#i just need to get out and go somewhere and I need to be left alone and I need to know when to expect people to come back here

[salemlunaa]

𓆉 ˚∘YOU ARE NOT BOUND TO THIS REALITY࿐

stop acting like this place is your home, it’s not. Same thing with those trying to manifest things. You’re manifesting a new body but You believe that your home is the reality where you hate your body and that you’re doing something grand and groundbreaking by trying shift from that. You want your dream life through the void state. But you believe this reality you’re experiencing right now is your home. Your base point. Your starting ground. And you think that because you are so tied to this reality by scripting and shifting to a new life you’re doing something crazy and out-of-body like.

Let me tell you something. You aren’t. This is going to sound insane but you are as close to this reality as you are to your dream life. You are as bound to the reality where you have your dream green eyes than you are to the “current” where you have blue eyes that you don’t want.

The only reason that us bloggers use the term “current reality” is because this is the reality where your consciousness lies. I will say this again: there are multiple different versions of you reading this that you aren’t aware of and they’re probably not aware of you. Think of the country you live in right now. There’s a version of you that is from somewhere else and may know nothing about the place you call home and haven’t even stepped foot there. It’s so trippy to think about but what i’m trying to get at is that this isn’t your home. It’s nothing to be scared of, shouldn’t it be empowering and comforting to know you could be anyone you want to be?

like this is literally you:

(found this from @shiftinglea)

It’s so easy to shift your consciousness it’s not something you need to mentally prep for, there’s nothing to do. As soon as you want and intend the shift, it happens, regardless of what you’re seeing. You aren’t stuck here, and it pains me when you guys speak about circumstances as if they’re permanent. They don’t have to exist at all. There is no journey, it’s just immediate teleportation. Think as if. Think of your “desired reality” and your current. Place your awareness there.

The reason you have so much resistance is because you believe you have to. Deep down, you believe effort is needed to leave, you believe you need some extravagant journey as you’re leaving the place you felt bound to all this time. You don’t, you’ve left. you’ve shifted. You can’t grasp that nothing, absolutely nothing needs to be done to enter the state of pure consciousness, your literal naked self.

You believe it needs to be hard because it’s too good to be true.

Leave that belief behind. You aren’t far from your life. The life you intend to have. In fact, you’re right there. Think of all these realities like your children. All of them are related to you in the same way. You don’t have one child that you’re absolutely bound to, assuming you’re a good parent with no favourites. They’re ALL close to you in the SAME PROXIMITY. They ALL have the same relation to you. It’s YOUR BLOOD aka YOU running through their veins, all of them, the veins of all these realities, even the ones you aren’t conscious of yet. You aren’t just bound to one.

So you don’t need to work super hard for that body, that shift, that face. When we say it’s yours we aren’t just trying to be encouraging it’s just facts. I’m not the most well versed marvel fan, but does Dr. Strange have a hard time shifting or does he just know where he wants to go and opens those portal thingys? Be like him. Know where you want to go and leave.

Wash your hands of what you don’t want and think as if. Thinking as if = placing your consciousness in desired state = you are in desired state = 3d will follow.

This isn’t home base. There isn’t a home base. Take that into consideration when you’re struggling to truly “just be” while trying to induce the void.

THESE REALITIES ARE ALL THE SAME. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS DECIDE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE ࿐

[thebarneschronicles]

Out of Depth, Into You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes was supposed to get in and out. Simple. Clean. But Hydra had other plans.

An ambush leaves him broken, bleeding, and barely standing—and you’re the only thing keeping him upright. Trapped in a safehouse, patching him up with shaking hands, you realize the truth you’ve been avoiding: you almost lost him. And that scares you more than anything.

Because Bucky isn’t just your mission partner. He’s yours.

And maybe… just maybe, he’s known it all along.

Trigger Warnings: Violence (injuries, blood, broken bones, combat); Medical trauma (setting a broken bone, treating severe wounds); PTSD/trauma symptoms (flashbacks, avoidance, emotional suppression); Self-deprecation/self-worth issues (Bucky struggling with his identity and past); Smut (very little but still there !!!!)

Author’s Note: OOPS, I did it again. Idk, man, thoughts of being the one to save him for once were swirling and I had to do it again. Blame the hormones! Hope you like it and let me know what you think. B x

--

He should’ve been in and out. That was the plan.

But somewhere between Bucky taking out the first two guards and you directing him toward the extraction point, everything had gone to hell. You should’ve known he couldn’t, shouldn’t have gone in alone.

No matter how much time had passed, no matter how many missions he completed, Hydra never stopped hunting him. They never stopped wanting their soldier back, their weapon, their ghost of the past. Maybe they’d been waiting for an opportunity just like this—Bucky Barnes, alone in Eastern Europe, tracking down a Hydra splinter cell. Everything had been fine until it wasn’t.

And when Hydra saw their chance, they took it.

You had been following this lead together, him on the field, you in his ear, his eyes when he couldn’t see, his guide when things went south. But neither of you had expected the ambush. Too many hostiles. Too little time.

You heard it before you saw it. The grunts of effort, the dull crack of fists against flesh, the sickening crunch of bone breaking. Bullets ricocheted off vibranium in sharp, ringing bursts. Shouts filled your comms, angry orders in languages you didn’t recognize, and then—

Then you heard his hiss of pain. Short, sharp, barely contained. A sound that turned your blood to ice.

Bucky never let pain show.

Your hands flew over the keyboard, trying to pull up security feeds, but his voice cut through your panic, strained but calm. Too calm.

"I need an exit. Now."

Your heart stopped.

Bucky Barnes never walked away from a fight. He fought until there was no one left standing but him. If he was asking for an exit, it meant something was very, very wrong.

You yanked up the nearest camera feed and felt the world lurch beneath you.

There he was—cornered in a crumbling warehouse, backed against a stack of rusted shipping crates. He was holding his own, but barely. Blood dripped down his temple in sluggish trails. A bruise darkened his jaw, stark even in the grainy footage. But worst of all—his right arm, his flesh arm, was hanging limp at his side, twisted at an angle that wasn’t natural.

You gripped the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles ached.

Broken. His arm was broken.

And if his arm was that bad, you didn’t want to think about what other injuries he was forcing himself to fight through.

Your voice wavered, but you forced it to stay steady. "Bucky, there’s a service door to your left. Get there and I can guide you out."

"Copy," he gritted out, his breath heavy, strained.

He fought his way to the door, but you saw it—the way he staggered, the way every movement came at a cost. Every punch with his left arm rippled agony through his body. Every twist, every block, every moment that should have been second nature was suddenly a fight to stay upright.

And still, he kept going.

By the time he made it through the door, you were already running.

Darkened streets blurred past as you sprinted toward the extraction point. Your lungs burned, but it didn’t matter. You needed to get to him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to come out unscathed, meet you at the car, and get out before things got messy.

There weren’t supposed to be this many Hydra agents.

There wasn’t supposed to be a fight.

Fear clawed at your throat.

You rounded the last corner and skidded to a stop.

Bucky.

Leaning heavily against a brick wall, half-shadowed beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp. His chest rose and fell too fast, his breath ragged. His skin looked pale—too pale. Blood painted the side of his face, his fingers, his shirt. He lifted his head as you approached, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

Up close, he looked worse. So much worse.

And that—that terrified you.

You had seen him bleed before. Had heard his sharp, bitten-off curses through comms, had watched him shake off pain like it was nothing. But this was different.

This was Bucky barely standing.

This was his chest rising and falling too fast, his face too pale, his right arm twisted and useless at his side. This was blood—so much blood—seeping through his jacket, dripping from his fingers, staining the ground beneath him.

And you—you couldn’t breathe.

Your hands trembled as you reached for him, the rest of the world fading away. Nothing else existed except for the wreckage of him—broken, bleeding, and still standing.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this.

He was just your mission partner. Just the man in your ear, the one you guided through hell and back, the one who always came out on the other side. Just the Soldier.

Except he wasn’t.

He was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

You swallowed hard, shoving the rising panic back down where it belonged. You couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now.

Stepping into his space, you braced his good side, feeling the solid weight of him against you. And that’s when you realized—

He was leaning on you.

Bucky Barnes, who carried the weight of his past like an iron chain, was letting you carry him.

Your throat tightened.

"Hey, Soldier," you murmured, voice steadying through sheer force of will. Anything to drown out the fear clawing at your ribs. "Still with me?"

For a second, he didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at you.

Then—his lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk, like he wanted to make some cocky remark. But all that came out was a wince.

"Yeah," he rasped, voice rough, worn down to nothing. "Just having a great time."

Something in you cracked.

You exhaled sharply, fingers twisting in his jacket, clutching onto him like you could hold him together.

He was alive.

Battered, broken, bleeding out against you—but alive.

And you were going to keep him that way.

The drive to the safehouse was short, but agonizing.

The car felt too small, too silent, too full of blood and fear. Your hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white as you tried to keep your body from shaking apart. You had to stay focused. Had to keep breathing. Had to ignore the way Bucky’s breath, shallow and uneven, filled the space between you like a countdown.

Every bump in the road pulled a ragged sound from his throat, one he barely let slip past gritted teeth. His broken arm was cradled against his chest, his fingers twitching, blood soaking through the fabric of his jacket and seeping into the leather seats. Thick. Dark. Too much.

Don’t think about it.

You’d already gone through a mental list of everything you needed to do once you got him inside—stop the bleeding, set the bone, clean the wounds. All of it so completely out of your depth that panic pressed against your ribs, sharp and unforgiving.

The safehouse appeared through the trees, a dark shape buried deep in the woods. You yanked the car into park, twisting toward him before the engine had even died.

"Buck," you said, voice unsteady. "Buck?"

Nothing.

"Bucky, you still with me?"

For a second, nothing but silence—and then, finally, a low, pained grunt. A small nod. Barely anything, but it was enough to keep the panic from swallowing you whole. A grunt of acknowledgment that shouldn’t have felt like relief but did.

You swallowed hard and moved fast, yanking open his door, looping an arm around his waist as you pulled him up. He was heavy. Too heavy.

Getting him inside was its own battle.

Bucky Barnes was all muscle and solid weight, and even now—weaker than you had ever seen him, barely upright, barely conscious—he still outweighed you by too much. You nearly buckled under his weight, but he held onto you.

His full weight pressed against you, and for the first time since you’d known him, he didn’t try to carry himself. Didn’t try to tough it out, to stay standing on his own. Because he couldn’t.

Each step sent fresh bolts of pain through him, his teeth clenched so tight you swore you could hear the grind of enamel. He swayed dangerously, his blood leaving a trail in the grass, marking the path of his suffering.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you tightened your grip around his waist.

"Almost there," you whispered, half to him, half to yourself. "Just a little further, Buck. Stay with me."

His only response was another sharp exhale through his nose—the sound of a man trying not to curse or scream.

By the time you dragged him over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind you, your entire body was trembling. The adrenaline that had kept you moving, kept you upright, was beginning to wear off, leaving only panic in its wake. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps as you struggled to keep him upright, his weight more than you could truly handle.

"Come on, Bucky, please, just a little longer," you begged, voice cracking as you guided him toward the worn-out chair near the fireplace. You barely managed to ease him down before your legs nearly gave out beneath you. "I need you to stay awake, honey."

The endearment slipped out without thought, but neither of you acknowledged it. His head lolled forward, strands of damp, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead. His breath was a shallow rasp, chest barely rising and falling.

Logically, you knew he could heal. His body would knit itself back together, given enough time. But logic didn’t stop the knot of dread twisting inside you, didn’t chase away the fear choking you as you took in the state of him.

You had never seen him this bad.

His skin was pale—too pale. Sickly, almost. Sweat slicked his forehead, tracing tracks down the sharp angles of his cheekbones. The bruising along his temple was already deepening, a sickly shade of purple that stood out against his ashen skin. His left arm was an ugly mess—swollen, bent at a sickening angle. And then there was the gash along his ribs, jagged and deep, seeping blood at an alarming rate.

Your hands scrambled for the first-aid kit, tearing it open with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. "Okay," you said, forcing a steadying breath, forcing yourself to focus. "I need to set your arm."

Bucky exhaled slowly. His eyelids fluttered, his breathing labored. But when his gaze finally found yours, there was no fear. No hesitation.

Just quiet, unwavering trust.

A barely perceptible nod.

No complaints. No resistance. Just Bucky Barnes trusting you with his pain.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because Bucky Barnes never let anyone take care of him. He barely let people touch him, let alone see him like this—vulnerable, human. The weight of that trust settled deep in your chest, thick and heavy.

For a fleeting second, a dangerous thought slipped through the cracks of your resolve—what would it be like if he let you touch him in other ways? If his trust extended beyond battlefield necessity, beyond survival, into something more?

You swallowed hard and shoved the thought away. Now was not the time.

Shoving it down, you grabbed the shears from the kit and began cutting away his ruined jacket, peeling the blood-soaked fabric from his skin. His arm was an ugly mess—swollen, bruised, bent at an angle that made your stomach turn. But the deep gash across his ribs wasn’t much better, the bruising on his temple stark against his too-pale skin.

Your hands hovered over him for a moment. Hesitant. Terrified.

You can do this.He needs you.Your fingers pressed against his skin, searching for the break. He barely reacted.

Except—when you touched the worst of it.

His body tensed. A muscle in his jaw ticked. His metal hand curled into a fist against his thigh.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, throat tight. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—"

Then, before you could think too hard about it, before you could hesitate—you pushed the bone back into place.

The sound it made was sickening.

Bucky’s whole body locked up. His teeth clenched, every muscle in his body straining against the agony tearing through him.

Your stomach lurched. You wanted to take it back. Wanted to take it from him.

But then—it was done.

You looked up, searching for his eyes, needing to see that he was still with you.

But his eyes were shut, his lips a thin, bloodless line.

He hadn’t screamed.

Hadn’t even made a sound.

"Buck?"

Your voice was barely more than a whisper, but it felt like a scream in the suffocating silence of the safehouse. Your hands were slick with his blood, still shaking, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn't know how to make it stop.

