#ginger dreads

[thekeytomoretime]

what happened here ¿

[inkedfictionista]

I must confess, it’s growing on me. I love him as the sad little egg he is, but that ginger hair is just 👌

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done���?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[alexandraadavies1996]

Ig: alexandraadavies1996

[isntverynice]

This is what I’m talking about when I talk about the version of X-Men Origins Wolverine that lives in my head. It’s about the perversion of family, of losing yourself and boundaries, of loneliness, of ownership; who am I? Who are you? What are we? Why is this happening?

[daddydread]

Daddy Dread Curly Dreadlocks Ginger Blonde color

[pitylaughterforme]

Some herbal remedies really do work for symptom management but the groups trying to sell them to you are often snake oil salesmen or pyramid schemes. Yes, ginger and mint are helpful for nausea. No, they don't cure Crohn's or stomach cancer or whatever else herbal medicine zealots tell you. Herbals can help with symptoms, not cure the underlying disease.

[mahamayax]

[schumigrace]

finally cut a shit load of hair off lol it actually looks alive for once !!!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Police Officer Wes

"Excuse me, sorry, Mr. Batman, sir!"

That's definitely not a voice he knows. Bruce halts in his steps, aborting his usual retreat into the shadows, and turns back around. Commissioner Gordon, who was still in the process of wrapping up his small talk with Tim - the term 'grumpy banter' would describe their conversation more accurately at this point, but Bruce knows better than to argue with the two over semantics - also turns around, pausing in the middle of the sentence.

A ginger haired boy, wide-eyed and obviously either nervous, starstruck, or both, is staring at him from a few feet behind the Commissioner. Bruce can see a few more faces peeking from behind the half-opened door to the roof, all of them filled with anticipation. He knows two of them: detectives that work directly under Gordon, Isaiah Vasquez, and Tasha Kuznets. The third one, a black man in his forties, also looks vaguely familiar, but Bruce can't recall a name.

Yet, he knows absolutely nothing about the ginger, who hasn't blinked once since Bruce noticed him and is now biting on his lips. But he is wearing a police uniform, so, possibly, a new hire?

"Weston, get out," Jim sighs, waving a shooing hand at the boy with a look of barely concealed exasperation on his face. Definitely a new hire, then. That's the level of annoyance he reserves only for the overachieving rookies that he begrudgingly likes but never admits to.

"I-" newly named Weston starts but cuts himself off. Then, he takes a deep breath and straightens up, "Just one question, sir!"

"Weston, I swear to God," Commissioner pinches the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up a bit. But Tim tilts his head to the side, looking in the ginger's direction and raising his eyebrows. His domino mask hides it, but Bruce knows his menagerie of kids well enough to see that he is at least a bit curious about the boy. So he turns back around fully and inclines his head, giving Weston his attention. He doesn't mind talking with those rare few members of GCPD that Gordon likes.

Weston perks up like a very eager dog at the sight of a treat. In the contrast lighting of the BatSignal, his hair looks like it's on fire.

"If you don't mind, was the 'Smiling case' relevant to Joker in any sense?" The boy asks, loud and clear - maybe even too loud - with his unblinking gaze still glued to Bruce. Like he is afraid that if he closes his eyes for a moment, Gotham's vigilantes are going to disappear without a trace.

It's not a question Bruce expected, to be honest. The 'Smiling case' was closed just a few days ago, Gordon was still not done with the paperwork, as far as Oracle's records went. A murder of three, where all victims had some badly drawn clown makeup on them - post-mortem makeup, as it turned out, the murderer tried to deceive the investigation by trying to cover it up as Joker's doing. Only, he didn't do a good job at it, all the Bats were way too familiar with the Mad Clown's signature style. Not to mention that Joker was still securely sealed in his Arkham cell.

Bruce turns to look at Red Robin. He was the one working on the case, so Bruce gives him the choice of answering or not. Tim jerks his shoulder, looks the ginger boy up and down, and then shakes his head.

"Aside from a poor attempt at leading the investigation in the wrong direction, no, it wasn't," Tim shrugs, "The guy isn't even a Gothamite, he knew of Joker only from the rumors and media. And the clown faces were a makeshift cover-up."

Weston visibly deflates at the answer. Bruce watches in a slight amusement as Tasha nudges the other officer, one he doesn't remember the name of, in the shoulder, and stage-whispers, "Pay up." The older man huffs and disappears behind the door, followed by Isaiah.

"Thank you, Mr. Red Robin," Wesley nods politely and takes a step back, his eyes darting to Gordon. Tim snorts a laugh but doesn't correct him. Commissioner, though, gives the boy a long, dreadful sigh.

"Is that all, officer Weston?" He asks, not even bothering to hide his 'tired dad' voice.

The ginger nods again, "Yes, Commissioner Gordon."

"Then get out of my sight before I make all your shifts double," Jim commands, and Weston nearly runs back to the door with a speed that makes Bruce involuntarily think of speedsters. Must be the red hair.

Tim turns to look at the Commissioner right as the door to the roof slams shut behind both Weston and Kuznets.

"Who is he?"

Bruce is also a bit curious now. New recruits in the GCPD are nothing out of the ordinary, but Jim seems to know this one personally, and Kuznets, who is one of his trusted detectives, seems to also like the officer.

Gordon briefly huffs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. It's quite chilly today; Bruce makes a mental note to switch everyone to their more insulated suits. Scarecrow is currently out on the loose. It won't do any good if any of the Bats went down with a cold.

"Wesley Weston, fresh out of the Academy," Commissioner sighs, but, somehow, Bruce gets the impression it's not a sound of simple exasperation over a new officer eager to prove himself. Jim proves his assumptions by looking around the shoulder to make sure the door to the roof is still closed, and continuing, "Born and raised in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, but GCPD was his first choice. He explained it as having a few friends living in the city, which, unfortunately, proved to be right."

Bruce frowns and grunts, alarm bells ringing in his mind. Deliberately choosing to work in Gotham despite not being from here can be caused by many reasons, and nearly none of them are good reasons.

"Unfortunately?" Tim inquires suspiciously, also with a slight frown, but Jim waves them both off.

"No, he's got nothing to do with any of the criminals. It was the first thing I checked when he mentioned 'friends'. If anything, he's quite on the opposite; he'd make a great detective one day, what with his countless conspiracy theories, determination and the insane urge to dig up every single detail known to mankind," he laughs a bit, and Bruce notices a slight, teasing twinkle to the Commissioner's eyes behind his glasses. "On his second day here, the boy went and plain told me he knows that Batman is Bruce Wayne and that he's saying that because he knows I know and he is aware we're working together."

The alarm bells in Bruce's mind turn into sirens. They never discussed the matters of Bats' real identities with Gordon - Bruce had his suspicions that the man knew it and simply kept his status quo. In all fairness, James Gordon didn't make it to Gotham's Commissioner by sheer dumb luck, so all the Bats kind of expected him to figure it out one day.

But Jim knowing who's behind the cowl is one thing. A new, out of town officer is quite another.

"What did you answer?" Tim asks with an easy smile, but Bruce sees the barely noticeable tension in his shoulders.

Gordon nearly grins, "I didn't believe him, which turned out to be exactly what he expected. He also told me of some kind of a familial curse - he called it 'Cassandra's curse', I believe you're aware of what it means. And then, when I naturally expressed my doubts, proceeded to show it in action. Believe me, it works. Sometimes, it even works too well," the man looks to the side with an amused huff, "That's why officer Weston is strictly prohibited from voicing his opinions on any of the ongoing cases outloud. Detective Kuznets almost missed some critical evidence because of his input once."

