. Your reply comes as if under a spell. “Yes, Marcus.”

Marcus takes his girth in his fists to guide the tip against your bud. He circles it in a similar fashion as you would in your private moments. The pleasure your fingers bring you, although practised, could never compare to this. Marcus's chest is pressed against yours. His breathing is heavy against your skin. He whines and moans freely showing his own enjoyment. The whole thing is over much too soon as pleasure explodes from his touch. It snakes its way through your body, possessing every inch. It wraps around your throat forcing the most deviant sounds out of you along with Marcus name.

Marcus cups your still pulsing womanhood as his fist speeds up. It only has to pass over his erect flesh a few more times before the possession takes him, too. He howls like a creature of myth as his seed floats away. While it does, he pounces on you. The beasts inside you meet to soothe each other in the aftermath. The passion ebbs away until you are simply nestled together. Curled around each other in protection from the world. This moment is just for the two of you. Marcus's demeanour softens even more towards you as he insists on helping you with the strigil before helping you dress. He even links his fingers with yours to escort to the door. A soft kiss to your cheek is the last of your intimacy for that night as he leads you out for his men to take you home.

[earls-wife]

Hello! I hope y'all are well lovelies. Here's the next repost of The Earl and his Wife's marriage life.

Warnings: mature themes, no smut just a love struck man who body worships his wife with thoughts of his.

This takes place three years into The Earl and his wife's marriage.

Reader is always female.

The Lord's A Beggar

Astré wasn’t one to beg.

But he would if his wife asked him to worship her. He would even utter a “please” for his lady.

Head to toe she was every inch the goddess he dreamed of in his teenage years. How they met still burned him open for all others to see. Eyes that pierced his scheming agenda with such ferocity it shook his core. Gone were his plans for the day. Instead he was here, at her alter to worship and burn incense to his goddess. His one true love and companion.

Hands dragged up thighs that ran with warmth, the same warmth he had fallen into night after night. His lips chased the trail of goosebumps left behind in the chilly wake of his finger tips. She completed him. In every way he longed to have her by his side for every moment he drew breath, but that was impossible. Death would come for them both before he had his fill.

“My Lord, you have work to do.”

Her voice called to him so sweetly in his fevered haze that she had induced by existing. So different from Elizabeth, his cousin, she was. His wife never had to try for his attention, no she gathered it with a mere tilt of her head and impish grin. His wife never asked him for things or demanded he attend soirées. He would if she asked though. No, his wife was a silent woman who kept her secrets within the confines of the home he had for them to dwell in.

Her requests were easy, simple, like breathing.

“Must I? I would rather stay here and offer gifts to my lover. May I stay mon bijou?”

Only she could make him beg.

Mon bijou- my jewl

[denaliwrites]

Naked in That Garden

Aziraphale x Fem!Reader x Crowley

Catch and Release Prompt: "Incentive"

Summary: (18+) Crowley discovers an incentive for staying in your body a little while longer. Can be read on its own or as a sequel to Out There Making DuckTales.

Soundtrack: the fruits by Paris Paloma

Requests: Open!

Warnings: :)

"Oi, what's that?" the voice in your head asked.

You snapped out of your reverie with a start. "What's what?" you asked distractedly, looking around for an answer that wasn't there.

"That," Crowley hissed, his... essence? soul? coiling around parts of you that left heat pooling between your legs.

"Crowley," you gasped desperately, nails digging into the wood of the desk you sat at as he did it again experimentally.

The problem was that now a new toy had been dangled in front of him, and Crowley was unlikely to back away -- unless he got bored, or broke it. And, even worse, it was unlikely he'd found and decided to play with those particular bits of you on his own -- something had drawn his attention there.

His essence squeezed around you again, bringing forth a strangled yelp just as Aziraphale walked in.

You didn't dare look at him, but could practically feel the concern rolling off of him as he approached you. His hand on your shoulder was comfortingly warm, but really only served to make you more desperate.

"My dear, you look ill."

Great. You could only imagine what that meant.

His hand not on your shoulder touched your forehead lightly. You glanced up at it and just managed to catch his frown. "You're flushed, but you don't have a fever. How odd."

He helped you to a stand and led you towards the stairs.

You nearly collapsed as Crowley's wandering interest honed in on the bud nestled between your thighs. Aziraphale caught you, looking deeply worried, but you weren't really sure how to tell him your demon houseguest had found the game room.

You were led into a bedroom and sat on the bed, and in your distracted haze you barely noticed Aziraphale leave, and certainly didn't hear his words as he did.

"I h-hope you're satif-fied," you gasped as Crowley tickled your insides.

"Oh, very," his voice hissed in your head. "This feels amazing. What is it?"

On one hand, you found it a little hard to believe a six thousand year old demon didn't know what he was doing to you. On the other, they'd both told you before that they didn't have human bodies so much as tangible objects that vaguely resembled human bodies from the outside.

So maybe he was being honest.

You wiped your brow, pushing back some strands of slicked hair, and released a huff as you leaned back. One hand supported you while the other dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans, inching ever closer to the heat between your legs.