"Bucky?"

Still no response. His head lolled slightly, his breath uneven, shallow. The dim light in the room cast long shadows over his face, accentuating the stark pallor of his skin, the gauntness in his features. He looked fragile, and that was something you never associated with Bucky Barnes.

Your fingers fumbled, pressing against his neck, searching for his pulse. Your mind screamed at you to calm down, to think logically. The serum would keep him alive. He wasn’t dying. He couldn’t be dying. But logic meant nothing when fear had its claws in you.

Too fast. But steady.

He was alive. He was going to stay alive.

A sob clawed its way up your throat, thick and suffocating, but you swallowed it down. No time for that. You had to focus. He needed you.

You forced your trembling hands to work, pressing gauze against the deep gash in his side, trying to stem the flow of blood. The fabric soaked through instantly, a deep crimson blooming across the sterile white.

"Come on, Buck," you murmured, voice barely holding steady. "The serum needs to kick in. Just let it work, okay?"

Your fingers traced the edges of the wound, breath hitching at the heat radiating from his fevered skin. The cut was deep—too deep—but not fatal. It had to be something sharp, something deliberate. The thought made your stomach twist. Whoever had done this had meant to hurt him, had meant to make him suffer.

You pressed down harder, desperate to keep the bleeding in check. He let out a low, pained groan, his body tensing beneath your touch. Your heart clenched.

"Did I make it worse?" Your voice cracked. "Am I hurting you more? Please, Buck, you gotta tell me something, anything..."

Silence stretched between you, thick and unbearable. His chest rose and fell in slow, shallow movements. The hum of the wind outside filled the void. Your hands, stained with his blood, trembled against him.

Then—

A rough, barely-there sound. A groan, deep and strained.

His throat bobbed as his lashes fluttered. His brows drew together, his lips parting as he struggled to pull in a breath.

And then, so quietly you almost missed it—

"Nah."

Your heart stuttered.

His voice, though raw and wrecked, was unmistakable. Relief crashed over you like a tidal wave, so overwhelming it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. You reached up, pressing his sweaty hair back and away from his forehead.

His head shifted slightly, his fevered skin pressing into the palm of your hand. His breathing hitched as another wave of pain rolled through him, but he forced his eyes open just enough to look at you.

Blue. So damn blue.

And looking right at you.

"It’s not—" He swallowed thickly. "Not your fault," he rasped. His lips twitched, like he was trying for a smile, but it barely formed before fading. "I'm still in one piece."

A breathy, choked laugh escaped you, completely unbidden. God, how could he joke right now?

Your fingers curled against his jaw, your grip grounding both of you. "Barely," you whispered. "You’re a mess, Bucky."

A slow, uneven exhale left him. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

Your throat tightened. Even now, bleeding out, clinging to consciousness by a thread, he was trying to reassure you. Trying to make it easier.

"Is there anything else I can do?" you asked, voice small, desperate. "To make the serum work faster? God, why isn't it working, Bucky?"

He let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching against his thigh. His lips parted, but it took him a moment to form words.

"Takes... time," he murmured, voice slurred with exhaustion. "Always does. Just gotta... wait."

Wait. The thought was unbearable. Sitting here, helpless, while he fought to heal—it felt like torture.

Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble rough against your skin. He blinked sluggishly, exhaustion tugging at him, but he was here. 

"You’re supposed to heal, Buck," you whispered. "Please. Promise me."

A slow, lazy blink. Then another. His lips parted, another whisper of breath escaping. Speaking seemed like a tremendous effort.

"‘I will, doll."

The nickname slipped out, rough and unintentional, but it sent something hot and aching through your chest.

He didn't know. He had no idea. How much you loved him. How much it would break you if he didn’t recover. You could barely even entertain the thought.

You swallowed hard, pressing your forehead against his, letting his warmth seep into you, grounding you.

"Good," you breathed, voice shaking. "You better."

His lips quirked—just barely, just enough.

And then, exhaustion pulled him under again.

–

He slept for hours.

So long that time lost meaning. The only markers of its passing were the slow shift of light through the windows, the way the world outside darkened and quieted, and the steady rhythm of his breath.

At some point, just before nightfall, you had dragged him to the old couch, wincing as his weight slumped against you, his body a dead weight of exhaustion and blood loss. The couch was too small, barely accommodating his frame, but it was better than the rickety old chair. You had folded up a sweater to tuck beneath his head, hoping to give him something resembling comfort.

Then, you sat beside him. You stayed there, unmoving, watching over him like some kind of silent sentinel. Every breath he took became an anchor, something to hold onto while the storm inside you raged.

The serum was working, you realized. 

You willed it to.

You willed your hands not to tremble when you finally dared to check his wound. The bleeding had stopped. The deep gash at his side was still an angry thing, but no longer a threat. You cleaned him up as best you could, dabbing away the dried blood, the sweat, the remnants of a battle neither of you had been sure he’d walk away from. He didn’t stir when you bandaged him up, didn’t even wince when you pressed down to ensure it held. He was dead to the world, lost in some place where pain couldn’t touch him.

The relief hit you like a punch to the gut. So intense it nearly stole your breath.

You could have taken a shower. You could have eaten, slept, done a million things in the endless stretch of time before he woke. And yet, you sat there, knees drawn to your chest, hands curled into your sleeves as you watched him. The soft light from the kitchen, the only you one had dared to turn on, flickered across his face, softening the sharp planes of his jaw, making him look almost peaceful.

Almost.

Bucky Barnes never looked truly at peace. Even in sleep, there were the faint lines of tension around his eyes, the ever-present ghosts lingering beneath the surface.

You had no idea when it happened. When he became more than just the man you guided through missions, monitored from a distance, and kept safe from behind a screen. It had snuck up on you in the quiet moments—the way he paid attention to your every word, the way he trusted your intel without question, the way his voice softened just a little when he spoke your name. The rare, fleeting glint of warmth in his.low chuckle when you cracked a joke through his earpiece like you were the only thing tethering him to something lighter, something more than the constant battles he had to face.

You never meant for this to happen. But it had.

And now here you were, sitting in the half-dark, staring at him like a fool, with a heart that beat too fast in your chest.

A low, hoarse sound broke the silence. A groan, rough with sleep and exhaustion.

Your breath hitched as his head stirred against the makeshift pillow. The twitch of his fingers, the slow shift of his expression—until those blue eyes finally cracked open, hazy and unfocused.

“Am I dead?”

His voice was a rasp, rough and broken, like gravel scraping against metal. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, an involuntary reaction to hearing it at all. Because for a terrifying moment, you thought you never would again.

Still, the laugh that tumbled from your lips was more relieved than anything else. “No. But you were trying really hard to get there.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his battered face. He moved sluggishly, turning his head toward you, eyes struggling to focus as he took you in. The sight of him awake, coherent, was almost enough to bring you to your knees.

Almost.

“If you had,” you murmured, arching a brow as you gestured around the small, dimly lit room, “would this be your heaven?”

It was a joke, mostly. A feeble attempt to lighten the moment, though the humor didn’t quite reach your voice. The old house was barely livable, the bare minimum of furniture thrown together in a desperate attempt at a safe house. It lacked warmth. It lacked everything, really.

Bucky exhaled sharply, something caught between a laugh and a scoff. “You think I’m going to heaven?”

That laugh. Short. Self-deprecating. Dripping with irony. You hated it.

“You don’t?” you challenged, gaze unwavering. “You must’ve earned a place after all that suffering.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The word slipped from his lips so easily, like breathing, but it knocked the air right out of your lungs. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to react, but it was useless. Especially when you realized he was still staring at you. Taking you in. Seeing the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin, the dried blood smeared across your hands and clothes—his blood. The worry written into every crease of your expression.

You felt exposed. Raw.

“You... been sitting there this whole time?”

You hesitated. You could lie. Maybe you should. You could brush it off, say you had just been checking in on him, nothing more… Instead, you settled for the truth.

“Yeah.”

Bucky exhaled heavily, his head falling back against the pillow, but his gaze never left you. Something flickered in his eyes, something unreadable, but you felt it all the same.

After a moment, his lips quirked slightly. “Didn’t know I rated that kind of devotion.”

Your breath hitched. If he noticed, he had the decency not to comment on it.

“I never saw you like that before,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “You were bleeding all over the place, Bucky. You’re… you’re my super soldier. My Terminator. You’re supposed to be invincible.”

The joke melted into something softer, something vulnerable. You dropped your gaze, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. You couldn’t let him see. Couldn’t let him know just how close you had come to breaking.

“You could’ve at least taken a shower.”

He meant it as a distraction, but it only served as a reminder. The truth was—you hadn’t wanted to leave. Not even for a second. But admitting that? Dangerous territory.

“I couldn’t,” you muttered instead, shaking your head. “I had to make sure...”

Bucky hummed low in his throat, the weight of his gaze pressing against the side of your face. Then, with a sigh, he reached out—slow, careful, testing the limits of his body—and let his fingers ghost over your wrist. Barely a touch, but it sent your pulse into a tailspin.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words rough, real.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah, well... just try not to do it again, alright?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he studied you for a long moment, then sighed. “You look exhausted. Should’ve told me to move over.”

The thought of sharing a bed with him—this small, intimate space—had you reeling. “The, uh, couch is too small. And you needed the rest.”

His eyes drifted over you, lingering. “And you didn’t?”

Desperate for some normalcy, you let out a small huff, adopting a teasing tone. “I don’t need as much beauty sleep as you, Barnes.”

That earned you a tired chuckle. “So that’s how it is, huh?”

“Yup. You were looking a little rough before all the blood loss. Thought I’d do you a favor and let you rest.”

Bucky groaned. “Damn. Knew you were brutal, but this?”

“Hey,” you grinned, squeezing his thigh lightly, “if you can keep up, that means you’re feeling better.”

Bucky let out a breath, and for a moment, something warm flickered behind his exhaustion. “Guess I must be.”

Silence stretched between you, heavier this time, something unspoken weaving through it. You allowed yourself to lean against the cold metal of his vibranium arm, savoring the quiet until he shifted, groaning. Both of you stayed there and you thought he’d fallen back asleep when his groan broke through the quiet. Carefully, Bucky pushed himself upright, wincing slightly as his muscles protested.

“Gonna take a shower,” he mumbled, rubbing a tired hand over his face. 

"Bucky, I don’t think—"

"Not asking, sweetheart," he cut in, already pushing himself to his feet. Wobbling. 

Stubborn son of a bitch.

“Why won’t you listen to me? You always listen to me,” you argued, audibly on edge, rising to your feet to try and make sure you were prepared in case he tumbled over.

“I am covered in blood and I smell,” he grunted, vibranium hand pressing to the bandage you had patched him up with. He was clearly still in pain but too stubborn to admit it. “It’ll make me feel better.”

You rushed forward, steadying him before he could fall over like an idiot. "Jesus. Fine. But keep the door unlocked, okay? In case you—"

"I'm not gonna drown in the shower," he deadpanned.

You gave him a look. "I was gonna say in case you pass out and crack your head open again, but now I’m adding ‘drowning’ to my already very long list of concerns, thank you very much."

Bucky sighed, squeezing your hand before stepping away toward the bathroom. You should have looked away when he peeled his blood-streaked shirt over his head, revealing bruised skin beneath. But you didn’t.

And when he glanced back at you, a tired smirk still playing at his lips, you knew he had caught you staring.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. He was alive. Battered, broken, but alive.

The weight of the past few hours pressed heavily against your chest, like a vice squeezing the air from your lungs. Your hands still trembled faintly, a phantom reminder of how close you had come to losing him. You told yourself you should move, should get some rest, but you couldn't. The exhaustion sat on your shoulders, thick and suffocating, but it couldn't compare to the quiet, gnawing fear that still hadn't fully released its grip on you.

What if he hadn’t woken up? What if his breathing had slowed, softened, and you hadn't noticed until it was too late? What if, even now, you had missed something—some unseen wound, some deeper injury lurking beneath the surface?

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably. He had survived this time. But the next?

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear the sting in your eyes. No, not now. Later—when he was truly safe, when you weren’t holding yourself together with nothing but sheer stubbornness and the desperate need to keep him breathing.

Then you heard it.

A muffled groan.

Maybe a pained grunt.

Then— your name.

Your stomach flipped. Fear, sharp and immediate, sank its claws into you, coiling tight around your ribs.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you moved.

The door swung open—

And you froze.

Steam curled around the small bathroom, thick and humid, clinging to your skin. The weak spray of the shower rained down on him, rivulets of water streaming down his battered body. His head was bowed, one hand braced against the tiled wall, his broad back rising and falling with every breath.

Bucky was naked.

Completely, gloriously naked.

Your pulse stuttered, breath hitching as your gaze trailed over him, helpless to look away. It wasn’t just the powerful cut of his shoulders or the elegant curve of his spine, the way his waist tapered into lean, honed muscle. It wasn’t just the deep bruises shadowing his ribs, the still-healing scrapes and cuts littering his arms and torso, each one a whisper of a battle he’d barely survived.

It was all of him.

The sculpted lines of his abdomen, the way water cascaded over his taut skin, tracing over each dip and ridge like it worshipped him. The sharp cut of his hips, leading down, down—

Oh. Oh.

Heat licked up your throat so fast you almost choked on it.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

Blue eyes locked onto yours—heavy-lidded, exhausted, but aware. A single droplet of water trailed from his collarbone, slipping down his chest, following the defined ridges of his stomach before disappearing.

Your brain bluescreened.

You forgot how to function. Forgot how to breathe. Forgot everything but the way he stood there, utterly unbothered by his own nakedness, watching you with quiet, unspoken curiosity.

The last thread of your sanity snapped somewhere between the sculpt of his abs and the way his very beautiful, very distracting cock hung between his thighs.

“Doll?” His voice was rough, hoarse from exhaustion, raw with something else, something you couldn't name.

The way it sank into you—deep, warm, consuming—nearly made your knees buckle.

Your throat worked, but words failed. You tried again, this time barely managing to rasp out, “You called?”