Cassandra's curse, Bruce has heard of that saying before. Granted, he never thought it could be a real thing, and he is not intending on starting now, not before he investigates the matter thoroughly. But he does trust Jim - years and years of working together would do that to people - so he simply nods in understanding, leaving the matter of supernatural aside for now.

"What about his friends?" Red Robin asks again, and that causes Gordon to wince momentarily.

"That, I believe, was the cause of his performance just now. One of his friends runs an occult shop, and the other one loves to hang around our forensic scientists and coroners occasionally," the man waves their immediate frowns off again, "I don't go into the morgue often, but I heard he's good at finding out the causes of death by a few looks at the body. And they run a lot of bets between them three," Jim shrugs nonchalantly, "The last one was about the 'Smiling case', I take it."

"Any reason to worry about them?" Bruce can't help but ask. It's not unusual for people to be weird in this city, and running an occult shop and hanging out with pathologists are not exactly reasons to go through background checks when they've got much more pressing issues on their plate. Namely, Scarecrow: it's been more than a week since his escape, but none of the Bats have heard anything about him yet. Oracle is already busy enough with that and the current uprise of gang activity in the Narrows, there's no point in piling even more work on her shoulders just because of some gossip that rubs Bruce the wrong way.

Gordon, thankfully, doesn't take his question lightly and pauses, scratching his chin.

"No," he finally concludes after some thought, "They are a bit strange for non-Gothamites, I'll say that, but in terms of this city? They are no stranger than my neighbors from upstairs." Gordon doesn't tell them to leave it alone, Bruce notices. However, it's probably not because of any doubts he has; the Bats just have a habit of tripplechecking everything anyways, and who would know that better than Jim Gordon?

A quick glance to Tim proves Bruce's thoughts. Red Robin, despite the mask, looks thoughtful. How many cases is he already working on, seven? Bruce makes another mental note to ask Alfred to cut his caffeine intake. It might be a bit hypocritical of him, what with his own plans to send a few messages to JLD about the 'Cassandra's curse', but Bruce excuses himself as the adult in the family.

Commissioner Gordon clears his throat.

"Do you want me to turn around so you can make your mysterious escape, or-" he starts, but both vigilantes are already gone by the time he finishes, "-or not, okay."

[gingermintpepper]

"Hey Ginger, what are you thinking about at 2 am?"

"Well, you know that one part in Graf's 'Apollo' where he concludes that Apollo's deathbringing is not opposed to his joy-bringing but that, in fact, through him both aspects are unified and given equal prominence?"

"Oh, you mean:

"Yeah,,, that's the line right there."

[flootzavut]

The way I do not put this past them 🤭

I really wonder if season 4 will start with “oh no, Geralt got hurt so bad that the dryads had to change him into Liam Hemsworth to cure him”

[lordprettyflackotara]

fill the void || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+

It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.

Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.

But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.

It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.

Yuck.

“Am I interrupting?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?

“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.

You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.

“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i’m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.

Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.

“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.

Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.

“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.

So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.

You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.

“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.

The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.

“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.

His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.

“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.

“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.

“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.

“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.

He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.

“Hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”

“Shut up Weasley.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

Tempting Surprises | LN4

ᰔᩚ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/n have been dating for two months and are both in love but haven’t confessed. One Friday, Y/n decides to surprise Lando and finally take their relationship further. She asks him for money, buys sexy lingerie, and models it for him during dinner. As she reveals the final set, the tension between them escalates.

ᰔᩚ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᰔᩚ word count ━━━━━━━ 3.2k

ᰔᩚ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The sharp chime of her phone jolted Y/n awake, pulling her from the lingering fragments of a dream that had left her cheeks flushed. She blinked at the screen, the sunlight streaming through her curtains catching on the text notification.

Lando: Morning, love. Need anything? Coffee? Breakfast? Your favorite croissant from that bakery you won’t shut up about?

She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. Always so eager, she thought, but the fluttering in her chest betrayed how much she secretly loved his relentless attention. Still, she couldn’t let him off easy. Not yet.

Y/n: Actually… I need to ask you for something. Something important.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, and before she could second-guess herself, she hit send. The reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Name it. Anything.

Y/n: I need money. About £500.

There was a brief pause, and she could almost picture him raising an eyebrow, his lips curling into that mischievous grin she both adored and dreaded. Then, her phone buzzed again.

Lando: Done. Check your account. And don’t even think about paying me back.

A notification pinged moments later, and her eyes widened at the figure. It was more than she’d asked for��far more. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, “He’s ridiculous.” But the warmth spreading through her chest told her everything she needed to know. He wasn’t just indulging her; he was showing her, in his own way, how much she meant to him.

By noon, she was out the door, weaving through the bustling streets of London with a singular mission. The boutique windows gleamed with temptation, and she allowed herself a rare indulgence, stepping inside one after another to select pieces that made her feel powerful, desired, dangerous. Each lingerie set was a statement, a promise she intended to deliver on later that evening.

---

Lando arrived at her apartment precisely at 7 PM, his arms filled with takeaway bags. The aroma of sushi wafted through the air as he stepped inside, his bright blue/ green eyes scanning the room for her.

“You’re late,” Y/n teased, leaning against the doorway to her kitchen, her tone light but her gaze sharp enough to make him falter.

“Traffic,” he shot back, setting the bags down on the counter. “And I had to endure the smell of raw fish for you. Do you know how disgusting that is?”

She laughed, the sound soft and melodic, and crossed the room to inspect the food. Sure enough, there were her favorite rolls, perfectly arranged, alongside his more mundane choices. “You hate sushi, yet you still bring it every time. Why?”

He shrugged, his expression casual, but the intensity in his eyes gave him away. “Because it makes you smile.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. She glanced away first, busying herself with plates and chopsticks, but her heart raced as if she’d run a marathon.

They ate in comfortable silence, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. Every brush of their hands as they reached for the same piece of ginger sent sparks racing up her arm. Lando watched her intently, his gaze lingering on her lips as she chewed, on the way her hair fell over her shoulder when she leaned forward.

When the last bite was gone, she stood abruptly, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I have a surprise for you.”

His eyebrows shot up, curiosity and excitement mingling in his expression. “Oh? Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” she replied, disappearing into her bedroom before he could respond.

Lando sank back onto the sofa, his leg bouncing with anticipation. The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, the soft click of heels echoed down the hallway. His breath caught as she stepped into view, wearing a black lace bralette that clung to her curves like a second skin, paired with matching panties that left little to the imagination. The thin straps accentuated her shoulders, and the sheer fabric teased at what lay beneath.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire.

Y/n smirked, twirling slowly to give him a full view. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I—” He cut himself off, raking a hand through his hair as his eyes darkened. “You’re killing me.”

She giggled, the sound light and infectious, before retreating to her bedroom once more. When she reappeared, it was in a deep red set, the color vivid against her skin, the plunge of the bra daringly low. She struck a pose, her confidence radiating as she strutted toward him, only to stop just out of reach.

“And this one?” she asked, her voice dripping with mischief.

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa as if to anchor himself. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Who said anything about playing fair?” she shot back, vanishing again.

By the third set—a delicate white number adorned with pearls—his resolve was crumbling. His cock strained against his jeans, the outline unmistakable, and Y/n couldn’t help but revel in the power she held over him.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, his voice thick with frustration and arousal.