"Do you really not know?" you asked, panting.

"I don't. Human physiology isn't really my forte."

"Do you want to?"

"I do."

That was all you needed to slip your fingers into your folds, index and middle pressing into your cunt while your thumb circled your clit. At first you weren't sure if your pleasure reached Crowley, but then your heard your moan echoed in and around you.

It was weird, to be getting yourself off like this. But something about it definitely turned you on.

"C-Crowley," you panted, slowing down for a moment so you could think.

"Yes, darling?" he purred.

"Can you... d-do you think you could... fill me?"

"Fill you?"

"Yes -- where my fingers are."

A moment later and your cunt felt full in a way you couldn't ever hope to describe. Technically, there was nothing there besides your fingers -- at least, visually speaking. But you could definitely feel Crowley's weight inside you, and it drew forth an obscene moan.

You only remembered Aziraphale when you heard a glass shatter on the wooden floor, and your eyes flew open to see him standing in the doorway, eyes bulging and mouth hanging slack.

"A-Azira--"

You fell silent as he came forward. His eyes blazed as he took in your flushed face, the sheen of sweat covering every inch of your skin, your hand buried in your jeans.

"Really, dear," he said with a click of his tongue. "If you needed help you really should've just asked."

"Wh..."

He snapped his fingers -- no doubt to miracle away the glass -- and then honed his focus back in on you. His gaze was hot and heavy, like a sun that burned bright enough to blind, but you couldn't help but stare into.

"Aziraphale," you whimpered, blinking the building tears of desperation out of your eyes.

"Hush, now, my dear." His voice was impossibly soft, loving, as he leaned forward and cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing a tear away as yours brushed your clit. "Would you like my help?"

Crowley chose that moment to expand himself -- not enough to cause pain, but enough to leave you crying out, only able to answer Aziraphale in a wordless nod.

He leaned forward to kiss you, his lips tender against your own. His one hand remained on your cheek, while his other gently pulled your hand away from your cunt.

"N-no," you sobbed, but he shushed you with another kiss.

"It's all right," he reassured you. He snapped again and you were hit with a sudden chill as your clothes disappeared. Before you could complain, Aziraphale guided you down onto the bed, his now bare body hovering over you as his eyes trailed over your prone form. "Oh, aren't you lovely?"

Crowley gave an assenting hum as he squirmed inside you, eliciting another cry from you.

Aziraphale trailed kisses down your neck and chest, stopping to suckle at your breasts for a moment before he made his way back up.

"Angel," Crowley said, "how do you know what to do here?"

It was a great question. Of the two, you would've expected Crowley to know more about this particular activity.

"I read," the angel answered simply before he pulled you into a loving kiss.

You whimpered into his lips, nails clawing at his back in a desperate bid to coax him into action.

He blessedly understood your silent plea and responded by rocking his hips forward. You were, just for a moment, certain he used a miracle to drive home on his first try, but then all thoughts disappeared as you were filled to capacity.

Maybe even beyond.

It still didn't hurt, but the pressure left you gasping and your ache for release left you sobbing.

Aziraphale tsked above you. "Crowley, really, did you have to leave her in such a state?"

"How was I supposed to know that's what that button did?"

Aziraphale sighed as he pulled back. There was little relief as he was quick to pitch forward, filling you once again. And as he filled you back up, through your own wail you heard Crowley moan. And you could tell Aziraphale heard it too by the sudden glint in his eyes.

The angel, ever kind, shifted so that his next thrust in his your G-spot, and then he hammered at it relentlessly. Your screams were muffled by his kisses as he drove into that bundle of nerves over and over.

Crowley wriggled inside you, part of him filling your cunt while part of him shifted to toy with your clit.

It only took about ten seconds (if that) for your screams to become silent wails of pleasure. Tears streamed freely, though Aziraphale was quick to brush them away. And only a few seconds after your voice failed you, you began shaking from the strain of the building pleasure, from your desperate need for a release that was torturously close.

A few more snaps of his hips, and suddenly the dam burst.

Your whole body twitched and tensed into an arc, cunt clenching around Aziraphale so tightly that he had to pause mid-thrust. You wished you could scream, but no sound came out as your orgasm blazed through you like wildfire.

You barely registered Crowley's retreat into some other recess of your body, or that Aziraphale shifted so that the two of you were sitting up with you perched in his lap and leaned against his shoulder.

You eased into him as your orgasm faded, limply plastered against him like an overcooked noodle. He stroked your damp hair as you came down, your breaths rough pants against his shoulder.

"That's it," he and Crowley cooed together.

"You did so beautifully, my dear," Aziraphale sighed happily.

And, just to you, Crowley all but purred, "If ever I thought something divine, it'd be the image of you naked and gleaming."

[modern-inheritance]

"Why the hell would I be there?" –Brom, a supportive father figure

Arya squinted up at the leaves above. Dappled sunlight filtered through, dancing with the gentle breeze that rustled the branches. The air held a late spring chill but the sun was warm. Like life and fresh water and perfect afternoons after long battles, laying out on the grass as the sun’s rays seeped into her bones. 