A small furrow appeared between his brows. “I didn’t…” he murmured, voice gravelly, confused.

You were so, so done.

You should turn around. Give him privacy. Make some joke, brush it off, leave before this moment became irreversible.

But Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t look away. Didn’t demand you leave.

He just stood there, watching. Waiting.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was softer now, laced with something dangerous. “Is there something you need?”

There was no anger in his expression. No embarrassment, no shock—just quiet patience. Just exhaustion. Just that quiet, quiet thing that had always existed between you, humming beneath the surface, never spoken aloud.

The air between you crackled, electric, charged. The space between the door and the shower stretched impossibly vast. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out logic, reason, the part of you that still had a chance to walk away.

Instead, you took a step forward.

Bucky didn’t stop you.

Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t tense.

He just watched as you took another slow, deliberate step into the bathroom, your fingers trembling as they reached behind you—

And closed the door.

The quiet click sealed something between you, a silent understanding woven into the steam curling around you both.

You were going to do this.

Your fingers twitched at the hem of your shirt. Slowly, you lifted it.

His gaze dropped.

Tracked the movement, eyes dark and unblinking. Watched as your hands trembled, hesitating for only a fraction of a second—before you dragged the fabric over your head and let it fall to the floor.

The air thickened, heavy, pulsing.

Bucky’s breathing changed, a sharp inhale barely audible over the patter of water. His pupils widened, lips parting slightly. You felt the weight of his stare, dragging over every inch of newly exposed skin as you unbuttoned your pants, sliding them down your legs.

Piece by piece, layer by layer, you joined him until you were bare.

There was no way you were leaving now.

You had crossed a line—an invisible but irreversible threshold, shifting whatever had existed between you and Bucky forever.

You weren’t leaving.

Couldn’t leave.

Not tonight. Not when he was hurting. Not when this had been building for far too long. Not ever.

And as you stepped into the warmth of the water—into him—Bucky exhaled.

The heat of the water curled around your feet, sinking into your skin as you stepped closer. Closer to him. The steam wrapped around you both, thick and humid, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You were painfully aware of how bare you both were, how little there was between you—just air, charged and heavy, laced with hesitation and the weight of unspoken words.

Bucky swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His vibranium hand twitched at his side, the black and gold glistening under the water, fingers flexing as if torn between restraint and impulse. His other arm—still sore from the break but free—hung at his side. He shifted slightly, muscles rippling, making room for you as you moved beneath the steady stream of water.

The moment your bodies brushed, heat flared—electric, searing. His hip grazed yours, slick with water, and you fought the urge to lean into him, to close the meager space that remained. Instead, you tipped your head back, letting the water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the day—the grime, the blood, the sweat, the panic.

When your eyes reopened, blue locked onto you. But not the sharp, perceptive blue you were used to—this was deeper, darker, laced with something raw and consuming. Something that mirrored everything you had fought to keep buried.

"Is this as nerve-wracking for you as it is for me?"

Your voice barely carried over the steady rush of water, but the confession was out before you could second-guess it—honesty slipping through the cracks of your restraint, as it always did when you were pushed past your comfort zone.

A flicker of hesitation ghosted across his face, fleeting but there. You caught it. Felt it.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough, edged with something raw. "You don’t have to—"

"I know."

You stepped forward, letting the water cascade off your shoulders, droplets ricocheting against his chest and streaming down the ridges of his abdomen. Heat radiated from his skin, from the space between you, from the sheer gravity of this moment.

"I want to," you admitted, breath hitching. "I’m just… a little nervous. There’s a lot of you."

A slow, uneven breath left him. His vibranium fingers flexed, tension coiling in his posture, but his gaze dropped, something unreadable flickering behind his storm-colored eyes.

"Not really," he murmured. He lifted his left hand slightly, the metal catching the dim light, gleaming through the mist. A humorless smile ghosted over his lips. "This is all I got right now. Kind of half a man at the moment."

A pang shot through you at the quiet self-deprecation laced in his words. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out, fingertips brushing the smooth, unyielding metal. Another step closed the distance, your chest grazing his, the barest contact sparking something molten, something inevitable.

Your voice was steady when you spoke. "You could never be half of anything."

Bucky inhaled sharply, your words sinking into the spaces he kept guarded. Still, he didn't move. He just stood there, letting you guide his hand to your waist, letting himself feel.

A moment passed. Stretched. Deepened.

Then, rough and uncertain, he confessed, "I’m not sure… how to do this."

The words slipped out before you could stop them. "Do what? Me?"

The tension in his face broke, just for a second—surprise flickering, then amusement. A real, genuine laugh rumbled from his chest, the sound so foreign in the moment that it stole your breath. It was almost impossible to believe this was the same man who had been bleeding beneath your shaking hands only hours ago.

"I don’t think that’s in the cards for us tonight, sweetheart," he said, voice edged with both apology and something else—something almost reverent.

You tilted your head, lips curving. "Thought you'd be more confident than this." Leaning in, you pressed a kiss where metal met flesh, felt the way his breath hitched. You smiled against his skin. "Big, strong super soldier, shying away from a little skin?"

His exhale was sharp, almost a scoff, but it didn’t quite mask the way his grip on your waist tightened—just barely, just enough to betray him, just enough to make your pulse trip.

"Not shying away," he murmured, voice thick against your ear. "Just… don’t wanna mess this up."

You tilted your chin, brushing your lips against the space just below his collarbone, feeling the way his muscles tensed. "And what exactly would ‘messing this up’ look like?"

His jaw clenched, tension rippling through him. "Rushing. Disappointing you… taking more than I should."

His hand flexed at your waist, like he was testing the edges of restraint, feeling out what was safe, what was allowed.

A slow exhale left you as your fingers trailed higher, mapping out the scars, the history written into his skin. "Bucky," you whispered, the warmth of his name wrapping around him. "I never thought… never thought you’d want me like this. I want you to take whatever you want."

His forehead dropped to yours, and for a moment, there was only the steady rush of water, the ragged edge of his breathing. Then, slowly, he pulled back, eyes searching yours, something fragile, unguarded, unraveling in their depths.

A quiet, breathy laugh left him—something between disbelief and surrender. His lips hovered near yours, close enough that his breath warmed your skin.

"Want isn’t quite how I’d put it."

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t joking. The depth of his words settled over you, heavy and thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"Then how would you put it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper, fingers threading into his damp hair.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, his forehead pressing into yours. "I think you already know."

And then his lips brushed yours, tentative, testing. Your body answered before your mind could catch up—arms winding around his neck, pressing closer, heat pooling low in your stomach. The kiss deepened, unhurried, a slow unraveling, a discovery.

Bucky's hand splayed against your spine, mapping the dip of your back, fingers tracing down to your hip, exploring, learning. Every glide of his tongue ignited something deep, every touch sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through you.

You let your hands roam—over the hard planes of his chest, the dips and ridges of his stomach, the firm grasp of his waist. Each touch was a silent question. Every shift of his body, an answer.

"You’re shaking," he murmured against your lips, voice thick. "Still nervous?"

"A little," you admitted, breathless, cheeks flushed with heat. "I want… I want this so much."

His mouth curled, the faintest smile, almost apologetic. "I’m sorry I can’t give it to you."

"It’s alright, I—"

You surged up on your toes, kissed him harder, pouring every ounce of want into the press of your lips. A small, needy sound escaped you as his hand tightened at your waist. When you pulled away, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, and he exhaled sharply, his body rutting forward—instinctive, aching, desperate.

Your bare stomach brushed against him, and your breath hitched. "God, okay—can I touch you?" Your fingers curled at his waist, pressing, feeling the tremor in his muscles. "I want to make you feel good."

Bucky's breath stuttered, his hand tightening just enough to send a shiver racing through you. His forehead pressed to yours, a war waging behind his eyes.

Then, voice low and wrecked, he whispered, "Sweetheart… you already do."

Your fingers traced lower, over the taut muscles of his abdomen, feeling the way he tensed beneath your touch, like he was trying to hold himself together. His breath was ragged, unsteady, and when you let your nails graze lightly over his skin, a low, shuddering sound rumbled in his chest.

"Bucky," your voice was a whisper, sweet and coaxing, threading through the steam like a promise. "Will you let me touch you?"

His jaw tensed, head dipping forward as though the weight of restraint was too much to bear. "You don’t—"

"Please." Your fingers trailed lower, teasing, testing, watching the way his muscles twitched beneath your touch. "I want this. I want you."

A sharp inhale, his control fraying at the edges. Then—he gave in.

Not all at once. He unraveled in pieces, like a taut thread snapping one fiber at a time. His body melted under your hands, surrendering inch by inch. His vibranium fingers flexed at your waist before falling away entirely, like he couldn’t trust himself to touch, to take. But you saw it—the way his pupils blew wide, the way his lips parted around a strangled breath as your fingers wrapped around his length.

"Jesus," he rasped, head knocking back against the tile.

You bit your lip at the sight of him—chest heaving, muscles taut, his restraint hanging by a thread. Slowly, deliberately, you tightened your grip, savoring the way a groan tore from his throat, raw and unguarded. You stroked, slow and deliberate, thumb teasing the slick head of him before your fingers curled, picking up the pace.

"Is this okay?" Your voice was breathless, uncertain for the first time.

His answer was immediate—a sharp nod, his hand covering yours for the briefest second, grounding himself before letting go again. "Yeah, sweetheart. Yeah, just—"

A strangled noise broke from him when you abandoned his length in favor of the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them in your palm, feeling the heat, the way his hips twitched into your touch like he couldn’t help it.

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to drop to your knees and taste him, make him fall apart in a way that would leave him wrecked for anything else. You wanted him to snap, to pin you against the wall and take you, bury himself so deep you forgot your own name.

You wanted, wanted, wanted.

It was all you could think about.

"Fuck," he choked out, vibranium fingers digging into the slick tile, his flesh hand flexing like he wanted to grab you but didn't trust himself to. "You're—"

"Good?" you teased, pressing a kiss to his jaw, smiling against his skin when he trembled.

"Perfect," he groaned, voice wrecked.

Encouraged, you found your rhythm again—slow, deliberate, teasing your thumb over his sensitive head, drinking in the way his chest heaved. Your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them in tandem with each measured stroke, and his head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut. Water streamed down his skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat rolling off him, the way his body shook beneath your touch.

"You always this quiet?" you murmured, pressing your lips to the hollow of his throat.

A breathless laugh, broken at the edges. "Tryin’ not to lose my mind here, sweetheart."

"Maybe I want you to," you whispered, tightening your grip and twisting just enough to make him curse under his breath.

His hips bucked into your hand, desperation bleeding into every ragged exhale, every twitch of his muscles. He was unraveling, piece by piece, falling apart in your hands, and God, it was intoxicating.

"I think I could come just from watching you," the confession tumbled from your lips, unfiltered, the pulsing ache between your thighs intensifying. "You’re beautiful."

A guttural noise, raw and wrecked. "Fuck, you’re killing me." His forehead pressed against yours, the last fraying strands of control slipping from his grasp. "I—shit, I’m not gonna last."

Pleasure curled hot in your belly. He was holding on by a thread, and you wanted to be the one to pull him under.

"Don’t," you urged, pressing closer, stroking him faster, feeling the way his muscles locked beneath your touch. "Don’t hold back, Bucky. Let me see you."

His breath hitched. His jaw locked. And then—

He let go.

A shuddering moan, unrestrained and devastatingly raw, tore from his lips as he spilled into your hand. His body jerked, muscles seizing, fingers digging into the tile like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. You felt the tremor in his limbs, the sharp, broken breaths leaving him, his forehead still pressed against yours like he needed the anchor.

You stayed close, pressing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, his cheek, his temple, until the tension bled from his body, until his breathing evened out.

A low, breathless laugh rumbled through him, rough around the edges. "Jesus. You’re dangerous."

You grinned against his skin, feeling the way his chest still rose and fell unevenly beneath you, the tremor of aftershocks still running through his muscles. His vibranium arm curled around your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you against the heat of his still-thrumming body.

"Not dangerous," you murmured, brushing your lips against the sharp line of his jaw, lingering at the corner of his mouth. "Just very, very into you. And willing to wait."

Bucky exhaled, still catching his breath, still holding you like you were the only thing keeping him upright. But this time, it wasn’t because of his injuries. It was because you had unraveled him, completely and utterly, in a way no one else ever had.

His fingers flexed at your hip, gripping you like he was still making sense of the way you fit against him. "Sweetheart," he muttered, voice low and rough, "whatever patience you got? You might need it for me."

You smiled, threading your fingers through his damp hair, pressing your lips to his in something soft, something promising.

"Can’t wait."

His arm curled more firmly around you, holding you against his chest, warm and steady. Your hand traced down his bruised arm, gentle over the battered skin. He tensed slightly beneath your touch, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you hold him, let you feel the weight of him—whole, breathing, here.

You nuzzled against his chest, pressing a lingering kiss over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your lips. "You scared me today," you admitted, barely above a whisper. You tightened your grip around him, clinging to the solid warmth of his body, trying to ignore the heat of desire curling low in your stomach, giving way to something even stronger. Something scarier. "Don’t ever do that again. I mean it, Buck, I—"

"I know." His voice was softer now, his lips pressing into your hair. "I could see it. In your eyes, you were—"

"Yeah." You swallowed hard. "I was."

Silence settled between you, thick with everything you weren’t saying. The air still hummed with the remnants of adrenaline, of tension, of the quiet fear that had lodged itself in your ribs the moment you saw him bleeding, barely standing, on the edge of collapse.

Bucky shifted, just slightly, his vibranium hand pressing against the small of your back, keeping you close. Then, quietly, deliberately, he murmured, "I need you to know something, doll."

The seriousness in his voice sent your heart skipping. You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. "What is it?"

For a moment, he hesitated—like he was choosing his words carefully, like he was about to step over some invisible line he could never uncross. His thumb brushed over your jaw, a touch so tender it made your breath catch.

"This isn’t just tonight," he said, voice steady despite the rawness in it. "It’s not just the adrenaline or the heat of the moment. It’s not even just because you saved my ass back there." He exhaled, his forehead briefly pressing against yours before pulling back, searching your eyes. "It’s you. It’s been you for a while now."