“Immensely,” she admitted, her grin widening.

The fourth and fifth sets pushed him further to the edge, but it was the sixth and final one that shattered whatever remained of his self-control. This time, there was no lace, no frills—just two small patches of fabric barely covering her nipples and a single string nestled between her thighs. Lando’s breath hitched, his knuckles white as he gripped the sofa, his entire body taut with need.

“Y/n…” Her name sounded like a plea, a prayer, and she felt a thrill at the sound.

She strolled toward him, her hips swaying deliberately, until she stood mere inches away. “Yes, Lando?” she purred, tilting her head as if daring him to make the next move.

But he didn’t speak. Instead, his hands shot out, grabbing her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. Their lips crashed together in a searing kiss, all pretense stripped away as the tension finally snapped. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned against her mouth, his grip tightening as if afraid she might disappear.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Lando pressed his forehead to hers, his voice trembling. “You’re going to ruin me.”

She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Isn’t that the point?”

Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot and urgent as he nipped at her collarbone. Y/n arched into him, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could fuse their bodies together. He murmured something incoherent against her skin, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her effortlessly off the couch. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist instinctively, her heart pounding as he carried her toward the bedroom.

“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, his voice low and strained, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

She didn’t answer, just pressed her lips to his jawline, teeth grazing his stubble as she teased him with soft, fleeting kisses. Her touch was deliberate, every movement calculated to drive him wild. And it was working—his breathing was ragged, his steps quickening as they reached the doorway. He kicked it shut behind them with one foot, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes raking over her body like he couldn’t believe she was real. The last set of lingerie clung to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination, and his hand trembled slightly as he reached out to trace the delicate lace at her hip.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. His fingers moved higher, brushing against the fabric that barely covered her breasts. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Y/n bit her lip, her cheeks flushed as she watched him. God, he looked so good, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair disheveled from her hands. She reached up to finish what she’d started, undoing the rest of his buttons until his chest was bare. Her fingertips brushed over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, and he shuddered under her touch.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need you.”

Those words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as his hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her. His touch was electric, sending sparks shooting through her veins as he slid the flimsy lingerie off her shoulders. His lips followed suit, trailing down her neck, her collarbone, until he reached her breast.

Her breath hitched as his tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing her relentlessly. She squirmed beneath him, her nails digging into his back as she tried to pull him closer. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please…”

He chuckled darkly, lifting his head to meet her gaze. ���So impatient,” he teased, his thumb brushing over her other nipple. “What happened to taking our time, hm?”

Y/n groaned, throwing her head back against the pillows. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” His grin was wicked as his hand slid lower, slipping between her thighs. She gasped, arching off the bed as his fingers found her slick heat. He circled her clit slowly, deliberately, watching her reaction with rapt attention. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”

She moaned, her hips rocking against his hand as he increased the pressure. Her eyes fluttered shut, her entire body coiled tight with tension. But just as she felt herself teetering on the edge, he pulled away, leaving her gasping for air.

“Lando!” she whined, glaring at him through hooded eyes.

“Patience, love,” he said, his smirk widening as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. Her gaze dropped to his cock, hard and throbbing, and her mouth went dry. He climbed back onto the bed, hovering over her as he kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at her inner thighs before finally settling between her legs.

His tongue flicked against her in slow, torturous strokes, teasing her until she was writhing beneath him. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her thighs trembling as he worked her into a frenzy. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right to make her see stars.

“Oh god—” she cried out, her back arching as pleasure crashed over her in waves. She came undone, her vision blurring as he continued to lap at her, drawing out every last tremble until she collapsed bonelessly against the mattress.

Lando gave her a moment to recover, kissing his way back up her body until his lips met hers. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it only made her crave him more. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his cock and guiding him to her entrance.

“Inside me,” she demanded, her voice shaking with need. “Now.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Are you sure—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, pulling him closer. “I’m sure.”

With a groan, he pressed into her, filling her inch by agonizing inch until he was fully sheathed. They both stilled for a moment, foreheads pressed together as they adjusted to the sensation. Then Y/n shifted her hips, urging him to move.

Lando obliged, setting a slow, steady pace that quickly built into something more frantic. His thrusts became deeper, harder, each one driving her closer to the edge. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as she urged him to go faster.

“God, you feel—” he broke off, his voice strangled as he buried his face in her neck. “You feel so fucking good.”

She could only nod, her own words lost in the haze of pleasure clouding her mind. Every nerve in her body was alight, every touch, every movement sending ripples of ecstasy through her. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned in response, his rhythm faltering.

When she felt him tense, his thrusts becoming erratic, she knew he was close. He pulled out suddenly, his hand wrapping around his cock as he spilled himself across her stomach and pussy. The sight of him, breathless and undone, sent a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room their labored breathing. Then Lando glanced down at her, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You look so fucking hot like this,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction.

Y/n laughed softly, her cheeks burning as she reached for the sheet to clean herself up. But his hand stopped her, catching her wrist mid-motion.

“No,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “Leave it. You’re perfect.”

Lando’s hand lingered on her wrist, his fingertips brushing against her skin in a way that made her pulse quicken. “Leave it,” he repeated, his voice low and husky, the words settling into the air like a command she couldn’t ignore. His eyes held hers, intense, filled with something she couldn’t quite name—admiration, desire, maybe even tenderness. She felt exposed, not just physically but emotionally, under the weight of his gaze.

Y/n let out a shaky breath, her heartbeat still racing. She glanced down at herself, her stomach streaked with him, and a flush crept up her neck. “You’re insane,” she muttered, though there was no bite to her words. Her voice was soft, almost shy, as if she weren’t entirely sure how to handle this version of him—the one who looked at her like she was everything.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, and it sent a ripple of warmth through her chest. “Insane for you,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder. His lips were gentle, almost reverent, and it made her shiver.

She turned her head to look at him, her cheeks still pink. “You’re impossible,” she said, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“And yet here you are,” he teased, his fingers trailing up her arm. “Stuck with me.”

For a moment, they stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet aftermath. The room smelled of them, of sweat and sex, but there was also something sweet lingering in the air—something undeniably intimate. Y/n wasn’t used to this, to being so completely seen, so completely known by someone. It terrified her, but it also exhilarated her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Finally, Lando shifted, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer. “Come on,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “Let’s clean up.”

She hesitated, her body stiffening slightly at the thought of moving. But then he was sitting up, his hands gently guiding her to do the same. When she stood, her legs felt unsteady beneath her, but Lando was there instantly, his arm slipping around her waist to steady her.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, his tone reassuring.

She nodded, letting him lead her toward the bathroom. The tile floor was cool beneath her feet, and the air was thick with steam as Lando turned on the shower. He adjusted the temperature carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration, before stepping back to let her step in first.

The water was warm, almost soothing as it cascaded over her skin. She closed her eyes, letting it wash away the remnants of what had just happened. But then she felt him behind her, his chest pressing against her back as his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her shoulder.

She tilted her head, glancing back at him. “For what?”

“For tonight,” he said simply. His voice was soft, almost vulnerable, and it caught her off guard. “For trusting me.”

Her breath hitched, her heart swelling in her chest. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, her fingers curling around his forearm as he held her.

They stood like that for a while, the water running over them, washing away the tension and the heat that had been building between them all night. It was strangely peaceful, standing there with him, their bodies pressed together without any expectation or urgency. Just… them.