Her ribs hurt. Her back throbbed, protesting what had to be the cell floor being pressed against it. She didn’t want to roll over, break the illusion just yet. A bluejay flitted through the twigs above. That was a nice touch. Seems the hallucinations were getting more and more real as time went on. 

They usually weren’t this good. Maybe Durza was lulling her into a false sense of security. Well, she already knew it wasn’t real. So what was the harm in laying there for a little while longer? Basking in the sunlight dripping through the leaves, warm, at peace. Just a few minutes.

Boots on sand. Urgh. He always knew when she was half awake like this. Loved to grab her by the hair and rip her out of the dreamy haze. Just wait for it. Ignore him till he can’t be ignored.

The footsteps stopped next to her shoulder and a familiar face entered her field of view. Peering down. One eyebrow raised, the other lowered in a confused frown. Pipe clenched at the side of his lips. 

“Hey.” He pulled the pipe from his mouth. Frowned even deeper. Arya blinked up at him. Why the hell was Brom of all people in her hallucination? Something nudged her arm. Fairly hard. Felt like rough and well worn boot leather. “Are you actually awake, girl?”

Arya stared. Awake? Wh–

Oh. 

Oh shit.

The elf blinked again. Forced herself to speak, raspy and throat dry. “I’m…not hallucinating, am I?”

Brom stuck the pipe back in his mouth. “You really think Durza would put my ugly mug in your hallucinations?”

This had to be a trick. The whole escape had to be a trick. This couldn’t be happening, it was too good, it was surreal, it was…well, not easy, but shit was it actually him? Was she out? 

Wary, Arya lifted two fingers and drew a line from her forehead out into the air a few inches and followed the drawn path back. Waited for Brom to respond correctly.

The only sign that he was grinning was the wobble of the pipe. He pressed two fingertips between his brows before turning them outward at the same distance she had extended hers.

The brush against her barriers was familiar. She lowered her defenses, tentatively touched the mind presented. He smelled of pipesmoke even here, the warmth of a raging inferno that had raged itself to glowing cinders. Slate-blue-grey, an electric undercurrent of lightning bolt cyan. Warrior, assassin, gardener, egg thief, Dragon Rider, mentour, Brom.

Laughing would hurt like hell. So she settled for the grin splitting her face ear to ear. “I’m not hallucinating.” 

Brom had no reservations. He chuckled and shook his head, his smile not quite as broad but still genuine. “You’re not hallucinating.”