Your breath hitched.

Bucky’s hand trailed up, fingers ghosting over your cheek, tracing the curve of your face like he was committing every inch of you to memory. "I don’t always know how to say the right thing," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Or how to be good at this. But I know that I want you. Not just here. Not just now. I want all of it. All of you. If you’ll have me."

A sharp, aching warmth bloomed in your chest. He was laying himself bare, in a way you knew wasn’t easy for him. No bravado, no deflection—just truth.

A slow, shaky smile tugged at your lips as you lifted a hand to his face, your thumb skimming along his stubbled jaw.

"Bucky Barnes, you are the most ridiculous man I have ever met."

His brows furrowed, lips parting—until you leaned in and kissed him. Slow, deep, like he was something precious. Something worth holding onto.

When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his, your fingers still tangled in his damp hair.

"I’m not going anywhere," you murmured, voice thick with emotion. "Not tonight. Not ever."

A breath shuddered out of him, and then his arms were wrapping around you—tightly, fiercely, like he could somehow pull you into him completely.

"Good," he whispered against your skin. "Because I think I’d go crazy if you did."

You smiled against his collarbone, letting yourself melt into him, into the warmth of his body, into the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat.

Bucky was safe. He was healing.

And now, finally—he was yours.

[inkedinshadows]

Brooding, Cuddly Shadowsinger

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: thank you @pey2618 for this one! It was such a cute idea and I love it! I'm always down bad for soft Az. Note: i just finished writing it (it's 11pm here) after a full day of classes, so forgive me if there are mistakes or typos

Prompts: "You're not so scary after all, are you?" + "You're my new pillow now." + reader and az are out somewhere and he is all broody and scares ppl away but when they are home he is as sweet as a marshmallow

Warnings: none! Just fluff

Word count: 824

The party was going well. For you, at least.

When your friend had told you that you could bring Azriel along, you said you would ask, fully believing he'd decline. Instead, he'd agreed to come with you as soon as you mentioned it.

You were sure he was now regretting that decision.

When you were beside him, everything was fine. His hand was on your knee if you were sitting on the couch, on your back when you stood. But whenever you left his side—to get a drink, to dance, to talk with the other guests—it was like a bubble enveloped him. He became quiet, his brows knitted together, and he looked at people as if they might suddenly turn out to be an enemy he needed to fight. Even his shadows were restless, swirling around his shoulders and wings like a dark tempest, calming only when you joined him again and yet never disappearing completely. The all-black clothes definitely didn't help his case.

You couldn't blame people for avoiding him. And when you passed by two girls on your way back from the toilet, you couldn't help but chuckle as you caught a snippet of their conversation.

“I don't really know how she does it.”

“Well, he's very handsome.”

“Yes, but he's terrifying. Just look at him!”

“Yeah, he kinda is…”

You walked up to Azriel, a smile already on your lips. “You're scaring people off.”

His face softened as soon as he saw you, and he shifted to a more relaxed stance, his shadows settling down. But at your words, he frowned. “I'm not doing anything.”

You crossed your arms and looked him up and down. “You're standing here, just brooding.”

Azriel's gaze swept around the room. Some guests quickly looked away from him.

“Why would that scare people?” he asked when his eyes settled on you again.

“Because you're the big, infamous Shadowsinger?” you replied with a teasing smirk. “The High Lord's Spymaster?”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his lips curled up at the corners. Before he could say anything, you playfully patted his arm.

“Try not to scare too many people, okay?” you quipped. “I'll be right back.”

His expression fell, and for just a moment, he reminded you of a lost puppy. “Why? Where are you going?”