Eventually, Lando reached for the soap, spreading it between his hands before smoothing it over her shoulders and down her arms. His touch was slow, deliberate, and she couldn’t help but lean into it.

“You know,” she began, her voice hesitant as she stared at the tiles in front of her. “I didn’t actually need the money.”

His hands paused for a moment, and she could feel his confusion radiating through the silence. Then, softly, he asked, “What do you mean?”

She swallowed hard, her cheeks heating as she forced the words out. “I… I used it to buy the lingerie. All of it.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he chuckled, the sound low and warm against her ear. “Fuck, Y/n,” he said, his hands resuming their gentle movements. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he corrected, his tone teasing but sincere.

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she turned to face him, her hands resting lightly against his chest. “Is that what you are?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at her, his expression softening as his hands came up to cup her face. “If you’ll have me,” he said, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

She didn’t know what to say, her mind racing as she searched his eyes for some hint of doubt or insincerity. But all she found was him—raw, unfiltered, and utterly honest. And for the first time, she let herself believe it.

Leaning up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was softer, slower than any they’d shared before. It wasn’t desperate or hungry; it was real. And when she pulled back, his hands were still on her face, his forehead resting against hers.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing patterns against his chest. “Funny,” she whispered. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, the water running over them as they held each other close. There were no more words, no teasing or jokes—just the two of them, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

But eventually, Lando broke the silence, his voice light and mischievous again as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So… does this mean I get to pick out your next set of lingerie?”

She swatted his arm, laughing despite herself. “Don’t push your luck, Norris.”

He grinned, his hands sliding down to her hips as he pulled her closer. “Oh, I think my luck’s pretty damn good right now.”

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 ✩࿐

pairings: alhaitham, childe, cyno, heizou, kazuha, scaramouche, tighnari, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, comfort in a way, established relationship, protective boyfriends, persistent stranger won’t stop trying to ask you out

summary: you and your boyfriend attend a party together. however, a bothersome man keeps trying to flirt with you.

a/n: unfortunately icky people are unavoidable, but the idea of being protected from them is just <3 anyway, i hope you enjoy reading this!

ALHAITHAM

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

Those are the words you repeat to yourself over and over, echoing through your head like an overplayed melody. It takes everything in you to remain in control of your emotions and refrain from slapping the audacious man standing in front of you.

You want nothing more than to leave peacefully before things escalate to a dreadful point of no return.

And amidst all of your wishing, a saving grace comes to aid you. In other words, your boyfriend turns up at just the right moment, although you expected nothing less from someone as perceptive as Alhaitham.

“Is there a problem here?” Alhaitham asks as he walks up to you. His voice is as cold as the glacial essence of bygone winters. It’s not unusual for Alhaitham to speak in such a tone, but somehow his words feel more pointed right now.

“No,” the man blurts out quickly, regarding Alhaitham with a look filled with both curiosity and apprehension. “I was just trying to ask them out.” He gestures at you, and you internally cringe at his antics.

He really is shameless.

However, Alhaitham is unfazed by the stranger’s actions. He simply sighs and takes your hand in his.

“Good because we’ll be taking our leave now,” Alhaitham says monotonously. He begins to pull you away, not sparing so much as a glance back at the man you had been conversing with just seconds prior.

“Wh — Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” the man exclaims, trying his best to catch up with both you and Alhaitham.

Despite his efforts, he’s swept away by a tide of partygoers as Alhaitham leads you through crowds of people. It almost feels as though he had planned an escape before approaching you, observing, analyzing, and carefully calculating in a meticulous manner in order to determine the best course of action.

Once the two of you are sure you’ve successfully evaded the stranger, Alhaitham looks you up and down, scanning your body for any sign of injury. He ensures you’re alright before speaking.

“After that experience, I doubt you want to remain here any longer,” he says. Although he’s still quite stoic, there’s a certain lofty quality to his voice that makes it feel softer than it had back when he had confronted the irritating man. “I suggest that we leave right now. I was beginning to get a headache from the constant noise anyway.”

You crack a small smile. Alhaitham is as blunt as always, and that’s what you love about him. Your boyfriend is incredibly straightforward, and while other people would see his behaviour as callous or insensitive, you know that this is just how he is.

“Take me away,” you tell Alhaitham, looking into his eyes, gazing at your reflection within hues reminiscent of a breathtaking oasis in the middle of a desert. 

It’s rather fitting. Alhaitham is your refuge. With him, you feel safe, and you’re sure that if any similar situations arise in the future, he’ll be by your side to defend you.

With those words, your boyfriend leads you out the front door of the party venue, and you escape into the night, losing yourselves in the bliss found under the ephemeral lamplight of a secluded evening, warmed by each other’s touch.

CHILDE

“Hey, you,” you hear a familiar voice speak from behind you. You look back to see strands of messy ginger hair resting above ocean blue eyes. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were making my lover uncomfortable.” Childe enunciates the words “my lover”, making it clear that you’re already taken.

Your boyfriend moves between you and the man, shielding you.

You sigh. If this escalates any more, it won’t end well. You know Childe well enough to predict that the confrontation could get rather… heated if you didn’t stop it. However, you feel as though you can’t do anything.

“Who said they were yours?” the man talks back, smirking at Childe. He knows Childe is challenging him.

You flinch. Childe seems to be getting more and more irritated by the moment. As you glance at your lover, you notice a blaze of blue embers beginning to flare within his irises.

“Listen carefully, buddy,” Childe says, leaning in closer to the man. Your boyfriend towers over the stranger in an almost comical manner. “They’re my partner, and if you don’t stay away from them,” Childe pauses, “well, let’s just say you’ll find the consequences quite unpleasant.��

Childe smiles, and although he maintains a friendly façade, the intent of his words is not lost on the man. An icy chill permeates the air, and you feel shivers go down your spine.

Although he’s dense, the man before you seems to sense the change in atmosphere as well. He mutters something under his breath, glares at your boyfriend one last time, and leaves. 

“Serves him right,” Childe chuckles. “I’m glad you’re safe now.,” your boyfriend tells you, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “If anyone ever bothers you again, just tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”

CYNO

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your boyfriend’s deep voice interjects, throwing the man standing in front of you off. He’s standing behind the stranger, gazing deep into your eyes with a look that reassures you that everything will be okay.

You smile. As expected, Cyno is as vigilant as ever, especially when it comes to your safety. Nothing ever slips past him.

“Why do you want to know?” the persistent man replies, not bothering to turn around and face Cyno. It seems that he hasn’t recognized Cyno yet because you’re sure that if he did, he would back off in an instant.

“Perhaps because I’m the General Mahamatra?” Cyno refutes dryly. It’s almost laughable how casual Cyno sounds because as the stranger hears your boyfriend’s words, his features twist into an expression of shock, undergoing a metamorphosis where all hints of smugness are replaced by nothing short of pure horror.

The stranger slowly turns away from you to face Cyno. As soon as he catches a glimpse of your lover, he freezes. Soon enough, fear causes tremors to wrack his body, and he averts his gaze in order to look anywhere but directly at Cyno.

“What’s wrong?” Cyno asks the stranger. “You’re not quite as bold now as you were a few seconds ago.” Your boyfriend acts clueless, taunting the man slightly. Although it’s barely noticeable, you see his lips turn up ever so slightly in a subtle grin for a few seconds before the expression vanishes entirely.

“I — I’m sorry, General Mahamatra,” the man says. He shrinks back under Cyno’s gaze. “Please forgive me.”