Arya tried to get up. Pain bolted from her ribs, jolted down her spine. She huffed and held her hands up to her mentor, made a grabbing motion with an almost sheepish grin and a tight wheeze as her side muscles stretched. “Help me up, you old bastard.” If this wasn’t a figment of her fever-addled imagination then this was no time to lounge around in the sunlight.

~~~

Arya waking up to travel with Eragon and Co has been something that I've tried and failed to write probably at least 2-3 times a year since MIC started. It never came off right. Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira being awake made it complicated. They were all so awkward with Arya that I finally settled on just Brom being awake during a watch, but still had difficulties figuring out how it would go down.

Finally this afternoon I came up with this. Had to write it up real quick. Whatever happens after this is a mystery still but just waking up the elf and Brom acknowledging her and proving to her that he's real, she's out of Gil'ead and she's (relatively, considering the whole mad dash away from the Empire while being hunted down like so many pesky rabbits) safe, that's a big step for me to actually get down in a way that I like it.

Also, if I ever figure out how to draw properly, I'll make some 'flashcards' for the Riders Signs that I've introduced. The Gil'ead escape story should have quite a few, including the two seen here.

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober/Whumperless Whump Event (WWE) - #8

More tags HERE

“I am fine. I can still work.”

Tech had been saying that for over a day now, but still he forced himself to work, even to the point of forgoing the sleep they all knew he desperately needed. He was notorious for his hatred of being sick and always refused to take care of himself, insisting that he could work through it.

It had started with a stuffy nose, then general fatigue, eventually developing into a fever that persisted even now and was starting to rise.

“Tech, you’ll be no good to anyone if you end up collapsing,” Hunter said.

“That will not happen. The mission is too important. I can continue on. I must.”

Hunter shook his head and started to turn away when Tech suddenly shouted, “Get down!”

Hunter felt Tech try to shove him to the ground (though unsuccessfully and not too strongly, he noted absently) and started firing at…a tree?

Regardless, Hunter drew his own gun and looked around for any sign of the enemy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crosshair and Wrecker do the same. But there was no one there. They were alone.

“Tech, what- Whoa!”

Turning to look at his cousin, Hunter had to act quickly as the older man started to wilt where he stood, his knees giving way. Hunter caught hold of him and gently lowered him to the ground. And almost recoiled in shock. Tech was burning up! The head was radiating off of him.

“What’s going on?” Wrecker asked as he rushed over. Crosshair, Hunter noticed, was still standing a few paces off, keeping watch.

“His fever’s gotten too high. We need to cool him down, and fast.”

“I can do that,” Wrecker said and scooped the smaller man into his arms. Hunter jogged along behind him as he waded in up to his chest in the nearby river. He carefully arranged Tech so his head remained above water while as much of him as possible was submerged in the cool water.

Hunter heard Crosshair come up behind him.

“There’s no sign of anyone here but us.”

“He must have hallucinated it,” Hunter guessed.

Crosshair’s eyebrows rose. “His fever is that bad?” Tech was unarguably the brains of their group, so to think that his mind was that compromised…

“I should have seen it, forced him to stop and get some rest.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Crosshair said. “You know how stubborn he can be.”

Hunter smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Our greatest family trait. Or our worst.”

Hours later, after the sun had set and they’d made camp for the night, Tech lay fitfully on his bedroll, tossing and turning as nightmares plagued his uneasy sleep. His fever still raged, his dip in the river having done little to cool him down. They kept a cool, damp cloth on his head, arms, chest, and legs, but his thrashings kept flinging them off and they  had to keep replacing them.

Finally, a few hours before dawn, Tech jolted awake with a wordless cry, bolting upright. Hunter, keeping vigil beside him while the others slept, grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Easy now,” he soothed. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe. Try to get some rest.”

Tech blinked his eyes, struggling to focus through the haze and darkness and without his goggles. But he recognized Hunter’s voice and allowed himself to relax enough for Hunter to lay him back down. He closed his eyes and began to breathe slowly and deeply.

As Hunter replaced the cloths that had been thrown off, he was relieved to find that a layer of sweat had started to cover Tech’s body. The fever was finally breaking. Tech would be alright.

[walkingtalkingsomething]

✨Taylor Swift Makes Everything Better Lyric Prompts - Pt. 2✨

It's exactly what the title says. I find song lyrics in general very inspiring and have a notebook of ones that strike me for one reason or another but don't have the 'whatever' that's needed to write them. And I unapologetically stan the hell out of Ms. Swift and am so often struck by her word choices. So this is my collection of the TS lyrics that conjure up the most thoughts - minus a ton of sad ones because I am just too soft to be putting that much angst into the world 😊

Lover

•Your name on my lips tongue tied, Free rent living in my mind - I Forgot That You Existed

•Fever dream high in the quiet of the night, You know that I caught it - Cruel Summer

•And I screamed for whatever it's worth, 'I love you,' Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? - Cruel Summer

•There's a dazzling haze, A mysterious way about you dear, Have I've known 20 seconds or 20 years? - Lover

•I think he knows his hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it's mine - I Think He Knows

•He got that boyish look that I like in a man - I Think He Knows

•Got that, Ah, I mean, Wanna see what's under that attitude - I Think He Knows

•I think he knows when we get all alone I'll make myself at home and he'll want me to stay - I Think He Knows

•Lyrical smile, Indigo eyes, Hand on my thigh we could follow the sparks, I'll drive - I Think He Knows