“To say goodbye to everyone.” You were already stepping away, people parting to let you through after a quick glance at Azriel. “I'm taking you home.”

~~~~~~

Not even an hour later, you were back in your room, ready for the night.

Azriel was already in bed. As soon as you slipped under the covers, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer. He rested his head on your chest, right on the soft swell of your breasts, his eyes closed as he let out a content sigh.

You laughed softly. “Are you comfy enough?”

He hummed. “Yes. You're my new pillow now.”

You laughed again, shifting just enough to find a comfortable position without disturbing him. Your fingers tangled in his dark curls, while the other hand came to rest on the nape of his neck.

Azriel melted in your arms as every ounce of lingering tension from the day left his body. His shadows vanished, and his wings splayed out above the sheets, covering you like a second blanket. You swore he purred like a cat when you began gently massaging his scalp.

There he was—the big, infamous Shadowsinger who had terrified everyone at the party just hours earlier.

“You're not so scary after all, are you?” you murmured. “Those people just didn't know you like I do.”

He nuzzled into your chest, his voice already groggy as he mumbled, “No one knows me like you do, love.”

You smiled and kissed the top of his head. “That's right. Just me.”

With another soft sigh, Azriel settled against you. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, his long eyelashes tickling you every time his eyes fluttered.

The party had drained him, despite the fact that he hadn't danced or interacted that much. But being around so many people could be overwhelming for him, especially when in an environment so different from what he was used to. Yet he had still come with you.

“Why did you come to the party?” you asked quietly.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “Wanted to be with you,” he mumbled, the words blurring together.

He was adorable. Utterly, sickeningly adorable.

“Go to sleep,” you murmured. “I love you.”

You felt his small smile against your skin as he whispered, “Love you too…”

You continued stroking his hair, holding him close to your heart, right where he belonged.

To others, he might be scary. Terrifying, even. The Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, the one no one truly knew.

But to you, he was this—a sweet, cuddly male who needed the comfort of his mate's embrace.

To you, he was just Az.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[covenofagatha]

Spitroasting with g!p Agatha and g!p Rio

*gasp* who said that 🫢

I'm definitely not thinking about the same thing 👀 anyways...

Two is better than one

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: g!p Agatha, g!p Rio, spitroasting, daddy Rio, mommy Agatha, threesome, squirting, degradation, praise, light spanking

When Agatha gets home from work, the first thing she hears when she steps into the kitchen is the faint sound of slapping skin and your high-pitched whines and she chuckles to herself. 

Rio was always easier to break than she was, all it took is that doe-eyed look you do so well coupled with a daddy, please, and Rio couldn’t resist. 

So Agatha slowly steps up the stairs, careful to not make a sound lest she alert either of you. She creeps to the doorway and peeks around it, and the fabric of her pants instantly tightens. 

Rio’s got you on your knees and elbows on the bed, one hand wound in your hair, the other gripping your hip tightly, while she quickly thrusts her cock inside you. When she draws out, Agatha can see her length glistening with your wetness. Rio’s face is contorted with pleasure and Agatha wonders how long she’s been fucking you. 

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” Rio barks, slapping her hand on your ass and you emit another moan. 

It takes you a moment to respond because of the dizziness in your head. “So fucking good, daddy, your cock is so deep inside me — fuck, daddy, please!” 

“Better hope mommy doesn’t come home and see what a slut you’re being right now,” Rio grunts, pushing you down further into the mattress and you gasp at the new angle. She’s hitting your g-spot with every time and you can feel your orgasm building up. Tension is coiling in your body and you just need a bit more—

“Oh, well mommy is here,” Agatha says, stepping into the room and clapping slowly. “And she certainly does see what a slut you are.” Rio freezes inside you, her cock pulsing. You turn your head to watch Agatha walk over to you while you start to lazily move back and forth on Rio’s cock, who hisses. You’re by the edge of the bed so she comes to stand right in front of you.

“Hi, mommy,” you greet casually amidst the squelching sounds you’re making. If you act like her darling little girl, maybe she won’t punish you too badly. There’s an unspoken rule that you and Rio have to get Agatha’s permission before having sex, and you definitely didn’t today. 

In fact, Agatha told you this morning before she left in no uncertain terms, that you and Rio had to wait until she got home today. 

But then you had gotten horny and it doesn’t take much to convince Rio to fuck you. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, tracing her fingers over your lips before shoving them into your mouth. You gag, eyes rolling to look up at her through your eyelashes, and you don’t miss the flicker of heat in her eyes. “You know I could hear you the second I got home?” 

You try to look embarrassed. “Whoops.” 

Agatha huffs out a laugh and pulls her sticky fingers out before wiping them on your cheeks. “Well, if you want the entire neighborhood to know what a slut you are for us, that’s fine.” She unbuckles her belt from her pants, slides it out, and throws it somewhere across the room. “But, you see, honey, mommy and daddy have a reputation to uphold.” She undoes the button to her pants and drags the zipper down slowly. “So I think I need to shut you up.” 

She pulls out her already-hard cock and you involuntarily clench around Rio. Her nails dig into your hips but you barely even feel it over how drunk you feel. You’ve never had both of them inside you at the same time. 

“Keep going, Rio,” Agatha orders, stroking her cock and watching the way your face changes when Rio starts to thrust back into you roughly. Agatha’s cock gets harder under her hand and your mouth is watering from the thought of tasting her. 

Rio’s cock is longer, but Agatha’s is girthier, so your jaw always hurts more after giving the older woman a blowjob. But the ache is delicious during it, and you can’t even imagine how good it’s going to feel to have Rio this deep inside you while Agatha fucks your mouth. 

Agatha waits until you’re a moaning mess before knocking Rio’s hand that’s holding onto your hair aside, taking its place with her own hand, and dragging her hot cock against your lips. She spreads her precum all over you, getting your cheeks and chin covered as well, before positioning it at your open mouth. 

You look up at her pleadingly and she slaps her cock against your stuck-out tongue a few times, making you moan at the weight. 

And then she pushes in all while Rio is pounding into you hard. 

Agatha starts out with shallow thrusts, just bobbing into your mouth and pulling back, and Rio’s grunts get louder behind you, her pace becoming more erratic. 

When Agatha finally gets her cock all the way down your throat, she pauses for a moment and just revels in the way your mouth feels around her, and you hollow out your cheeks and suck, making her whimper. 

Rio slows down, more than likely to stave off her own orgasm, so you’re being gently rocked forward onto Agatha’s cock. But then Agatha starts to move her hips and Rio matches her, and they’re both using you at the same time and you’ve never felt pleasure this intense before. 

“Look at our little whore, Rio,” Agatha chokes out and you can barely hear her over the wet sounds from your cunt and your gagging. You cough around her cock and it sends spittle pouring down your chin. “Taking both our cocks like the good slut she is. So fucking desperate for us. Oh, fuck—” You rub your tongue against the underside of her cock, where she’s really sensitive, and she pitches forward. 

“Such a good girl for mommy and daddy,” Rio coos before spanking you roughly. You whimper and the vibrations make Agatha’s hand tighten in your hair. Your jaw starts to burn but you try to relax and open a bit wider so Agatha can keep using your mouth. “Are we making you feel good, doll?” 

You babble something but it’s completely unintelligible with Agatha’s cock in your mouth and the fog in your brain, so you settle for nodding your head. Rio pulls your hips up to arch your back even more and you moan loudly, but it’s muffled. Rio is hitting so deep inside you that your toes are curling and your eyes are rolling back into your head. Both of their cocks are throbbing inside you and you know none of you are going to be able to last much longer. 

Your pussy clenches sporadically around Rio’s cock and your throat convulses around Agatha’s, and both of them are grunting with the effort of fucking you. You miss the shared glance between them and then all of a sudden, their thrusts match. They both push in and out of you at the same time and it’s completely overwhelming. 

“So fucking good,” Agatha rasps, both of them speeding up and your eyes gloss over. Tension like you’ve never felt is skating through your body, heat thrumming in your veins, and you feel everything. It’s all heightened — the way Rio’s cock drags against your walls, the way Agatha’s cock twitches against your tongue, you’re hyper-aware of Rio’s nails in your hips and Agatha’s hands both tangled in your hair. “Taking our cocks like a perfect slut. Our perfect slut. So good for mommy and daddy.” 

Rio starts to rut into you, shallowly but still quickly, and it feels like her cock is swelling inside you. “Fuck, doll, daddy’s gonna cum.” 

A thrill runs through you and you clench around her even more, but Agatha tightly says, “Not yet. Wait for me. We’re going to fill her up at the same time.” A loud keen rips itself out of your mouth, clear as day even with Agatha’s rough thrusts. Your throat is raw and your jaw is aching and tears are pouring down your face, mixing with the saliva on your chin, but you’re so fucking close and you need them to cum. Pressure is building up in your stomach in a way that’s never happened before, almost like you have to pee. 

But then they both give you a really hard thrust and the pressure explodes. You let out a sob and then you feel a gush of wetness and instant relief and Rio whimpers. 

“She fucking squirted,” Rio moans in awe, her breathing growing heavier. Agatha makes a pained sound and you know that they’re both so close.

So you suck Agatha’s cock roughly and she swears before stiffening. Rio sees this and drives her hips into you one last time before their warm seed spreads. You fall apart even more as they pump their cum into you, all three of you groaning and grunting. 

Agatha pulls out first and you gasp for breath, the cum that you didn’t swallow leaking out the side of your mouth. She cleans her cock off using your face and then swipes at the trail of cum with a finger and stuffs it back into your mouth. 

Rio stays inside you until she softens, both of you enjoying the feeling of her twitching every now and then when you clench from an aftershock. When her cock slips out of your body, her cum oozes out in globs and you fall onto the bed, absolutely spent and panting. 

The younger woman comes to stand in front of you next to Agatha and you can see how absolutely soaked you got her. There’s another pang of heat inside you when you take in how wet their cocks are. 

Agatha begins to slowly stroke hers and your breath catches in your throat when it slowly starts to harden again. 

“Let’s give her a second to recover,” she says, looking at Rio, “and then we switch. I want to know how her pussy feels after you’ve already cum inside it.” 

You can’t help the moan that escapes you. 

Fuck. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs

[dadsdog]

Kinda vague prompt but can you do some of your ur usual shit but like. In a truck. Like one with a bench seat. I like pretty much all the shit u post about. Js... truck. In a truck.

as an avid truck sex enjoyer, this is awesome ty :] this one's not very forcemasc-y but it's VERY dad/son fauxcest-y

while i'm all for dad/son incest fantasies, i can't stop thinking about a teenage boy, who opens up to an older man (maybe a family friend, a friend's father) about his relationship with his dad. how he was never there, how he never supported his son when he needed it most. the older man comforts him, wraps him up in a tight hug. "hey... you're gonna be okay bud." the boy sniffles and looks up at him, still clinging to him desperately, "thank you. im sorry for dumping all of this on you." he shakes his head. "don't say that kiddo, there's no need to be sorry. i'm happy to listen. just say the word and i'm there."

he starts spending less time at home, and more time with this older guy. he takes the boy to get food, shows him all his old interests, let's him ramble on for hours about one thing or another. and if the boy's father did anything that upset him, he would always be there to listen.

this kid finds himself thinking about him all the time. how wonderful he is, how patient and kind. he wonders what it would ve been like for him to be his dad instead. he thinks about how he smiles at him when he speaks, how handsome he is. he thinks about how whenever they re going out somewhere, he always rests his hand on the nape of the boy's neck. his hands are big and calloused, but so gentle. he wonders why he gets so excited when he touches him. wonders how his hands would feel cupping his chin or petting his hair.

"i wish you were my dad." the boy confesses to him, on a late night drive. he looks down, finds his hand gripping the truck's bench seat. the older man has gone strangely quiet. looking over at him, the boy tilts his head. "what's wrong?" the man feels his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "you shouldn't say stuff like that, kiddo." "why not? you might as well already be my dad, you're the one actually looking out for me."

the man pulls over jerkily, stopping in a forgotten, tree lined road. he exhales heavily, hands still clenched. "hey, what's wrong? did i do something?" he's never this quiet. the kid slides closer to him, and hears him inhale sharply, like the older man had just been burned. "are you ok? what did i do? i promise i wont do it again. please, just tell me whats wrong." he lays a hand onto the older man's knee.

suddenly, the man has the boy by the shoulders, gripping him tightly and pushing him away. he gasps, clearly spooked by the roughness of his touch. "i'm sorry, kiddo. you didn't do anything wrong. it's me." his hands loosen their grip ever so slightly, he starts to rub comforting circles up and down the boy's arm. "you can't say stuff like that." the boy tilts his head. "why?"

he had no idea what to say. because i've wanted to fuck you ever since you first cried into my shirt. because the idea of having you as my son gets me so hard i can't think. because i don't know how long i can have you in my car without losing control and taking advantage of you.

"because i..." he stares down into the boy's eyes.

"you just shouldn't." he starts to break away from the touch, but the kid moves to hold his hand, pouting up at him. "but i really do think of you like that. i think of you as my dad." he inhales sharply again, feeling his cock throb in his jeans. he tightens his jaw and his mind strains with the effort of not grabbing the kid and rutting his cock into him through their clothes.

the kid looks up at him, creeping even closer.

"i love you, dad."

the final shred of self control left in the man is shattered into nothing. he grabs the boy by his waist roughly, and puts his other hand in his hair. he brings their lips together in a sloppy, clumsy, hungry kiss. the boy's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open as he lets out a cry of surprise. this only allows the man to slip his tongue into his mouth.

"wait- mmh!" the boy is pulled roughly onto the man's lap, where he can feel the hard cock pressing up into him. the older man finally pulls away from the kiss and holds the boy's head on his shoulder. "fuck- 'm sorry. love you. god, you're such a good kid. fuck."

he's grinding into the boy's pussy, hissing his apologies into his ear. he can feel the boy take fistfuls of his shirt, gasping and shaking. "wait-what are you doing, please-" "shh. it's okay. you're okay. fuck, i'm sorry- just let me-" his hands grab hold of his hips, pushing the kids small body against his, listening to his shocked moans. the boy is too stunned to say anything, to ask what he's doing, why it makes him all wet down there, why it makes him feel so good. "mnh. shit. im sorry, have to have you- doing so good, champ-nnhgh." he feels the boy lift his head to look him in the eyes. tears are dripping down his cheeks, but his face is twisted in pleasure. his cock throbs so hard the kid can feel his pulse through his jeans.

"feels- nnh! it feels- weird, dad. nmh! dad!" he can't stop himself from slamming the boy's hips down onto his cock. "call me dad. fuck. do it again, son. nngh- say i'm your dad." the boy's thighs shake on his lap. "dad. nngh- you're my dad. mngh! ah! dad- please don't stop- hhnm" the kid feels warmth spreading through his body, and pooling in his stomach. the friction and the rubbing and the hands on his hips are all too much. he feels a pressure building, making his cries for dad even louder.

"ah! nmh! dad, m-my- it feels- nngh! oh god, dad. oh god oh god oh god dad." he feels the kids thrust his hips back and forth on dad's cock, chasing that fuzzy warm feeling in his tummy. "ngh- shit. such a good boy. c'mon son- fuck. gonna make me cum. gonna make your dad cum. nnnh, fuck!"

"dad, dad, dad! nnh! my- it's gonna- oh god daddy! daddy!" the boy doesn't know what's happening. his boxers are soaked through and his head is fuzzy and the pressure in his tummy is too much. he grinds his pussy into his dad's lap hard, in a long downward motion, that finally lets the pressure release.

his dad watches as he quivers, cumming on his lap, completely overwhelmed by the shock of his own orgasm. he watches his boy moaning and crying for him, and feeling his orgasm build, he grabs his hips and presses him down onto his cock, thrusting upwards and cumming in his jeans for his little boy.

the kid collapses into him, panting and shaking, occasionally twitching with aftershocks of his orgasm. the man, huffing and sweaty, embraces him, placing soft kisses on his head. they sit like that in his truck for a long few minutes, catching their breath, before his boy looks up at him.

"i love you, dad."

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 14.9 chapter index — next. chap.

c.w — smut, p in v masterlist

a.n — you did read that right. this has turned into a 15000 word monster... i'm not sure how it happened. ANYWAY. this is very late and i'm so very sorry. gramps went into emergency surgery, i started school and had the worst period cramps of my life but we all good, everything is much better now. i will be updating the other four parts very soon. (hopefully tee hee)

epilogue - part one

sunday, march 2nd

rafe was a heavy sleeper. you never knew that—not until now. he slept like a log, completely undisturbed despite the world moving around him. even with the sun pouring through the windows, turning his hair and eyelashes a shade of gold so soft it looked spun from honey, even with the familiar morning symphony of your family filling the house—your sister's giggles echoing from the yard as she played with your mom, your little brother waddling through the living room, bottle clutched in his tiny hands as he repeatedly bumped his head against rafe’s thigh—he didn’t so much as stir.  

he should consider himself lucky. you, on the other hand, could wake up from the mere sound of a door creaking open down the hall.  

you tried to imagine him in your bed instead of sprawled across your couch, head buried in your pillows, wrapped up in your blanket. would he sleep on the left or the right? hopefully the left, since you slept on the right—closest to the window, where the first light of morning always found you.  

did he dream? or did he have nightmares? did he mumble in his sleep? would you wake up to hear him speaking in slurred, sleepy gibberish, too out of it to make sense?  

did he sleep in sweats? pajamas? a button-up? shirtless? that felt very much like rafe, but you didn’t know. not yet, at least.  