Cyno sighs.

“I’ll let you off easy this time,” he mutters, “but if I catch you harassing anyone else…” Cyno trails off, leaving the rest to the man’s imagination.

The man swallows a lump in his throat and nods furiously.

“And as for you,” Cyno makes eye contact with you, “I’ll escort you away from this man,” he says.

He gestures for you to follow him, and as he leads you away from the stranger, you feel your nerves beginning to settle. The erratic beating of your heart, the restless thoughts battering your weary mind like waves tossling a ship, and the overwhelming urge to simply run away all cease to exist. Instead, a sense of safety floods over you. It’s a calmness like no other, akin to the ambience encapsulated in quiet dusks spent with the one you love most.

Once you’re far enough away, Cyno laces your fingers with his. Although no words are exchanged, you know it’s an act of comfort, and after the hectic events of the day, you find that it’s exactly what you need.

HEIZOU

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Heizou’s voice interrupts the conversation between you and the stranger trying to pursue you.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your boyfriend comes up to you.

“You have a good eye,” Heizou says, causing confusion to riddle your mind. What is he saying? Is he encouraging the stranger to continue flirting with you?

“Thanks,” the man replies. However, his eyes narrow after a few seconds. “But are you going to try to steal them away from me?”

Heizou chuckles. “Well, it’s not like they’re yours, right?”

The stranger’s features twist into an expression of shock, and as he’s lost in a surprised daze, Heizou glances over at you and winks. You sigh. Leave it to Heizou to come up with a cheeky method to get you out of a predicament.

The man rolls his eyes, and then turns his attention back to you. He plasters a smirk onto his face.

“Come on, darling,” the man says, his voice is sickly sweet, dripping with a venomous nectar, “I’m much more attractive than this idiot, right?” The stranger gestures at Heizou, and you have to force yourself to stifle a giggle.

“I disagree,” you tell him, causing the smug expression to fall from his features.

The man opens his mouth to protest, but no sound comes out.

“Man alive,” Heizou says. “I guess I’m just far too charming to resist.” He grins at you playfully and inches closer towards you.

The stranger scowls, and turns away.

“Fine,” he sighs. “You win.”

Your boyfriend kisses you on the cheek as the man walks away. You look into his verdant eyes and grin at him, thankful that he was able to get you out of the troubling situation, even if his ways were slightly unorthodox.

KAZUHA

“Excuse me, love, is this man bothering you?” Kazuha asks as he walks up to you. He subtly wraps an arm around your shoulders, making it clear to everyone in the room that you’re taken.

You feel the tension within your body alleviate as you’re enveloped in your boyfriend’s warm embrace. Even now, his touch is simultaneously as comforting as the sun on a euphoric spring day and as calming as a gentle autumnal breeze. The discomfort that you had previously felt due to the unfamiliar man trying to flirt with you dissipates.

“Oh, is he your boyfriend?” the man sneers, glaring at Kazuha with eyes that speak of malicious intent. He shuffles slightly closer to you, and you feel shivers run down your spine.

“He is. Now will you leave me alone?” you respond bluntly, hoping that your words will be enough to make the man back off.

You feel Kazuha’s grip on you tighten. Your heart melts when you realize he’s trying to protect you. He can read you like a book, and he’s the most thoughtful boyfriend you could ever ask for, unlike the man standing before you.

You look over at Kazuha, and you notice that his crimson eyes have narrowed, the stars once filling his irises turning into pointed daggers. It’s almost disturbing to see him this way. You’re so used to seeing your boyfriend with a look of pure adoration dancing through lakes of soft red, but now he looks nothing short of intimidating.

It seems that the stranger feels the same way as you because as you look back at him, you see his gaze lock with Kazuha’s. He shrinks back, and he begins to step away.

“Okay, okay, fine,” the man scowls. “I’m out of your league anyway!” He quickly turns around and walks away.

You and Kazuha watch as he leaves. Once he disappears back into the crowd, Kazuha speaks.

“Are you alright, my love?” Kazuha asks you.

You smile contently when you hear his voice soften once more. You’re so lucky to have a caring and kind boyfriend who always has your best interest in mind.

“I’m fine, and it’s all because of you,” you say. “Thank you, Kazuha.”

SCARAMOUCHE

Discomfort flows through your veins, and shivers run down your spine. The man before you is making you feel unparalleled discomfort, and at this point, you’re wondering why your boyfriend hasn’t stepped in.

You can see him in the edges of your vision. His hair, spun of midnight, sits atop porcelain skin, and most strikingly of all, a gargantuan hat obscures his eyes. As expected, he’s sitting in a secluded corner, away from all the action, but you know he’s keeping an eye on you.

“There’s no need to act so shy,” the man tells you, stepping closer to you. He smirks at you, and you feel nothing short of disgust. “I’m friendly. I promise.”

The stranger leans in, and he’s about to wrap an arm around your shoulder when all of a sudden, someone grabs his wrist.

“Care to explain what you were trying to do with my lover?” Scaramouche hisses at the man. 

When you look over at your boyfriend, you notice that there’s a certain glint in his eyes. It’s dangerous. He looks as though he’s ready to do almost anything to defend you from the unfamiliar man.

Although the stranger is stunned for a few moments, he quickly snaps out of his daze and chuckles.

“This is ridiculous,” the man says, sneering at Scaramouche.

This is not going to end well.

“Why would I feel threatened by someone like you?” the stranger glances down at Scaramouche with disdain dancing through his irises. While it’s true that Scaramouche is rather short in stature compared to the man, you think that he’s underestimated your boyfriend’s strength.

The stranger attempts to pull his wrist out from Scaramouche’s grip, but Scaramouche only tightens his hold. It’s in that moment that you see the unfamiliar man’s eyes go wide with fear and uncertainty.

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to pick a fight I can’t win?” Scaramouche retorts.

The stranger seems to shrink under the glare hosted within your boyfriend’s indigo hues. Although Scaramouche’s eyes usually resemble a serene night sky speckled with entire galaxies of stars when he’s with you, his softer side has now vanished. Instead, his irises are filled with a coldness that the majority of people who cross him are familiar with.

Scaramouche smirks.

“Listen closely because I’ll only say this once,” your boyfriend hisses in a low tone, indiscernible to the party-goers around you, and yet when his voice reaches your ears, it almost feels as though it’s been amplified. “Leave me and my partner alone. Lay another finger on them, and there will be far worse consequences.”

Upon hearing Scaramouche’s words, the man nods furiously.

You almost laugh.

Even though he tried to appear all tough earlier, the stranger has been reduced to nothing more than a trembling coward in the presence of your boyfriend.

“Now, run along,” Scaramouche releases the man from his grasp, waving his hand as an indication for the stranger to get out of his sight. “Take this as a warning.”

Without another word, the man scrambles away, nearly tripping over himself in his panicked state. Once he’s finally gone, you hear your boyfriend breathe out a sigh of relief.

“What a bother,” he says. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Thank you for protecting me.”

You lean in towards your boyfriend and give him a quick kiss as a reward. His lips are soft and as warm as ever, and butterflies dance around in the pit of your stomach, eliciting feelings of absolute bliss within your heart.

As you pull away, you note that a shade of red has dawned upon his cheeks, tinting his pale skin a hue reminiscent of vivid sunsets.