•We're so sad we paint the town blue, Voted most likely to run away with you - Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

•Kiss me once cause you know I had a long night, Kiss me twice cause it's gonna be alright, Three times cause I've waited my whole life - Paper Rings

•I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings, Uh huh, That's right, Darling, You're the one I want, And I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this, Uh huh, That's right, Darling, You're the one I want in paper rings, In picture frames, In dirty dreams - Paper Rings

•Barefoot in the kitchen, Sacred new beginnings that became my religion - Cornelia Street

•My heart, My hips, My body, My love, Trying to find a part of me that you didn't touch - Death By a Thousand Cuts

•Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand, It's nice to have a friend - It's Nice To Have a Friend

Folklore

•We were something, don't you think so? Rosé flowing with your chosen family, And it would've been sweet if it could've been me - The One

•And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed, You put me on and said I was your favorite - Cardigan

•You drew stars around my scars - Cardigan

•I knew you tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy - Cardigan

•I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you'd haunt all of my what ifs, The smell of smoke would hang around this long - Cardigan

•I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending - Exile

•I can see you staring, Honey, Like he's just your understudy, Like you'd get your knuckles bloodied for me - Exile

•And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted, Your dad is always mad and that must be why - Seven

•I can see us lost in the memory/And I can see us twisted in bedsheets - August

•I didn't know if you'd care if I came back, I have a lot of regrets about that - This Is Me Trying

•And maybe I don't quite know what to say, But I'm here in your doorway - This Is Me Trying

•You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else/You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else - Illicit Affairs

•And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? - Invisible String

•Right now is the last time I can dream about what happens when you see my face again - Betty

•But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come - Peace

•And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences, Sit with you in the trenches, Give you my wild, Give you a child, Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, Family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother - Peace

•Don't want no other shade of blue but you, No other sadness in the world would do - Hoax

•You knew the password so I let you in the door - Hoax

•Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die, I don't belong and my beloved neither do you - The Lakes

Evermore

•Wherever you stray, I follow - Willow

•Head on the pillow, I could feel you creeping in as if you were a mythical thing, Like you were a trophy or a champion ring, But there was one prize I'd cheat to win - Willow

•Your Midas touch on the Chevy door, November flush and your flannel cure - Champagne Problems

•There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me - 'Tis The Damn Season

•And the heart I know I'm breaking is my own, To leave the warmest bed I've ever known - 'Tis The Damn Season

•Gain the weight, Then lose it - Tolerate It

•No one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you, And you know you hurt him too - Happiness

But are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? - Dorothea

•And do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care? - Coney Island

•Oh, Goddamn, My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand - Ivy

•My house of stone, Your ivy grows and now I'm covered in you - Ivy

•Your opal eyes are all I wish to see, He wants what's only yours - Ivy

•So yeah, It's a fire, It's a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it - Ivy

• You're a bandit like me, Eyes full of stars, Hustlin' for the good life, Never thought I'd meet you here - Cowboy Like Me

•And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up - Cowboy Like Me

•Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon, With your boots beneath my bed, Forever is the sweetest con - Cowboy Like Me

•And it's been so long but if you ever think you got it wrong, I'm right where you left me - Right Where You Left Me

Midnights

•And I wake with your memory over me, That's a real fucking legacy to leave - Maroon

•I wake up screaming from dreaming one day I'll watch as your leaving and life will lose all its meaning for the last time  - Anti Hero

•And time can't stop me quite like you did - Snow on the Beach

•I wait patiently, He's gonna notice me, It's ok we're the best of friends...anyways - You're on Your Own, Kid

•They said the end coming, Everyone's up to something, I find myself running home to your sweet nothings, Outside they're push and shoving, You're in the kitchen humming, All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing - Sweet Nothing

•To you I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it - Sweet Nothing

Misc.

•Seen you fall, Seen you crawl on your knees, Seen you lost in a crowd, Seen your colors fade, Wish I could make it better, Someday you won't remember this pain you thought would last forever and ever - Sweeter Than Fiction

•What a sight when the light came on, Proved me right when you proved them wrong - Sweeter Than Fiction

•Follow me home if you dare to, I wouldn't know where to lead you - Beautiful Ghosts

Part. 1

[devahutii]

𝕭𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖘𝖍𝖒𝖆'𝖘 𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙...

Red the colour of blood

Red the colour of matrimony

Red the colour of lust

Red the colour of hatred

Red the colour of the silken curtains that fell from the ceilings over his face. Those curtains he pulled aside, he pulled apart, the silk tickling past his body as he navigated through the sea of red until he reached a halt- a velvet bed enveloped in satin sheets. He stood perplexed, the palm of his hand pressed against the cushion of the bed, feeling the smooth fabric in between the pads of his fingers.

Then he heard- a huff, a chuckle, a sigh. He felt eyes on him, beholding his broad back, his muscular arms, down to areas eclipsed. He spun, a certain way setting in his chest as he surveyed the extents of red silk that stretched forward all around him.