did he linger in bed for thirty minutes before dragging himself up, or was he like you? someone who counted down from five to one and forced temselves up at one.

endless possibilities.

and something inside you whispered that you would find out. maybe not today. maybe not tomorrow. but the day would come, and when it did, you'd cherish it.  

you'd watch him just like you were watching him now, cataloging every detail—the way his lashes rested against his cheek, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. you’d memorize how his hair fell, how his lips looked impossibly soft, how the little crease between his brows never quite smoothed out, even in sleep. and you'd be allowed. 

you wouldn’t have to stop yourself from reaching out.  

you wouldn’t have to fight the urge to kiss him.  

because he would be yours. completely, irrevocably yours.  

“take a picture, it'll last longer.”  

your sister’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. you barely spared her a glance, still leaning against the archway separating the living room from the dining room, cradling a mug of now-cold tea in your hands.  

“go away,” you murmured, voice quiet but firm.  

she was right, but she could be right somewhere else.  

you'd been staring at him for well over fifteen minutes, still in your pajamas, unable to make yourself move, unable to be anywhere else. you had already called off work because the thought of leaving right now—leaving him—felt unbearable.  

were you one of those girlfriend? the kind who couldn’t stay away, who hovered and obsessed?  

girlfriend felt too soon.  

but then again, rafe had told you he loved you. twelve hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-four seconds ago, to be exact. 

your dad passed by, replacing your cold mug with a fresh one, steam curling in the air. you thanked him absentmindedly, fingers wrapping around the warmth.  

what kind of boyfriend would rafe be?  

you already knew he was touchy, that he liked kissing, that he had a habit of nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours, of holding eye contact just a little too long when you weren’t paying attention. he liked to watch you, studying you as you tutored him, as you cleaned, as if every little thing you did was worth committing to memory.  

but what about the rest?  

would he bring you flowers? take you to the movies, or more late-night drives along the coast? would he want to sit on the beach with you until the sky turned soft with morning, or would he prefer extravagant dates, something grand and exciting?  

what kind of gifts would he like?  

would he appreciate personalized things—carefully written ‘open when’ letters, little boxes filled with things meant just for him—or was he more materialistic? would he want his favorite cologne, designer watches, the kinds of things that held status?  

or would he prefer something he could do? something he could experience—a trip, an activity, something he could share with you or his friends?  

you’d probably just get him all of it. just to be sure.  

you’d only had one boyfriend before—not that you and rafe were official yet, but still.  

being a girlfriend the first time had been… odd.  

like having a boy who was a friend, and sometimes he kissed you, and it was just… fine.  

but with rafe?  

it felt nothing like that.  

and god, you wanted to do it right.  

maybe there was a research paper somewhere on how to be a good girlfriend.  

not that it mattered. rafe made it easy.  

he made your heart stutter, your stomach twist, your cheeks burn. he made you want to be good to him. to be perfect for him.  

and maybe that was impossible.  

but you would try.

rafe stirred, his arm lifting sluggishly to rub at his eyes, fingers dragging through the remnants of sleep. the motion caught your little brother’s attention immediately, his tiny head snapping up, curiosity flickering across his face at the sudden movement in the room. once he realized rafe was awake, he held out his arms in a way that said 'pick me up before i hurl this bottle at someone.'

"hey, buddy…" rafe rasped, voice thick with sleep as he reached for him, lifting him effortlessly and settling him onto his chest.  

you stayed still, watching in silence, your body at ease yet your heart hammering against your ribs. it was as if you could physically feel it swell, stretching wide with a warmth so intense it made your breath hitch.  

and then, as if he could sense it, his eyes found yours. sleepy, unfocused, but piercing all the same. that disarming gaze of his tugged at something deep within you, pulling you toward him like gravity itself. god, you wanted to go to him. to press yourself against him, burrow into his warmth, tuck your face into the crook of his neck and let the rest of the world fall away.  

"morning."  

his voice was quiet, rough around the edges, heavy with sleep. it was almost ridiculous how the sound of it sent tingles through every nerve in your body, warm and electric, curling low in your stomach.  

"morning."

your own voice was steadier than you felt, but your feet wouldn’t move. he looked so cozy—messy hair, sleepy eyes, the laziest, softest smile pulling at his lips. he was huggable, he was yours, and the ache to touch him, to climb into his space, to sink into his warmth, made your fingers twitch at your sides.  

his head rested against the couch arm, eyes impossibly tender as they traced over you.  

"gonna stay over there?"

he was almost smiling, teasing, but something expectant threaded through the words—something hopeful.  

your little brother wiggled off his chest and padded away, but rafe didn’t look away, didn’t so much as blink. he was watching you now, watching the hesitation in your stance, the way your weight shifted like you were trying to resist something inevitable.  

"i'm enjoying the view."

you grinned, and the corner of his lips twitched, a smirk creeping in slow and lazy.  

"taking in the sights?"

you nodded.  

"like what you see?" his brows lifted slightly, smirk deepening. "hope i’m up to standard."

another nod, another hum of approval.  

and then, softer—almost pleading—  

"c’mere."

your body moved before your mind could catch up. one second, you were standing. the next, you were there, sinking into him, his hands finding your waist as your knees pressed into the cushions.  

the need to touch him was unbearable, searing through your veins, clawing at your ribs.  

and then, finally, it hit you—you can.  

as much as you want. as long as you want.  

because he was yours.  

not some far-off dream.  

not a delusion.  

real.

your hands found his chest first, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cotton. slowly, they traveled upward, fingers brushing over his throat, his jaw, until your palms cradled his face, your thumb tracing the high point of his cheekbone.  

rafe turned into your touch, his lips brushing against the heel of your palm.  

"sleep okay?" he murmured, though there was a knowing edge to it, a quiet concern that made your stomach twist.  

because you both knew why he was asking.  

last night, by the time you’d finally come inside, you were wrecked. tear-streaked, hiccuping, clinging to rafe like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. you hadn’t wanted him to sleep on the couch. you had fought him on it, insisted, pleaded, but somehow—you weren’t even sure how—he had won that fight. maybe it was the exhaustion. maybe it was the way your body had already been shutting down from the sheer weight of the night.  

"me? i'm not the one who slept on the couch."

you narrowed your eyes, fingers still cupping his face, and his lips quirked at your pointed tone.  

"i slept good," he assured you. "hard surfaces are better for your back, you know?"  

you snorted, unconvinced. "got facts now, huh? copying me, cameron?"  

he chuckled, tilting his head against your palm, lashes fluttering briefly as he stretched out with a groan.  

"didn’t you know? i’m coming for your spot."  

your smile widened. "you sure you want that? i go to the library for fun, you know?"  

rafe made a face, and you laughed.  

"still want me?" you teased, only half joking.  

he tilted his head slightly, considering. for half a second.  

then, he kissed you.  

soft. chaste. a barely-there press of lips that still managed to steal the breath from your lungs. and god, you didn’t care that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet—you’d kiss him like this forever if he let you.  

when he pulled back, his nose nudged yours.  

"the real question is…" his voice was low, careful, like he was treading unsteady ground. "will you still have me?"  

you exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, just soaking him in.  

the past twenty-four hours had been an emotional wreckage. you had him, then you lost him, then you had him again in the span of a few, heart-crushing, life-altering hours.  

it was enough to make your head spin.  

enough to make you terrified that you could lose him just as easily.  

"that's a silly question."

your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and he melted into you, hands slipping around your waist, tugging you even closer until you could feel his heartbeat against your own.  

"is it?" he murmured, his fingers dragging along the length of your spine, leaving shivers in their wake.  

"it is," you whispered. "m’never letting you go."  

his hold tightened.  

"you promise?"  

the words were barely audible, spoken against your skin, fragile in the way only he could be.  

you squeezed him, felt his heartbeat against your own.  

"cross my heart."

after a surprisingly normal breakfast, rafe had stepped outside to take a phone call. judging by the rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips, you were pretty sure it was sarah. his sister was one of the few people who could make him look like that—unguarded, softened.  

you were elbow-deep in soapy water, stacking dishes into the drying rack, when your mom poked her head into the kitchen. her eyes twinkled with thinly veiled curiosity.  

“so,” she started, dragging out the word as she leaned against the counter.  

you turned, brows lifting. “so?”  

her gaze flicked meaningfully toward the glass doors, where rafe was pacing the length of your backyard, phone in hand. “do you have a boy who is a little more than a friend?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.  

a smirk tugged at your lips. “mm, are you asking if rafe is my boyfriend?”  

“am i asking if the boy who has been sleeping on my couch and practically living in my house for the past two months is your boyfriend now? yes, i just might be.” she deadpanned, eyes shifting between you and the boy outside.  

you smiled to yourself, wiping down a plate. “nope.”  

“no?” your dad’s voice came out of nowhere, making you nearly jump. you turned to see him standing in the doorway, confusion written all over his face.  

your mom echoed his disbelief. “no?”  

you nodded, amused. “not yet.”  

your dad huffed, crossing his arms. “not yet? well, what the hell is his plan? because i’m not about to have some kid walking in and out of this house—”  

before he could finish his sentence, the sliding door creaked open. rafe stepped inside, still distracted by his phone, but when the room fell into a tense silence, his eyes flickered up.  

his brows furrowed. “uh… hey, guys…” his gaze found yours, searching. “am i interrupting or…?”  

you shook your head a little too quickly. “no, no. they were just wondering what time we got home last night.” you turned to your parents, forcing a casual tone. “around ten, i think. you had only just gone to bed.”  

your mom pursed her lips before smiling at rafe. “uh huh. well, hope the couch wasn’t too terrible. it’s not exactly made for sleeping.”  

rafe waved a hand dismissively. “it was fine. i should’ve asked before crashing, it was kind of a last-minute thing.”  

your dad, who moments ago was seconds away from throwing him out, suddenly beamed. “that’s alright, you’re always welcome here, son.”  

you gawked at him, utterly incredulous, but he ignored you.  

your mom grabbed your dad’s arm, tugging him toward the hallway. “well, we should go because…” she shot him a pointed look, silently urging him to come up with an excuse.  

“because…” he faltered, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “we have children! yes, we should check on our other children. the little one’s been, uh… constipated lately—”  

their voices trailed off as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you blinking after them.  

“your parents are funny,” rafe murmured, stepping up behind you. you barely had time to react before he dropped his head atop yours, the warmth of his body settling against your back.  

“they’re weird,” you corrected.  

he chuckled, a quiet, deep sound. “they’re a little weird.”  

his breath was warm against your temple, the closeness of him making your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t sure how to name.  

“want me to help you dry those?” he asked softly.  

you nodded, unable to stop the smile curling at your lips. “here.”  

you handed him a mug, and he slid away just enough to grab a dish towel, falling into step beside you.

"were you on the phone with sarah?” you ask quietly, unable to hide your curiosity.  

rafe nods, still absentmindedly drying the dish in his hands. “yeah, she was asking if i was eating dinner with them tonight. we’re in that phase where my parents act super happy that she’s home—before they start picking fights with her.”  

your brows pull together. “they didn’t know she was coming back?”  

“no, they did. it was only really a surprise for me.”  

your stomach twists a little at that. “sorry it didn’t go exactly as planned,” you murmur, voice laced with quiet regret.  

rafe doesn’t answer right away. instead, he gently takes the cup from your hands, setting it down on the counter before his fingers slip around yours, warm and firm. “i’m the one who should apologize,” he says, voice thick with sincerity. “it happened at my house, with my friends. i invited you. i should’ve—i should’ve been better. if i knew—”  

“you already apologized,” you cut in softly. “a couple of times, actually. and it’s okay. you didn’t know.” you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i also have fault in this, you know?” you look away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “i was scared. scared to communicate, to let you all the way in, to trust you sometimes. i can say without a doubt that if i’d handled a few things differently, we wouldn’t be where we are.”  

rafe tilts his head side to side, clearly disagreeing. “you don’t have any fault in this.” he tugs you closer, guiding your arms around his neck. “how were you supposed to trust me when you already knew what i was like? maybe not in detail, but the vague image was always there—even before cora said anything. you were protecting yourself. it’s one of the most human responses.”  

your lips part, ready to argue, but he beats you to it. “but,” he exhales, a tiny smirk playing at his lips, “i doubt i’ll win this fight, so let’s just agree to disagree.”  

he kisses you once, then again, softer this time, like the words themselves weren’t enough to settle it. your lips twitch with a smile you can’t control.  

“agree to disagree,” you whisper against his mouth before pressing a few more kisses to his lips, unable to stop yourself.  

he lets out a small chuckle, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, slow and affectionate. you think you could live in this quiet forever.  

“what time are you leaving?” your voice is quiet, already heavy with the weight of missing him before he’s even gone.

“soon,” he murmurs, his breath warm as it brushes against your temple, “but i’m coming back.”

your brows knit together, searching his face, his eyes, the way his lips barely quirk like he knows something you don’t. “you’re coming back?”

he nods, fingers grazing the curve of your jaw like he’s memorizing it. “there’s this girl…”

your smile is instant, soft and knowing. “mm?”

“she’s been running through my mind for so long,” he says, voice dipping lower, threading through your hair, “and i’m crazy about her.”

your grin spreads, helpless against the pull of him. “sounds serious.”

“yeah.” he smirks like he’s got a secret, and god, you love when he looks at you like that. “and i haven’t taken her on a date yet.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest in mock scandal. “you haven’t taken her on a date yet?”

he shakes his head, feigning shame. “shameful, right?”

“absolutely. they should lock you up and throw away the key.”

his laughter rumbles between you, deep and warm, and you wish you could steal it, keep it somewhere safe. “damn,” he grins, pulling you closer. “throw away the key and everything?”

you nod solemnly. “except… if you can redeem yourself.”

he hums, amused. “redeem myself?”

you tip your chin up. “mmhm. like telling her where exactly you want to take her.”

his lips hover over yours, his voice a murmur against your mouth. “no can do. state secrets.” he presses a kiss to you, then another, softer between each word. “and we leave at four.”

your head spins. you barely register what he’s saying because all you can think about is the way he tastes, the way his hands tighten on your waist like he’d rather not let you go at all.

then he pulls back just enough to tilt his head, studying you like he’s about to say something important. “you should tell your parents you’re sleeping at hazel’s house,” he says casually, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, “and bring an overnight bag.”

your eyes widen. “an overnight bag?”

his smirk deepens at your reaction. “mmhm.”

“are we staying at your house?” you ask, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “give me a little more credit than that.”

you narrow your eyes but let it slide. “okay… how should i dress if you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

he exhales, like he’s carefully picking his words. “it’s… outside. we’re walking around. not hiking or anything, but walking. like, imagine a museum—but it’s not a museum.”

you blink. “imagine a museum, but it’s not a museum?”

he nods, his grin tilting. “and bring warm clothes to sleep in.”

your stomach flips at that. he must notice because he laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “no, we are not sleeping outside.”

relief floods you. “thank god,” you mumble. “i’d do a lot of things for you, but camping? not one of them.”

rafe grins, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “camping is actually fun, you know,” he teases, his words muffled in your hair.

you let out a tiny, skeptical laugh. “yeah, the bugs, the grass, the dirt… my dream.”

his chest shakes with laughter, pressing his lips to your forehead. “you’re such a pessimist. they’re not bugs, they’re just little critters. it’s not grass and dirt,” he grins, “it’s nature and fresh air, and it’s good for your soul.”

“no, i’m a realist. and ‘critters’ do not sound better than bugs.”

his laughter softens, something deeper settling in his eyes as he looks at you. his arms tighten, holding you like he’s grounding himself in you, in this moment, in everything you are.

“you’re good for my soul,” you whisper, barely a breath between you. “that’s enough ‘good for the soul’ for me.”

his body relaxes against yours, the air shifting, something warm and certain pressing between your ribs. he leans down, lips brushing the top of your head, his breath stirring your hair.

“think it’s enough for me too, baby.”

you’d read somewhere that the brain falls in love in 0.2 seconds. a fraction of a moment—less than the blink of an eye—and suddenly, chemicals flood your system. dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline. the same kind of high that leaves people breathless, euphoric, addicted.  

you never really believed it. 0.2 seconds? seriously? your brain had to have more fight in it than that. love seemed more complex, something slow-building, something earned. but now, pressed against rafe’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around you—you realize it wasn’t just true. it lasted a lot longer than that.  

and god, were you in trouble.  

eventually, rafe pulled himself away, murmuring something about needing to shower and change. he promised he’d be back at four, but you were too restless to wait. by two, you were already ready to go.  

you cleaned your room, checked over your schoolwork, called off volunteering, helped your mom downstairs—anything to burn through the extra energy buzzing beneath your skin. and still, there was too much time left.  