TIGHNARI

“Excuse me. Is it just me, or does the person you’re talking to appear extremely uncomfortable?” Tighnari asks, coming up to you and narrowing his eyes at the man pestering you. His tone isn’t the friendliest, but you don’t blame him. After all, it’s difficult to remain calm when a stranger is persistently flirting with your significant other.

The man chuckles, completely disregarding Tighnari’s words and turning his attention back to you. He smirks at you and then speaks.

“You’re not uncomfortable, right gorgeous?” he says, looking at you with an expression that sends shivers down your spine. It’s ironic. He insists that you’re alright, yet you’re feeling more and more unsettled by the second. Thankfully, your boyfriend is here to help.

“Take a closer look at their body language,” Tighnari sighs, staring intently at the man.

Although the stranger does take a few seconds to look you over, he doesn’t seem to notice anything. Instead, he simply rolls his eyes and turns back to Tighnari in order to refute him once more.

“I don’t see anything wrong,” the man scoffs, glaring daggers at your lover. He’s beginning to become slightly hostile, and it seems Tighnari can tell because as the stranger steps closer towards you, Tighnari wraps a hand firmly around your wrist and pulls you behind him.

“Since you’re not sensible enough to discern that you’re bothering them,” Tighnari gestures at you, his gaze steeling into the embodiment of desolate winter flurries as he turns his focus back to the man, “we’ll be taking our leave.”

Before the stranger can protest, Tighnari drags you away. He leads you into a crowd, and as you walk, you begin to feel disoriented. However, you assume it’s all part of your boyfriend’s plan to lose the man. Every left and every right begins to feel the same, but eventually, you end up outside the venue in a breathtaking spot where a gentle zephyr causes leaves to sing songs of blissful serenity and thousands of stars dazzle atop a canvas of dark night.

“Thank you,” you say to Tighnari once the two of you stop. As you meet his gaze, you notice that his expression has softened, and his eyes reflect the majestic skies above.

“Don’t thank me,” he tells you. “I was just doing what any good lover would do.”

He pulls you into an embrace. In the midst of evening frigidness, his touch causes a tepidness to blossom — a tepidness you wish to indulge in until sunrise paints the sky shades of pink and orange.

XIAO

Right now, you need Xiao more than ever, but unfortunately for you, he’s not here.

Xiao had left earlier in order to get some fresh air. You agreed to let him go upon seeing the distress and discomfort swimming through his warm amber hues. He told you he would be back soon, and you hope that he’ll stay true to his promise because at the moment, you just want him to show up and save you.

You just have to hold out until he returns.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with me?” the stranger before you asks, gazing at you with pleading eyes. You grimace under the weight of his stare, a look that feels so unbearably heavy upon your conscience.

“Sorry, I have a boyfriend.” You force the words out, trying your hardest to remain civil, even in the face of such a predicament.

The man’s eyes darken and fill with shadows reminiscent of the essence of night. Your body tenses, and a feeling of anxiousness begins to fill your heart, causing it to beat in a panicked frenzy.

“Are you lying to me?” he asks.

But just as things appear as though they’re about to escalate, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“Is something wrong?” a calm voice questions you.

It’s Xiao. He’s here, and upon realizing that, a sense of security washes over you. Your boyfriend is back, and now you have actual proof that you’re already taken.

“Xiao!” you exclaim, heart filling with elation as you glance over at him. At the moment, he looks more handsome than ever. Party lights accentuate his dark hair with various shades of the rainbow, and his irises contain dandelion hues that glow as brightly as ever. You feel nothing short of relieved to see him.

Your boyfriend looks back at you, and when you make eye contact with him, reassurance flickers through his gaze.

You’re going to be alright.

Xiao slides his hand down your arm in order to interlace your fingers together. His warmth momentarily causes you to forget all the worry that had once plagued your mind, and the tension within you unravels and dissipates, dissolving under rays of golden comfort.

Xiao looks over at the man, who appears to be frozen in shock and embarrassment. He sighs and tugs on your hand gently, signaling to you that now is the perfect time to make your escape.

You allow your boyfriend to pull you away, weaving in and out of a crowd of partygoers. He pulls you away from the commotion, and before you know it, the two of you are together alone in a secluded spot on the roof of the venue.

Xiao wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in an embrace akin to the caress of the luminous moon above. It’s comforting, and after all the turmoil, you feel like everything is alright once more.

to be honest, this probably isn’t my best work, but i hope you liked reading it! thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this, please reblog or comment!

[uchispeach]

Sycamore Tree (Ch.5)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: violence, mention of injuries, obsessive and possessive behavior, manhandling, manipulation, choking, coercion, dubious consent, SMUT (sexual content)….

This fic will contain dark content: such as dub-con/ non-con and violence. You have been warned.

“What were they wearing?…No, no, forget about the clothes; how tall they were?” JJ frantically tapped his head, hoping a face would pop out in his brain; someone he could focus his rage on. “My head was buried in the sand the whole time.” Pope’s voice showed his deep exasperation.

There was a suffocating tension isolated in the four walls of The Château’s guest room. JJ’s anxiousness, Pope’s pain and Sarah’s uncalled presence made a dreadful combination. “Then…what did the fuckers smell like, huh?” The rebellious blond gripped the mattress’ edges as he breathed onto Pope’s bandaged face. “Couldn’t sniff them with my broken nose.” He coughed while grabbing his abdomen in a hurt gesture.

“Jayj” Kiara was the first to step up, abandoning her seat next to you. “Let him rest” Your sister pulled the blond by his shoulder in an attempt to give the injured boy some space. “This is bullshit…masked bastards beating the shit out of the calmest person in the whole island.” JJ backed away from where Pope’s bruised body rested. “That’s a Kook move” His pale finger pointed at his other friend.

John B crossed his arms in a disapproving look. “It’s not time for plotting.” You sighed while watching the erratic boy being escorted out of the room. “C’mon John” The complaints were muffled by the door closing, leaving you, Kie and Sarah squished on the old sofa.

“I’ll go make some ginger tea…it helps with the inflammation.” The Kook girl smiled empathetically while quickly laying her fingertips on Pope’s leg. The last mentioned nodded with disinterest.

The brunette next to you sighed, “and I’ll go grab the missing medication.” The car keys jingled as the last person exited the room. Almost automatically, your legs moved to position themselves by the bed. Your hands shifted as well, transferring heat to your friend’s cold ones as you delicately wrapped your small fingers around his.

Your gaze lifted up with shyness, and your eyes immediately regretted it as the centimeters of bruised skin and bloodied gauzes reminded you of the doctor’s veredict: two broken ribs, a broken nose, a black eye and a bloated knee. A chilling sensation toured your whole body, causing you to grimace in uncomfortableness.

An overwhelming sadness invaded you. And you couldn’t hold it together when you saw Pope’s tired gaze. Salty tear after salty tear entered your mouth as your sobs echoed across the four walls. “Angel, don’t cry.” His weak hand squeezed yours and you couldn’t help but weep even more at the shown worry.

(…)

You should be asleep by now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lay on the beat up mattress.

Perhaps, John B should have allowed you to stay up with them, accompanying Pope on his dreadful night. But you were quickly sent to what used to be Big John’s room, all in hopes of getting well deserved rest -still, all you had managed to do was walk around in circles-.

The chilling breeze penetrated your exposed skin and the oversized shirt you wore as pajamas did little to prevent it. Your naked steps made the floor creak when you tried to reach the cause of your discomfort. The window was stubborn, refusing to nudge.