Then he saw it- a silhouette of a woman in red, her hips swaying, her hands gently pulling apart the silken curtains as she made her way towards him.

His breath hitched, air caught up in his lungs as he beheld the sight before him- it was her.

His body grew limp, paralysed in place as her scarlet painted lips grinned. She drew closer to him, her hand on his chest, as she pushed him down on his back into the bed. All air left his lungs as she mounted him, bracing his hips with her thighs. She bent down over him, her faces inches apart from his, the metallic smell of blood and attar emanating from her. He sucked on a sharp breath, she chuckled as she grinded against him, her hips rocking back and forth against him. He closed his eyes tightly shut, his two shuddering hands snaking up her thighs as he felt his hips rut up against her. With his mind hazed in ecstasy, his grip only bruisingly tightened as he reached his climax.

Then he opened his eyes, only to find not the maiden brimming with desire, but a woman with bloodshot eyes glaring back at him. Her lips twisted into a snarl, shivering with fury and vengeance in her mind, she had her arms up with a dagger in hand overhead. His eyes widened as the dagger came down upon his chest, sinking into his fevered heart as he came undone against her cunt.

Then he woke up- from the shock, baffled and heaving as his heart thundered in his chest. With beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, he got up, his body shivering from the unsettling omen that came to him in the form of a dream- or rather, a nightmare.

These were the nights of Bheeshma, haunted by visions of Amba. On some nights, he’d dream of family, not the one that he had to give up his manhood to protect, but of one of his own. He dreamt of children in a quaint little nursery, babbling and giggling euphorically as he took them into his arms as they were his own. He dreamt of a mother, a wife- doting on him just as she doted on his children.

But then he’d wake up, only to realise just who this wife of ‘his’ was- Amba.

She was the first to demand him in matrimony, to want him. She had been forbidden fruit, his jaw clenching, his throat bobbing at the sight of. Bheeshma of the tungsten oath, had only ever once reconsidered his vows for only one woman- Amba.

But one night, his previous dreams ceased to exist, as a new vision unveiled itself before him-a vision of a man, no longer the woman he was before. Bheeshma stood in sand, surrounded by the rued and rusted ruins of hastinapur, underneath the afternoon sun. In a distance stood Shikhandi, wielding a bow and arrow before him. With his body paralysed in place, he could only watch as the man with fury of a thousand suns in his eyes, strung his arrow into the bow and took aim. He could only watch as the man sent hundreds of arrows his way, falling upon him like a hundred broken stars. No longer was that alluring gaze, no longer was that soft caress, no longer was that femininity that had nearly disgraced him- only pain followed as a thousand arrows pierced his being.

As he cried out in pain, he woke up gasping and heaving for air. It was now that Bheeshma knew, through his fear stricken mind, that his end was nigh.

At a distance, trumpets and conches sounded as a war drew closer…..

•

•

•

[kalevalakryze]

You Know Me (Better Than I Know Myself)

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Rebels Pairings: Sabine Wren & The Ghost Crew Characters: Sabine Wren, Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus, Garazeb Orrelios, Ezra Bridger, Chopper, Satine Kryze Warnings: Nightmares, Sickness, Fevers, Delirium, Panic Attacks, Abandonment Issues, Mentioned Major Character Death, Reanimated Corpses, Vomit Mention, No New Deaths, Insecurities, Ahsoka Series References Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 2  Prompt: No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” Delirium | “They don't care about you.” Word Count: 2,581 AO3 Link: Here!

Hera was perched awkwardly on the top bunk in Sabine’s room, feet dangling down to the booth below. Kanan stood with his back pressed into the durasteel wall, both Rebel leaders stuck listening to the soft, keening groans coming from the fever stricken Mandalorian, twitching and shifting under her blankets, stilling only slightly when the Twi’lek’s hand reached and settled on her leg. “Kanan, she’s still in her armor,” Hera realized with an understanding sigh. 

“Want me to..?” His head jabbed towards the door, there had to be medicine somewhere on board, or maybe he could get Chop to look up the old Pog soup recipe the Clones used to make… He couldn’t just sit there and listen to her hurting. 

“Please,” Hera offered a warm smile, squeezing his arm when he reached to pat her leg on his way out. “Thanks, love,”

“Anything for you guys,” He pulled a lopsided smirk on his face before the door slid shut behind him. 

Running her fingers along Sabine’s sweat-damp forehead, Hera let her heart ache for just a moment, thumb following the slope of the Mandalorian’s nose as she drew closer to the hand on her face. “Kaa'lia,” There was a crack of a golden eye opening, foggy with sleep and sickness. “ ‘bine, I’m going to help you get your armor off, alright?” 

“Buir?” Sabine rasped, chest rattling before she was turning her head to the side to cough into the pillows. 

Hera didn’t know a lick of Mando’a, but she did know Sabine; knew the strained an nearly invisible relationship with her family, knew the Mandalorian was plagued by nightmares not from the battlefield, but from whatever it was that had happened with her family, and Hera knew what it sounded like, when a child called out for a parent to protect them, in her time since bringing Sabine on board, she also learned the agonizing feeling of those calls going unanswered. 

I’m sorry, Sabine, I’m not your mother. She should have clarified, she should have waited until the young woman pushed through enough of the haze to recognize her; instead, emerald fingers brushed through tousled black and orange dyed hair, lungs squeezing painfully at the way she melted into her hand. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” She promised instead, thumb brushing against overheated skin as Sabine nuzzled into her. “But we need to get this armor off of you, sweetheart.” 