with nothing left to do, you were ready to just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you got a text from your friends.

“hey!” you greeted, too bright, too excited.  

three pairs of eyes blinked at you through the screen, varying degrees of shock and mild concern staring back.  

“hey… y/n,” hazel started cautiously, brows furrowed. “are you okay?”

only then did you remember—they had no idea what had happened after ivy left.  

by the time you finished telling them everything, their reactions were wildly different.  

hazel, unsurprisingly, remained skeptical. her lips pressed into a thin line as she folded her arms, eyes narrowing in that way that told you she was biting back several very strong opinions. “you need to be careful,” she warned. “i wouldn’t have taken him back on principle.”  

you rolled your eyes, already bracing for a future where hazel inevitably fell in love and her poor, unfortunate partner suffered under her stubborn, unshakable sense of justice.  

devon, on the other hand, was thrilled. she’d always liked rafe the most, but devon liked everyone that could make her laugh. and since she found almost everything funny, her enthusiasm wasn’t exactly a surprise. “this was all adriana and cora’s fault,” she declared confidently. “it only seems complicated because of misunderstandings.”  

honestly, she wasn’t completely wrong.  

ivy was the last to react, but only because she needed everything explained twice. she kept getting lost in the names and timelines, but once she caught up, she leaned back, thoughtful. “i get where hazel’s coming from,” she admitted. “but… i’ve never seen someone look at another person the way rafe looks at you.” she shook her head, like even she couldn’t believe it. “he’s in love with you. and i think you guys deserve a real chance.”  

your chest tightened, an ache so sweet it almost hurt.  

hazel made valid points. you couldn’t deny that things could have been handled better, that rafe had a past, that there were risks.  

but love had to count for something.  

the way he touched you like you were something delicate and precious, the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for you, the way he looked at you—like you were the most important thing in the world.  

you had to see this through. you deserved to try.

by the time the conversation was winding down, your phone buzzed with a message from rafe—here—and before you could even process it, the doorbell rang. the timing made you smile, a giddy, unshakable thing that only grew as you imagined him just downstairs, waiting for you. waiting to kiss you the moment you reached him, to pull you close in the car, to sit beside you, hands brushing, the warmth of him something you could sink into.  

there weren’t enough words to describe what it felt like to be in love with rafe. he was lightning in your veins, a thrill in your pulse, the kind of presence that made your skin hum and your heart stumble over itself. every bit of him exhilarated you—the way he looked at you, the way he laughed, the way just existing near him felt like standing at the edge of something breathtaking.  

“alrighttt,” ivy teased from the tiny rectangle on your laptop screen, dragging out the word with a knowing smirk. “go get your man before you implode.” she waved a hand, shooing you off.  

“i’ll text every hour, okay?” you added, mostly directing it toward hazel, who nodded, lips quirking.  

“have fun!” devon grinned, throwing up a thumbs-up.  

“fun with protection,” hazel added flatly, and your jaw dropped, eyes going wide.  

“hazel!” you gasped, half-laughing, half-scandalized.  

she only shrugged, entirely unbothered, and waved you off as you ended the call.  

you shut your laptop, the nerves settling in properly now, fluttery and insistent. you rushed down the two flights of stairs, your heart thumping louder with each step, and before you even reached the bottom, you could already hear his voice, deep and familiar, threading through the hallway.  

“no, the season’s over,” rafe was saying, his tone easy, patient.  

your mom hummed, and then—ohhh, drawn out like a realization had just dawned on her. “so, it’s like the seasons of the year? like winter, fall—”  

you nearly winced before you heard rafe chuckle, cutting in quickly, “no, no, no.” he sounded amused, not condescending, his usual charm at play. “it’s one season. the season runs from mid-august to mid-november. that’s when we play in the big arenas. the rest of the year is off-season training, then pre-season prep, and sometimes, we have non-official games against other teams.”  

“mm,” your mom nodded, absorbing the information. as you stepped up behind her, she turned, startled for a second before her face softened. “oh! i was just talking to rafe about his soccer schedule—it’s quite intensive, actually.” her expression shifted to that motherly concern she always wore when she thought you were stretching yourself too thin.  

you bit back a grin, already knowing what was coming.  

“it’s like what i tell y/n, you know?” she said, turning back to rafe, who raised his brows, clearly entertained. “always with her head buried in those books. i keep telling her, anything with ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ in front of it is bad. too much studying, and her little head might break.” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “i worry—”  

“okay, mhm, i know, mom. i know,” you interjected, nodding quickly as you looped an arm through hers, gently steering her toward the living room before she could launch into another full speech.  

rafe, for his part, was valiantly holding back a laugh, his lips twitching as he watched you usher your mom away. you shot him a look, but the fondness in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“your mom complaining because you study too much? that’s unheard of.” rafe teases the moment you step back into the foyer, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips.

“my mom is unheard of,” you correct, but the words barely register as you take him in. he looked good. he always did, but tonight—tonight he looked unfairly good. black cargos, a deep green sweater snug against his frame, the edge of a white shirt peeking out beneath it. his hair, effortlessly tousled in that way that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed—but you knew better. he did that on purpose.

before you can say anything else, he hooks a finger into the hem of your shirt, tugging you forward. you don’t resist, smiling as the space between you vanishes.

“hi,” you murmur, tilting your chin up as his hand cups your face, thumb brushing featherlight over your cheek.

“hey,” he breathes back, leaning in—so close you can almost taste the mint on his breath. but just as his lips are about to touch yours, he stills.

his voice drops to a whisper. “your sister is staring at us.”

your eyes snap open in horror. mortified. and annoyed.

sure enough, when you turn your head, there she is, standing in the hallway like a tiny executioner, arms crossed, smirk sharp.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you mock, throwing her own words from this morning back at her.

without a beat of hesitation, she pulls out the little flip phone your dad gave her.

“oh my god! don’t actually take the picture!” you gasp, exasperated. behind you, rafe’s quiet chuckle vibrates through your back.

she doesn’t even acknowledge you, just huffs, arms crossing tighter. “dad!” she calls out, voice ringing through the house. “y/n won’t let me take a picture of her and rafe kissing!” she storms off.

you squeeze your eyes shut, dying inside, but rafe only laughs again. the sound is warm, reassuring—just like the way his arms slip around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“you look pretty,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your shoulder, lingering. “and you smell good.” his mouth trails higher, ghosting over your neck, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

your fingers tighten in his sweater as you exhale, tilting your head just enough to capture his lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. “thank you.” your voice is quieter now, just for him.

you pull back slightly, hands drifting to his shoulders as you study him again. “hmm…” your grin curves slow, playful. “you look nice, but i still can’t tell where we’re going from this outfit.”

he smirks, leaning down for another kiss, this one deeper, slower. when he pulls back, his voice is lower. “that’s kind of the point with surprises.”

you laugh softly as he grabs the duffel bag from your hands.

“we should get going.”

you nod, stepping away. “yeah, i just need to say bye to my parents. i’ll be right out.” you’re already turning when he murmurs his agreement, stepping out the front door.

inside, you find your parents in the living room. your mom is braiding your sister’s hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

“hey, i’m heading out. i’ll see you guys tomorrow after school?”

your mom glances up, eyes sweeping over you like she’s checking for something. “you don’t have a thicker sweater? it’s quite cold.”

“it isn’t that cold, she’ll be alright,” your dad interjects, offering you a thumbs-up. “just text us when you get to hazel’s, alright?”

you nod quickly, then turn back to your mom. “i’ll take my good coat, and worst case, i’ll ask rafe for a sweater.” you offer her a reassuring smile.

she studies you for a beat longer, then softens, giving you a warm nod. “okay. have fun.”

you turn on your heel, snatching your coat from the wall hook in one fluid motion before stepping outside. the crisp air rushes to greet you, cool against your flushed cheeks, curling around your skin like a whisper of excitement. the door clicks shut behind you, sealing away the warmth of inside, but you don’t mind—not when rafe is here, waiting.

he leans against his car, fingers idly playing with his keys, the metal glinting under the dim glow of the streetlights. he’s distracted, his head tilted down, but the second you step out, he pauses. his eyes find yours instantly, scanning your face, his lips parting just slightly. “all good?” his voice is gentle, edged with something soft, something careful.

you nod, unable to contain the giddy energy bubbling inside you. your feet carry you to him quickly, almost skipping, like a child running toward something they’ve been waiting all day for. “all good, good, good.” you beam up at him, stretching onto your toes to press a quick, eager kiss to his lips.

his chuckle is quiet, warm, but his arms instinctively settle around your waist, keeping you close. “you’re happy,” he observes, amusement laced in his voice.

your grin widens as you nod. “i’ve got every reason to be.” the words are as much for him as they are a reminder to yourself.

his nose brushes against yours, the smallest touch, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “i love seeing you smile,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you.

and because it’s him, because it’s always him, you smile even more. “i love you.”

his forehead rests against yours, his eyes locking onto yours like they hold the whole world inside them. “i love you too, baby.”

the drive to your destination is both too slow and far too fast, stretching time and collapsing it all at once. you want to savor every second, but you also ache to get there, wherever there is.

every car ride with rafe is something special. even the short ones, when he’d drop you off at the retirement home, where you’d linger in his car long after he had already parked, just talking, stretching the moment, neither of you wanting to leave, not ready to say goodbye. but the long ones? those were the best. time felt slower then, like the world outside the car didn’t matter, like all that existed was the steady hum of the engine, the soft music threading through the speakers, and the effortless conversation between you.

talking with rafe was easy. being with him was easy. you were always full of things to say, stories to tell, and he was always ready to listen, to laugh, to add his own thoughts like your words were puzzle pieces he was eager to fit together. the soft melody playing in the background only made it all feel more domestic, more right, like something you could do forever.

“remember when we were at the beach, and you said you should have more fun?” he asks suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of conversation.

you nod, thinking back to that day, the way you had sighed and confessed it like it was a secret. “yeah. this is something fun?”

he grins, nodding. “it is.”

your mind spins with possibilities. “is it…” you pause dramatically, narrowing your eyes at him, “roller skating?”

his laugh is easy, shaking his head. “you already guessed that one.” he tilts his head toward the windshield. “we’re almost there, though.”

your gaze follows his, and in the distance, bright lights glow against the night sky, unmistakable and familiar. your heart stutters.

“the fair!” you nearly scream, your excitement bubbling over into your voice. you turn to him, wide-eyed. “oh my god, i haven’t been back in years. i never—”

“find the time?” he finishes smoothly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

you nod, eyes shining. “thank you, thank you!” the words spill out as you grab his face, pressing frantic kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, anywhere you can reach. he just laughs, letting you, his hands resting on your waist.

“this is gonna be so fun.” you bounce slightly in your seat, your gaze snapping back to the road, watching as the fair grows closer, the colors sharpening, the lights glittering. anticipation buzzes under your skin. “i hope you’re ready to spend the next fifteen hours here, because i am not leaving until we’ve played every game. oh! we have to go on the ferris wheel.” you turn back to him, eyes pleading. “and we have to do the duck fishing game! a lot of people find it kinda boring, but i always loved it as a kid. you get fun prizes!" you ramble, the memories flooding back, making you smile at the thought of it all.

"anddd!" you continue, as rafe parks the car and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, "we can do the can knockdown and the basketball shootout! though i’m not very good at that..." you tilt your head, biting your lip.

"basketball shootout? that’s my game," rafe says, his tone teasing yet reassuring. "don’t worry, i'll show you how to score." a grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but lean in, kissing him again, your lips lingering against his, sharing a moment of warmth.

when you step out of the car, rafe briefly checks his parking, but you're too eager to wait. you tug gently at his hand, your excitement bubbling over. "okayyy! let’s go!" you urge, practically bouncing on your toes.

"okay, someone’s excited," rafe murmurs with a smile, pulling you close, his arm sliding around your shoulder as you both start walking toward the fair, the lights ahead like a dream come to life.

the fair was alive with energy, a constant hum of voices blending with the sounds of laughter and music. the air was thick with the scent of cotton candy and popcorn, and you could feel the vibrant pulse of excitement as people swarmed the grounds. scattered among the crowd were a few familiar faces from school, most of them nodding or waving at rafe from a distance, though there were one or two who actually stopped to chat with him for a moment.

you dove into the carnival games, clearly more excited than anything else. your enthusiasm was contagious as you breezed through everything, from the ring toss and pick-a-duck to the basketball shootout, can knockdown, and the bb gun shooting booth. you even tried your hand at the hammer strength test and the wheel of fortune. each game offered a prize, and by the time you were done, you had racked up so many stuffed animals that rafe had to make a quick trip to his car to stash a couple in the backseat. you kept only the one he won for you, clutching it close as if it were a prized possession.

"i’ve got a perfect name for him," you grinned when rafe returned, slipping his hand into yours. you hugged the bear tight to your chest.

"yeah?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes.

"rafe jr!" you exclaimed, your face lighting up with mischief.

rafe paused, turning to look at you with a playful smile. "he’s your son. isn’t he adorable?" you ask him.

"i think he’s our son," rafe said, his tone teasing but warm.

you hummed thoughtfully, "yeah, from nine a.m. to ten p.m., he can be our son. but at night, he’s all yours. i need my eight hours of sleep," you joked, and rafe gave you a mock disapproving look.

"unbelievable," he muttered, feigning indignation as he took the bear from you. "give me my son. you don’t even deserve him," he laughed, shaking his head as you giggled.

"let’s do the mirror palace," rafe said suddenly, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next attraction.

"oh, no," you groaned, a playful whine creeping into your voice. "i suck at mazes. do you know how many bruises i've gotten because of this place?" you complained as he led you into the line. he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

"you were probably between six and ten years old the last time you were here," he teased, his lips brushing your shoulder. "but don't worry, we’ll stick together. i’ll make sure we get out without any bruises."

you couldn’t help but smile at his reassurance, finding comfort in his presence. "okay," you agreed, your voice soft. "can we do the ferris wheel too?" you whispered, hopeful.

he gave you a tender smile and nodded. "we’ll do the ferris wheel, baby," he whispered back, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. you smiled faintly, feeling the warmth of his affection, and he kissed you again, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away.

the line for the maze isn’t long, and rafe makes the wait feel like nothing at all. "hey, two tickets, please," he says, voice low but casual as he pulls his wallet out, handing over a stack of bills. the cashier, with a soft smile, takes them, passing back two tickets with practiced ease. "here you go," she says, her tone polite but robotic, "no running and no backtracking. have fun." the words sound like a rehearsed mantra, something she'd said to every other person before.

"no backtracking?" you ask, your voice tinged with nerves as rafe laces his fingers through yours, pulling you toward the entrance. "what if we get lost? what if we—"

"baby, we won't get lost," he laughs, that deep, confident sound that always manages to settle your racing thoughts. he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, the warmth of his lips grounding you. "this is a game for little kids. we’ll make it, no problem." you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s probably right. you nod, taking another step forward into the maze, the twisted corridors pulling you further in.

the maze is oddly quiet, aside from the occasional echo of laughter or giggling in the distance. the floors beneath your feet are dotted with glowing lights that form shifting patterns, while above, the ceiling is impossibly high—so high that you can't quite make out its end, thanks to the mirrored surface reflecting everything around you. it all feels like a strange dream, the kind where you’re falling endlessly but never quite hit the ground.

"god, this is so weird," you mutter, as rafe gently tugs you back just in time to avoid you running into yet another mirror. "i swear, we’ve been down this hallway already." you stop in your tracks, scanning your surroundings. rafe continues walking, but his hand, still clutching yours, halts him after a few steps.

"we haven’t been down this hallway yet," he says, looking over his shoulder at you. "i’d know." his tone is teasing, but you can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

"all the hallways look the same," you protest, "how would you know?"

"i’m a pro at this," he grins, tugging you closer. "you just don’t believe me." his hands settle on your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt. "or trust me," he murmurs, lips barely grazing your ear as he pulls you even closer.

"i’m too young to die, and i can’t die in a maze, rafe," you whine softly, your voice barely audible. he chuckles, the sound warm against your skin.

"don’t be whiny," he teases, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you can even respond. your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

"i’m not whiny…" you protest, though the words are muffled as his breath fans across your lips. your eyes flutter closed, and you exhale softly, the warmth of his presence overwhelming in the best way.