You were still struggling when the rustling of the wind was disturbed by a louder sound. The grass was crushed under what seemed to sound like heavy feet on the ground and the occasional bumping against the yard’s multiple garbage occasioned you to stay alert.

The strenuous metal pieces that laid on John B’s property seemed to suffer the clumsy presence of an intruder, clattering in no particular order. “Hello” You were brave enough to stick your head out, immediately regretting your choice as the cold air hit your warm cheeks.

The moon’s light was the only thing shining, allowing you to discern a big shadow moving right in front of you. You were about to back down when a pair of strong hands reached out the darkness to grab you.

Long fingers locked around your jaw, gripping it hard while burying their tips on your sensitive skin. The pain was immediate, making you squirm on the stranger’s hold. “No!” You squealed; and as soon as the short word was out of your throat, a warm breath invaded your senses, followed by another palm.

This time your nose and mouth were squished under the ruthless hand. Still, the metallic smell of silver rings was able to leak into your nostrils. Your eyes closed, submerging deeper into the sensation of warmth coming from the burly trespasser.

“Don’t make a noise.” Suddenly, you saw it clear, a pair of dark blue eyes decorating a sharp face; strands of blond hair sticking to his forehead’s sweat and flexed muscles stretching his polo shirt to the maximum capacity. “Rafe” Your sweet voice was choked down by the heavy weight of his fingers. “Let me in.” It didn’t sound like an ask, and it was confirmed by the way he pushed you back by the chin, forcing you to take a few steps back.

Your gasp was overshadowed by the wood croaking under the blond’s movement. Sloppy limbs climbing over the window and finally falling onto the cool floor. Your knees ended up by his side, frail arms extending to meet his hard back.

“What happened?” Your brows furrowed at the worrying sight: The Cameron boy struggling to stay steady, losing control of his own body as his gaze lost itself on the dirtiness of the tiles. “You’re hurt.” You commented on his bruised knuckles. Still, no reply.

Your neck moved to the side, looking for an explanation in Rafe's eyes. A deep groan was all you got from him as he stood up aggressively.

You flinched when he supported himself on you to stand straight, stumbling upon his own feet as you threw his arm over your smaller shoulders. “You don’t fucking understand.” He pronounced with a tense jaw, just as coarse as his need to crush himself against your side.

You felt deeply suffocated by the pressure he applied on your nape and ribs with his body. “Slow” Your tone was soft, helping him make his way onto the bed.

With an actual surface to rest, he applied less force to his grip, allowing you to sit right next to him.

Comforting fingertips caressed his cheek as you guided his attention to the concerned look on your features. He pierced into your being, troubled stare making you shriek slightly, “you shouldn’t have drove all the way here in this state.” Alcohol and tobacco in the air, contaminating his signature cologne. “You force my hand.” It was more like a grunt than an actual sentence.

You found his bloodied skin once again, making you reach out for the small cuts. He noticed the anxiety exuding through your pores. “Got into a fight with- with a prick.” His tongue doubted at the last part. “Everyone thinks I’m a fucking joke.” His free hand wrapped around your slender wrist, applying an unnecessary strength to it.

Air got stuck in your throat at the threat of a snapped joint. “Nor your dad or anyone else deserves to make you feel this way.” You paused to get closer, your naked thighs stroking his, “…stop being so hard on yourself.” Honeyed whispers traveling all the way to his buzzing ears.

His breathing pace became a mess, signs of the turmoil growing in his mind. Your mouth opened in hopes of initiating a conversation, and hopefully ending it with a successful intervention; but before a single syllable was pronounced, the Cameron boy was already punching on you.

Fingers securing your head by tugging on your silky hair, mouth moving hungrily on yours as your waist was gripped harshly by ringed fingers. You couldn’t keep up with his consuming lust, gasping for air as soon as he allowed you a break.

A streak of saliva connected your lips even when your faces slightly distanced. Your skin promptly looked for his contact, rubbing your nose with his in an affectionate dance.

Your delicate touch exuded a sweet nature, hugging his shoulders with light limbs. In contrast, Rafe gave your roots a last pull, drawing a pained pant from you; the blond took the opportunity by forcing his tongue into you.

His wet muscle twisted expertly while exploring every corner of your sensitive cave. He didn’t hold back when it came to intruding in foreign places, such as your narrow throat; causing you to choke up on his taste.

You squirmed away at the best of your capacities, only achieving a brief break from his selfish desire.

He didn’t take it well, letting go of your waist in favor of squeezing your throat.

“Rafe” Your muffled voice was accompanied by small hands trying to pacify the uncomfortable grip.“No one else can have this…but me.” You nodded softly in response, a mindless gesture sent by your dizzy impulses.

You didn’t dare to protest when the blond guided you by the neck onto the bed. As soon as your nape hit the pillow, his burly thighs made themselves present on each side of yours, caging you in his embrace. His arms didn’t wait much before using their brute force and breaking your shirt in half.

The fabric snapping in half made an ugly noise, causing you to flinch. “Stay still,” He grunted on your face, fed up by your need to hide from him. You gave in for a moment, allowing him to fondle your exposed skin with as much harshness as his aching desire dictated him.

He rubbed his open palms up and down your torso, warming your body with delicious friction. Your breath got stuck in your throat as soon as his hand reached your breasts, squeezing the mounts and pinching your nipples between his long fingers.

A particular harsh pinch had you instinctively pushing him away, or at least trying to. But your efforts were quickly dissipated by a secure lock that kept your wrists squished together. “Stop fucking pushing me away!” He shouted while cutting the distance between your faces. “I’m sorry,” your eyes squeezed together in self defense.

“You’re mine.” His voice was muffled between licks, he tickled your neck and clavicles with his tongue. Not one single part of your exposed body was left unloved.

He enjoyed rolling your most sensitive parts with his wet muscle, provoking honeyed mewls and breathless moans from you. “You drive me insane…wanna see that sweet pussy of yours,” he said while pawing at your cotton panties.

His desperation leaked through his fingertips while the pink underwear slid down your legs. Between fogged eyes you could discern the blond’s hand sneaking the private piece of clothing into his pocket, that only made you feel more flustered.

You were taken by surprise when your knee’s back touched your ribs. Rafe accommodated himself in between, a big predatory smirk on his pretty face.

Some drops of a warm liquid fell on your folds, sliding down and reaching your entrance. “Gotta make it wetter.” He grinned playfully, big digits reaching for the soaked thing.

Your legs wiggled at the sensation of Rafe’s fingers combining his spit and your wetness with circling movements. He was merciless, rubbing your clit until it turned red.

Your whimpers fueled the blond’s ego; making you grip the sheets with overstimulation as you felt a foreign object teasing your walls. His digit was welcomed by your cozy hole, immediately tightening around it.

One finger soon became two and when you finally felt three of his callused knuckles diving harshly into you, the knot that had been painfully forming inside of you was ready to snap.

Wet noises were overshadowed by a series of high pitched screams. Your orgasm leaked everywhere, soaking the boy up. As you were about to apologize for the mess you’ve just created, the blond took his drenched fingers and teased your plump lips with it.

You complied, opening your mouth and allowing the nectar to invade your taste. His eyes held an intensity to them, dilated pupils completely mesmerized by your teary eyes.

The tears grew thicker as his digits hit the back of your throat. The Cameron boy enjoyed playing with your vulnerability, forcing you to take more than you could handle.

“Shhh” His voice sent chills down your spine. Shushing the coughing that followed your mouth’s release. The next thing you felt was his heavy breathing on your sensitive sex. He didn’t resist long before sucking on it, wide licks covering the whole of it.