Even sitting up with Hera’s support seemed to be too much for the Mandalorian, who was thrown into a coughing fit the moment she was sitting up. Leaning across the small space between them, Sabine’s cheek pressed into Hera’s shoulder, hands reaching for her armor and fumbling uselessly with the straps. 

It was hard work, moving around a clingy Mandalorian who kept putting their hands right where she needed to go, but before long, Hera had each piece of armor changed, and even managed to get the young woman into proper sleep clothes, free of the sweat and dirt from their last mission before the woman had disappeared into her room. 

“Hera..?” Sabine croaked as the Twi’lek bundled her back into the bunk, “Me’bana?” 

“Gave us a bit of a fright,” Hera soothed, tucking the blanket once more, needing something to do with her hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Like bantha shit wrapped in a sarlac’s digestive lining,” Burrowing further into the nest Hera had helped her back into, the Mandalorian tucked her face into the blankets, stifling her wheezing breaths with the thick fabric. 

“You’re gonna melt yourself in there, you know,” Though Hera couldn’t bring herself to suggest she thin out the blankets, not when the girl’s legs curled closer to her chest and her shoulders shook from feverish chills. 

“Ciyrc,” Teeth clattering, Sabine poked her head away from the warmth of the blankets, sniffling as she tried to hold the shivering and trembling in her chest. “Can I go back to sleep now?” 

“Of course,” Hera made to jump off the bunk, though she was stopped by a clammy hand brushing her wrist, as if the woman had gone to grab her, but decided too late that whatever she wanted wasn’t worth it. “Or… Maybe I can stay a bit, make sure your fever doesn’t spike again,” Settling back in, the captain watched the poorly hidden relief, knowing that the Mandalorian wouldn’t ask for what she really wanted. 

By the time Kanan returned with a bowl of soup, the cabin was once again filled with the deep sounds of Sabine’s breathing, embraced by slumber and thankfully still compared to when Chopper had tattled on the distressed noises from the artist’s room.

“How’s she doing?” Kanan lowered his voice as he reentered Sabine’s quarters, setting the steaming bowl of soup onto the one clear spot on the table underneath the bunk.

“She woke up for a few minutes, got her armor off of her… Looking up,” Hera finally slid off the bunk, letting Kanan help steady her with a hand on her waist. 

“She isn’t out of it yet,” The Jedi settled his hand on the edge of the bunk. “Come on, I’ll go put this away, if she wakes up, I’ll warm it up for her.”

“So the trick to getting you to clean up is for one of the kids to get sick?”

“I’d make a great house spouse, if you’re trying to say otherwise, you know. Now come on, you’ll scare the poor kid if you watch her sleep all night,”

▬▬ι═══════>

“Hera?” Sabine croaked as consciousness slowly ebbed into her mind. Everything was heavy, her head was swimming, and she was positively freezing. Bleary golden eyes searched the expanse of her quarters, it looked exactly like it had when she’d gone to bed that morning… or was it afternoon? When she looked over to the pink and orange chrono tucked near the top of the bunk blinked, a fault running during the night stopping the time from updating. 

Several minutes of tired, confused self loathing passed before Sabine called out again. “Kanan?” A cough racked her body, bringing the young Mandalorian curling in on herself, shoulders shaking as her lungs refused to suck in the oxygen she needed. 

The door slid open with a hiss, overshadowed by the gasping breaths, her chest heaving as she leevelled her breathing out once more. The eyes that settled on her fetal form sent a spike of ice directly to her stomach, rising bile to the back of her throat that she needed to swallow back before daring to lift her gaze. 

This… had to be a nightmare, people didn’t come back from the dead. Still, the metallic odor of burning blood itched her nose, serving to further upset her stomach as she forced herself to sit up. Satine Kryze watched each of her movements with cold, dead eyes. 

“Duchess,” Sabine’s feet hit the floor with a heavy thud, knees and hands following as weakness in her muscles refused to let her stand before the deceased ruler of Mandalore. 

“They aren’t coming,” The ghastly tone of her voice had Sabine squeezing her eyes shut, begging herself to wake with each reverbation in her head. “When they do, it will be too late.” Her hand was skeletal where it breached the blue silk of her sleeve, graying skin mottled and decaying as she reached for the evidence of a wound in her abdomen. 

Sabine didn’t dare risk to speak, throat bobbing with the effort it took to keep the persistent stomach acid from fighting it’s way past her throat. “They don’t care about you, ad’ika,” Golden eyes tore from the paint splattered steel of the floor, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with the reanimated, rotting corpse of the Pacifist leader she’d looked up to so much growing up. 

“They care about what you can do for them,” The door never shut behind Satine when she entered, giving Sabine a clear view of the hallway from her spot on the floor. 

“Hey, Hera!” Ezra’s voice echoed from the nose gun before growing closer. “ ‘bine left a bunch of old drawings in the turret, you want ‘em?” Ezra passed the door with a stack of Sabine’s drawings, the ones she’d specifically hidden in the cushion of the nose gun’s chair so no one would see her more private drawings of both of her families. 

Hera’s head poked into the hallway, catching Ezra in time to peer at the drawings. “They don’t look important, you can toss them with the rest of her stuff,” 

Chopper made a warbling sound, which turned into a fast paced beeping. “Yes Chop, I know! Just wait till we land, once we sell what’s left, we’ll go get you those upgrades,” Ezra patted the small droid’s head, sticking a tongue out in retaliation after he was shocked for his actions. 

“Why…” Sabine’s voice caught in her throat as she swallowed another crashing wave of vomit. “Why are they acting like I’m dead?” 

“Laar'senar’ika… you are dead,” The corpse had the decency to at least pretend to look sympathetic- Sabine wished she wouldn’t, wished the image of Lady Kryze’s rotting form would stop looking at her like that, wished this didn’t feel so real, wished she would just wake up!

▬▬ι═══════>