“Wait-” Your elbows sank on the mattress as your head lifted up. “It hurts.” You were referring to the new orgasm waiting to be freed at the expense of your own sanity, Rafe only chuckled mockingly -immersing his wet muscle deep inside-.

(…)

The night had been long, the blond made you come multiple times on his tongue and palms, ignoring your pleas for a break until his own pants were stained.

An unapologetic friction made you regain some consciousness. Your eyes itched under the leaking sun rays as a groggy groan caused you to become fully aware.

A nose sank on the top of your head while a meaty thigh pressed itself against your naked sex. “Good morning, Angel.” The nickname sounded pure, contrasting the way he pawed at your breasts.

You squealed at the fastening pace that took place between your legs. Rafe was amused by your body’s reaction, rubbing his hardened cock against your lower back. “Oh…I think you were too loud.” You could sense a snarky grin overpowering the blond’s features.

The steps on the hall grew louder, only stopping when reaching the closed door.

There was a gentle knock and then a familiar voice, “Y/N…everything alright?”

You were formulating a decent response when the boy’s leg started bouncing up and down at an unbearable speed. Your moan was hardly muffled by your ashamed palm. “I- I’ll be out…” The blond strands of hair easily tangled between your fingers as you indirectly begged for some sort of modesty.

“…out in a minute.” You hardly finished the sentence. “Alright” John B didn’t sound as convinced when he walked away, still, you let out the biggest exhale when Rafe’s torture stopped. “Thought you were going to moan my whole name at that Pogue.” His tone was playful, pinching your ribs while laying a small kiss on your hairline.

“Please…don’t do that again.” You were now facing him, elbows supporting your weight. Even though your ask was polite, the blond’s response wasn’t.

He sat down, causing the blanket to slip from his body and reveal his toned chest. “Do what, huh?” He instigated, mocking eyes burning on yours. “Rub your soaked pussy.” His smirk was closer to your shy mouth, teasing you with a peck on them.

“But you fucking love it,” his teeth buried slowly on your lower lip, sending a pleasurable shiver down your back. He smiled truthfully when you leaned closer, searching for his contact. “How are you feeling?” You hesitantly asked while hiding your face under his.

“That old man’s stubbornness is starting to tire me the fuck out.” He sighed from the back of his lungs, clearly distressed by his father’s attitude. “What is it this time?” You felt bold by dropping the question when caressing his ear lobe with your own cheek.

“Had some trouble buying the generators…they haven’t arrived yet.” Your brows furrowed together, “but that isn’t your fault.” You validated him, undoubtedly believing every single word he told you. “Either way, gonna fix it this week.” He sounded secure, always backing things up with that particular confidence of his.

“Okay, let me know if I can help.” The soft smooch caressed his neck’s skin, creating a comforting sensation for him. “I know about a few ways you could be useful.” The mischievousness in his voice was almost tangible.

“Oh-” You were interrupted by a notification, followed by a vibration coming from the night table. Your bodies were forced to distance as you focused on the screen; ‘bro, get out the bed. It’s late,’ Kiara’s message read.

“You didn’t tell me you broke your phone.” You were slightly confused by his remark. “What?…Oh, yeah I did. I guess I can be really clumsy sometimes.” You giggled nervously at the reminder, still, Rafe wore a serious face. “I’ll get you a new one.” He sounded decisive, not giving you space for doubt. “No…Don’t bother.” You expressed your honest opinion either way. “Don’t bother?…You’re my girl, of course I’m going to fucking bother.”

“I-” Obnoxious knocking took you both out of the subject. “Wake your ass up, it’s about to be noon.” Your sister’s voice held no sympathy, as it mostly never did when it was directed your way. “Y/N!” She became louder, fist growing more strength against the poor piece of wood. “Sorry!…just give me a second.” You peeled your eyes at the Cameron boy, encouraging him to get up.

He lazily stood up, his position revealing his hard abdomen and burly muscles. Your anxiety contrasted his nonchalance, evident in the way he calmly dressed up. “Rafe!” You squealed on the low, careful to not alert the angry girl outside. “Yeah…Yeah” He paid no mind to your desperation, taking his time to grab the side of your face.

“C’mon!” The brunette shouted while the blond planted a long kiss on your forehead. “Behave.” His demand sounded almost like a growl for its dominating nature. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret later, alright?” You had to uncomfortably bend your neck to look him straight in the eyes.

Without a real idea of what he meant with his aggressive words, you could only nod in submission.

(…)

“This is disgusting.” Your sister said while looking at the boutique’s mirror. The pale silk dress combined with the flower crown made your sister’s stomach twist with fervering annoyance. “What do you mean? It’s perfect for Midsummers.” The older woman caressed the brunette’s hair in hopes of smoothing her bad mood. “I look like a bourgeoisie pig” The later answered by frowning at the reflection.

“Look Kiara, I know you wanted to spend the day at Jen’s but…just try to be civil.” Your mom was oblivious to the actual reason you were both so adamant on assisting today’s dressing appointment. “Come on, let’s try on the purple one!” Anna chirped with excitement, contrasting the sour sigh your sister let out when she was thrown again in the changing room.

You exhaled with a newfound tranquility, finally free from your family’s disagreements. Taking advantage of the rare peaceful moment, you checked your phone -looking for any important news regarding Pope’s health-.

These couple days had been challenging, dealing with your friend’s recovery, JJ’s wildness, Sarah and Kiara’s rivalry and Hayward's questions about his son's location; it had all taken a toll on you.

Your hands swam between the infinite choices that were presented in front of you. You tried to occupy your mind by comparing the different colors and textures the dresses had, but the distraction was short lasting when familiar voices echoed through the store.

“Of course Mrs. Thornton. We will contact our seamstress as soon as possible.” The receptionist’s throat sounded as it was being restricted, the nervousness clear in her tone. “Topper, take the suitcases.” Topper’s mother commanded, her voice didn’t show a single hint of doubt or hesitation.

Your limbs went lightly stiff when you heard heavy footsteps getting closer to where you stood. You saw his tall figure tuning the corner, blond hair brushed to the side, tight polo shirt and brown loafers completing the Kook look. “Hi…” You awkwardly greeted him, noticing him slightly grimacing at your presence. “Hi,” he dryly responded, scanning you from head to toe before completely turning around.

You felt a wave of insecurity rushing through your being, making you fidget a little. The blond avoided your gaze as he looked for a place to install the clothes filled bags. “Let me help with that.” You shyly suggested while getting by his side. “Don’t” He roughly reacted at your hands reaching out for the heavy load.

“Oh, ok” You backed up immediately, not wanting to disturb the Kook’s patience. Seconds passed like hours as you followed his movements closely, almost perplexed at his dislike for you. “Look Topper, I know you probably hate me…” He scoffed at your comment. His humorless face made you feel a tad more uncomfortable. “…and I know it wasn’t easy for you…but I’m thankful for your…choice.” It felt like you were walking on fire as each word left your mouth. Regret started bubbling in your stomach; you weren’t sure as to why you chose to remember the awful incident that almost made your friend end up in jail.

And you were let utterly weirded out as the Thornton boy shook his head in short laughter, wearing a half-hearted smirk while making his way out the dress filled room. “You shouldn’t be thanking me.”

A/N: Thank you to all the lovely people who reblog and comment. It motivates me to continue writing 💕