Her body smacked into the ground below with a harsh thud, pain flaring up from her tailbone and up her spine, legs tangled in her blankets and tears leaking down her face. When she looked to the door, she saw only the spray painted lines of a stormtrooper helmet with a giant X across it. 

Tears ran free and hot down her face, acidic saliva smeared across the side of her face, and the pungent odor of stomach acid in the air, thick in the sheets wrapped around her body. “Duhaa’la,” She rasped, fighting to untangle herself with cramping limbs. 

“Sabine!” The door hissed open to Ezra’s worried shout of her name, though it was Hera who blocked him from being able to see into the room. “Hey, are you okay? We heard a crash?” He was trying so hard to duck around the captain, bouncing on his toes as Kanan tugged him back. 

“Come on,” He chided, pulling his Padawan back into his chest. “Somebody missed scrubbing practice yesterday,” Hera’s head bowed in quiet thanks as the only real ‘kid’ on board was led as far from Sabine’s room as Kanan could get him. Hera knelt down beside Sabine with a soft ‘tssk’. 

Hera was quiet as she helped untangle Sabine from her dreamland acquired prison. Truly, she was the best of them all, taking the state of the sheets and the dried sour residue staining Sabine’s sleep clothes in stride. 

“Hera?” Sabine started, leaning back against the booth of the bottom bunk, too-hot forehead pressed against the cool durasteel as the Twi’lek gathered the ruined sheets into a pile. 

“Yes, dear?” The older woman’s attention turned to her at once, her hand coming to rest on the Mandalorian’s knee as she settled onto the floor beside her.

Another stretch of heavy silence as the young woman debated herself, twisting her hands together uncomfortably in her lap, Sabine decided it was best to bite the bullet. “If..” A huff of air as she gave up on twisting her fingers to wrap her arms around herself. “It’s stupid, nevermind,”

“Sabine Wren,” Hera’s tone was joking, playfully, it helped her breathe again, though she could still pick out the tone she used for her ‘captain’ voice. “I’ve seen you face entire Imperial squads alone and I’ve seen you when you’ve run out of paint, there isn’t anything that’s going to scare us away, and even less that would make any of us stop caring,”

Brows furrowing, Sabine’s eyes rose to meet Hera’s, nearly recoiled from the intensity in her own personal oceans. “How did you…?”

“You talk in your sleep, Kaa'lia,” Hera admitted with a kind laugh as she shifted enough to press into Sabine’s side. “We aren’t going anywhere, Sabine. And if we go anywhere, we’ll do it as a family.” The Mandalorian tucked into Hera’s side readily, happy for the support to keep herself up, even as exhaustion and fear threatened to drag her down. 

“Hey, none of that,” Hera’s shoulder bounced, effectively halting the slow descent back into consciousness. “You didn’t eat or drink anything yesterday, and Kanan spent hours slaving over a hot stove just for you,” The woman’s fingertip flicked Sabine’s nose, causing her face to scrunch up. “And you could use a shower, There should still be some hot water in the tanks if you want it,” 

“Could you..Stay?” Her cheeks warmed at the vocalization of it, but Hera didn;t seem phased, nodding her head and pressing her forehead gently into the side of Sabine’s.

“Of course.”

Sabine didn’t crawl back into her own bed that night, after cleaning up, she found herself firmly wrapped up in Hera and Kanan’s bed, a cramped party in the too small quarters as everyone tried to pile in close to Sabine, bowls of reheated Pog soup passed around between everyone.

“Kanan, where did you learn to make this?” The young woman was appalled that someone so… decisively not Mandalorian, would be able to make the comforting dish like the elders. 

The man to her right shook his head, arm stretching across her back to reach for Hera’s shoulder, tugging both human and Twi’lek close, smooshing the Mandalorian between them. “That’s a story for another day,” 

“Hey!” Ezra complained, clambering painfully from his position laying across their legs to work himself between Sabine and Ezra. “You guys got her all to yourselves yesterday, We wanna make sure she’s okay too!” 

Balancing her bowl so it didn’t spill, Sabine rolled her eyes at Ezra’s antics, bumping her elbow into his ribs as he wiggled into a comfortable spot. “Zeb, are you joining in?”

The Lasat rubbed the back of his neck at Kanan’s question. “I don’t know, you guys have smelled me,” 

Passing her bowl off to Hera, Sabine wriggled enough to lay her legs out. “Come on, before we change our minds,” 

He wasted no time in accepting the invitation, taking Ezra’s spot, with several groans of complaints at the tank of a man laying on them, though eventually, everyone managed to get comfortable. Hera’s hand resting on Choppers head, the droid rolled up close to the well overcrowded bunk, knowing throwing him in the pile would truly be the straw to break the Tauntaun’s back. 

As Ezra rolled into a greatly exaggerated tale of his Jedi training, Sabine let herself sink back into Hera’s arm. “How are you feeling?” She whispered into the tired Mandalorian’s ear, unable to stifle her smile when the artist turned to nuzzle closer into her. 

“Jate’shya, Buir,” Sabine grumbled, voice thick as sleep wrapped her close in its inviting arms once more. 

Kanan’s head snapped to the two women, eyes wide at the language, words Hera had no hope of understanding and words he’d been taught once, in another life. “What?” Hera whispered defensively, brows furrowing at the look on his face. 

“Nothing…” A smirk pulled onto her lips- Hera wished she didn’t have all these sleeping kids in her bed, just in case she’d need to throw something at him. “Mom.” His voice was equal parts teasing and warm, warm like the feeling in Hera’s heart, and warm like the Mandalorian, her sama in her arms. 

Translations Twi'leki: Kaa'lia - Love Sama - Daughter Mando'a: Buir - Parent (used as 'mom' for the purpose of this fic) Me'bana? - What's happening? Ciyrc - Cold Laar'senar’ika - Little singing bird Duhaa'la - Sick Jate'shya, Buir - Better, mom

[lunarcrossingart]

The doodle that started it all.... I wanted to submit @theshebinator 's Happiness AUwi into their draw box but it kept giving me an error. So, I drew Sheb their boy instead. Then I drew @songwings's Delphiswap Viola and then @artseniccatnip Prom dress Pom in a fevered haze because I wanted to give them drawings today too. =w= Exposition finished.