"really?" rafe’s voice is low and teasing as his lips brush against yours, barely making contact. "because you sound pretty whiny to me." his hands slide up your back, sending a chill through your spine as his lips trace the curve of your jaw. he pulls you flush against him, his body pressing into yours with a teasing urgency.

"rafe…" you sigh, words getting caught in your throat. you want to beg him to kiss you, to press you up against one of these endless mirrors and kiss you until you're breathless, but somehow, the words won’t come. instead, you lean into him, your lips chasing his in desperate need.

"yeah, pretty girl?" rafe’s voice is rough, husky, and it makes your knees feel weak. your heart races in your chest as you try to form a coherent thought, but all you can focus on is him. his presence. the heat between you. your lips are barely a breath away, and you lean in, chasing him as your fingers tangle in his hair.

he pulls away just enough for you to feel the loss, his lips brushing against your skin. "tell me," he insists, his voice barely a whisper, but it carries an urgency that makes your breath catch. he kisses everywhere but your lips, trailing soft, teasing touches along your jaw and neck. his nose skims your skin, the sensation making your body shiver.

"want you to kiss me…" you manage to murmur, almost begging, your hands tightening in his hair. rafe hums, the sound vibrating through your chest.

"wasn't too hard now, was it?" he whispers, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing mockery of what you’ve been yearning for. and before you can respond, his lips crash against yours. it’s frantic, hungry, as if he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you. you’re pushed up against the mirror, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body.

his hands find their way to your waist, pressing you harder against him as his tongue slips into your mouth, coaxing a soft gasp from you. the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer just a kiss—it’s consuming, overwhelming, a blur of heat and touch. the world fades away, and all you can think about is rafe. his lips. his hands. him.

the kiss drags on, relentless, until you’re both left gasping for air. rafe pulls back slightly, brushing his lips against yours with a soft smile. "don’t think that’s ever gonna get old," he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied. he takes your hand, tugging you along deeper into the maze.

eventually, though, he does get you both out. you’d almost lost hope twice, ready to scream for help, but somehow, you made it out together.

with his hand nestled in yours, fingers laced together like a quiet promise, you wandered through the fair, the golden glow of string lights casting soft halos over the crowd. laughter and the distant chime of game bells filled the air as you played a few more rounds, the scent of caramel and fried dough clinging to the night. finally, you reached the ferris wheel, its towering silhouette outlined against the deep blue sky.  

"line's a little long," rafe noted, eyes flicking toward the slow-moving queue stretching toward the ticket booth. he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. "i'm gonna head to the food stand and grab us something small while we wait. that okay?"  

you nodded quickly. "okay."  

he leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your lips before you could say anything else. you caught his sleeve as he pulled away, adding, "can you also get me some water?"  

"mm, be right back," he murmured, squeezing your fingers before slipping into the crowd.  

left alone, you took the moment to respond to a few messages, the ferris wheel’s bright lights reflecting in your screen. the line inched forward, and just as you pocketed your phone, rafe reappeared, pressing a warm pretzel wrapped in a napkin into your hands.  

"here," he said, and you quickly took a bite, the buttery salt melting on your tongue.  

"you didn't get anything?" you asked, noticing he only held your bottle of water and a can of coke.  

"not hungry enough for anything right now," he shrugged, tucking his arm around your shoulder as the line moved forward again. without a second thought, you held up your pretzel to his lips.  

he grinned and took a bite, murmuring a muffled, "thanks," as he chewed. you smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  

at the register, rafe pulled out his wallet, handing over cash for two tickets. standing closer to the wheel now, he tilted his head up, studying it. "jesus," he muttered under his breath. "when you're this close, it’s really high..."  

you grinned, nudging him. "got a little fear of heights you forgot to mention?"  

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "no fear of heights," he countered, feigning nonchalance. "just didn’t think it’d be this tall."  

when the attendant swung open the little cabin door, rafe let you step in first before sliding in beside you. the seat was softer than expected, and as the wheel began its slow ascent, he draped an arm around you, settling comfortably.  

"you can see the whole island from the top," you mused, eyes sparkling as you glanced at him.  

rafe smirked. "yeah?"  

"mm-hmm," you hummed, then added mischievously, "and don’t worry—it goes reallll slow."  

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "i’m not scared of heights," he insisted.  

"uh huh." you shrugged, taking another bite of your pretzel.  

the cabin continued its gentle climb, and a small window near the side caught your attention. curiosity got the best of you, and before rafe could react, you popped your head out for a better view. the wind brushed against your face, cool and sweet, but before you could even take it all in, rafe's hand was gripping your waist, tugging you back in with a firm urgency.  

"okay, that's enough," he muttered, brows drawn together, his jaw tight.  

you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as he shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as serious as he wanted it to be.  

if he wasn’t so tense, you might’ve asked to go again. but seeing the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his grip on you lingered even after the moment had passed, you decided against it. you’d spare him—for now.

ooh! a photobooth!" you yell out, excitement bubbling over as you grab rafe’s hand and pull him toward the big red box in the distance. the glossy surface gleams under the carnival lights, and you practically bounce on your feet as you take in the example pictures displayed on the side. “look at this! i think it’s new…” your fingers trail over the smooth panel, eyes scanning the details. before you can even turn to ask rafe if he wants to take some, he’s already ducking inside, reaching back to tug you onto his lap with effortless ease.  

“let’s see…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin as he scrolls through the options on the screen. you pull the small curtain shut, enclosing the two of you in the intimate space, the air thick with anticipation. “black and white or color?” rafe asks, his chin resting on your shoulder, voice low and unhurried. you tilt your head in thought before deciding, “uhh… black and white.” the choice feels right, timeless. you fish out a couple of coins from your pocket, sliding them into the slot with a soft clink. 

“okay, ready?” rafe asks, his blue eyes flickering with amusement as he watches you. you nod, grinning. but then a thought crosses your mind, and you blurt out, “wait, how many does it take?”  

“four, i think,” rafe replies just as the first flash goes off. instinctively, you stick your tongue out, only realizing after that your hair is a mess. laughter spills from your lips as you quickly try to smooth it down, but rafe is faster—his fingers weave through the strands, gently fixing it as the countdown begins again.  

“oh, god, the countdown is so fast!” you squeal, both of you scrambling to pose, but it’s useless—you end up just laughing at each other, faces flushed with amusement.  

“that one is cute. look at your smile,” rafe grins, tilting his head to study the preview. your cheeks warm at his words, a touch of shyness creeping in. rafe notices, his own smile softening before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek just as the third picture snaps.  

the final countdown begins, and rafe’s fingers—gentle yet firm—grasp your chin, turning your face toward him. “last one,” he murmurs, a teasing glint in his eyes. you don’t hesitate. instead, you wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him in, lips meeting his in a kiss just as the last flash goes off.  

when you pull away, rafe chases your lips for a second, stealing another soft kiss before finally letting you slide off his lap. you push the curtain open, stepping out into the cool night air, the distant hum of carnival rides and laughter filling the space around you.  

seconds later, the photo strip slides out from the machine. you grab it eagerly, holding it up. “they came out so cute! look!” you beam, showing rafe as he steps beside you.  

his gaze flickers over the strip, a small smile tugging at his lips. “they did. the black and white looks good,” he agrees, his fingers effortlessly intertwining with yours as you both start walking again, your eyes still fixed on the little captured moments.  

they were perfect.

"i had so much fun, thank you for bringing me here," you say, glancing at rafe as the two of you walk through the parking lot, the cool night air settling over your skin. the distant hum of traffic, the flickering neon signs, the soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement—it all feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.  

"i’m happy you liked it," rafe replies, his voice carrying a certain secrecy that immediately piques your curiosity. "but the date’s not over yet."  

you blink at him, lips curling into a smile. "it’s not?"  

he shakes his head, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "nope. one more surprise. now get in." he nudges you playfully, holding the passenger door open like the perfect gentleman he pretends not to be.  

your heart flutters as you slide inside, excitement buzzing through you despite the dull ache creeping into your feet. the night is stretching on, dark and velvety, but instead of feeling tired, you feel alive, giddy with the thought that the evening isn’t over yet.  

"can i try to guess this one?" you ask the moment you buckle in, eyes gleaming with anticipation.  

rafe chuckles, shaking his head as he starts the car. "you know, it wouldn’t kill you to let it be a surprise. ever heard of ‘curiosity killed the cat’?"  

"and what brought it back?" you counter smoothly, neatly tucking the photobooth pictures into your bag. "the truth."  

he scoffs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "even if i gave you hints, you’d still be terrible at guessing."  

your mouth drops open in exaggerated offense. "no! your hints just suck!"  

"oh, my hints suck?" he laughs, shooting you a knowing look. "i literally said you might walk away with some prizes, and you thought i was taking you to a casino."  

you roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile stretching across your face. "it was a solid guess! a casino is a place where you can win things!"  

"try thinking about why i asked you to bring warm pajamas."  

you pause, tilting your head as you study him. he’s taking you somewhere cold, that much is obvious—but where? and why?  

the rest of the ride is spent grilling rafe, who remains infuriatingly tight-lipped, dodging every one of your guesses with a smug grin. the city lights blur past in streaks of gold and red, and eventually, the car rolls to a stop near the docks.  

you step out, scanning your surroundings. the air is thick with the scent of salt and freshly grilled seafood, the restaurants nearby buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses. but none of this explains why he told you to bring warm pajamas.  

he takes your hand and leads you past the restaurants, past the shops, past everything—until you’re stepping through a smaller, tucked-away entrance that spills out onto the docks, where at least fifty boats are lined up in neat rows.  

"are we getting on a boat?" you ask, glancing at him in surprise.  

he still doesn’t answer. just pulls you along, his grip firm but gentle.  

"rafe, i—"  

the words catch in your throat.  

because suddenly, you see it.  

a boat, different from all the others, its edges wrapped in warm golden lights that twinkle against the dark water. flower petals are scattered along the deck like something out of a dream. a table is set for two, draped in crisp white linen, with two gleaming cloches covering the plates beneath. and above it all, the sky is painted in breathtaking shades of pink and lavender, the last remnants of the sunset bleeding into the horizon.  

you don’t move. you don’t breathe.  

rafe steps onto the boat first, setting the bags down before turning back to you, his expression softer now, almost nervous. he holds out a hand. "c’mon."  

your fingers tremble as they slip into his.  

"rafe," you whisper, voice barely above the lapping of the waves, already feeling the sting of tears gathering behind your eyes.

rafe reaches behind you, fingers brushing against the back of the chair as he grabs something—then, turning back to you, he reveals a bouquet of flowers.  

"before you say anything, i just need to do this," he murmurs, voice quieter now, as he hands them to you.  

your hands tighten around the bouquet instinctively, but you barely register the softness of the petals, too caught up in the way his eyes flicker, how his throat bobs as he swallows.  

"there's a note inside," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck as if he's trying to steady himself. "i wasn’t sure if i’d be able to say what i needed to say, so i wrote it down. but now that you’re standing right in front of me..." he hesitates, glancing down at the bouquet, then back at you. "i think i want to read it to you."  

your breath catches.  

he reaches into the bouquet, pulling out a small, neatly folded note, his fingers careful as he smooths it open. the sun is dipping lower, casting everything in gold and amber, and for a moment, you just watch him. the glow of the fading light makes his features impossibly soft, the strands of his tousled hair illuminated like something out of a dream.  

his eyes scan the paper, then flicker up to you. he exhales sharply.  

"god," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head slightly.  

your brows pull together. "you don’t have to—"  

"no, no," he interrupts quickly, waving a hand. "it’s not that. it’s just... you—" he exhales again, almost frustrated with himself. "you look really good right now. i can’t think straight."  

your heart stumbles over itself.  

heat spreads across your cheeks, and you bite back a grin, stepping closer to him. "you’re awful."  

"i’m awful?" he scoffs, tilting his head at you, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. "you’re the one over there, completely wrecking my concentration."  

his voice is soft, teasing, and the way he’s looking at you—like there’s no one else in the world—makes your chest ache. without thinking, you rise onto your toes, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss.  

he kisses you back, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. but as soon as your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, he pulls away with a pointed look.  

"see?" he murmurs, shaking his head in mock exasperation.  

you throw your head back in laughter. "okay, okay! i’m sorry! you have my undivided, uninterrupting attention."  

his lips twitch into a smirk before he clears his throat, bringing his attention back to the note in his hands.  

his voice is steady as he begins to read.  

"last semester, our science teacher told us that romantic love activates the same brain regions as drug addiction—especially the dopamine reward system."  

he glances up at you briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting like he already knows how silly he sounds. but he keeps going.  

"at the time, i didn’t think much of it. honestly, i probably forgot about it five minutes later. but a week after our first tutoring session, that random fact came rushing back. because by then, i wasn’t just falling for you—i was being consumed by you. every little thing you did, every quirk, every expression. the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something so intricate i could barely follow. the way you smiled. the way you blinked, even."  

he pauses, his jaw clenching for a second before he continues.  

"i couldn’t understand why i couldn’t stop thinking about you—why you had settled so deeply into my mind, in my bones, under my skin. and then, suddenly, i did. that fact from last semester snapped back into place."  

his voice is quieter now, more careful, like every word is something he needs you to hear.  

"you’re the first thought in my mind when i wake up and the last thing i think of before i fall asleep. you are my favorite part of every day."  

you feel your breath hitch, your hands tightening around the bouquet.  

"i will always feel sorry for anyone who never gets the chance to know you the way i do—to be wrapped in your kindness, to hear your laughter over and over, to know what your lips feel like, to be loved by you."  

his gaze flickers up to yours, a quiet intensity in his eyes.  

"you are extraordinary, and i know you’re going to go places neither of us can even dream of."  

he hesitates, his fingers gripping the edges of the paper slightly, like the words are heavier now.  

"if you’ll let me, i’d be honored to stand by your side for as long as you’ll have me."  

a beat of silence.  

"will you be my girlfriend?"  

you don’t realize you’re crying until you’re frantically wiping at your face, nodding—nodding so hard it almost makes you dizzy.  

"yeah?" rafe breathes, a laugh slipping from his lips as he pulls you in.  

"yes!" you cry, grinning through the tears. "are you serious?"  

his hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he shakes his head with a soft smile. "you can’t cry on our first date," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.  

"you can’t make me cry on our first date," you sniffle, voice barely above a whisper.  

"touché," he murmurs.  

and then his lips find yours.  

the kiss is slow, unhurried—like he has all the time in the world. like he wants to take his time. his fingers slide into your hair, holding you close, and when you press against him, you don’t know if you want to smile or cry all over again.  

but you do know one thing.  

there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

rafe pulls away, his lips barely ghosting over yours as he exhales, his nose brushing against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. “let’s sit, yeah?” his voice is low, gentle, and you nod, but not before pressing the softest kiss against his lips. he smiles against your mouth, then steps back, pulling out your chair with an effortless sort of grace. you settle into the seat, placing your flowers carefully beside you, the delicate petals brushing against your arm.  

your arms tighten around yourself as you take in the scene before you—an intimate table set under the open sky, flickering candlelight casting golden hues across the linen, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the boat. it’s beautiful, breathtaking, and it knocks the air right out of your lungs. your throat tightens as tears well up, your voice trembling despite your best effort to steady it. “how did you plan this all in one day?”  

rafe’s brows knit together like the question itself is absurd, and he reaches across the table, his hand warm as it closes over yours. “one day?” he echoes, shaking his head, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “baby, i’ve been planning this for two weeks. three if you count the seven days straight i begged my dad for the boat.” he says it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world to spend weeks making something perfect just for you.  

your breath stutters as you swipe at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, overwhelmed. “t-this is…” the words get caught in your throat, and rafe watches you, his face soft with affection but laced with the slightest bit of concern.  

“baby.” he moves before you can blink, dropping to his knees beside your chair, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks up at you, all blue eyes and steady presence. “if i knew this would make you cry this much, i would’ve just taken you to mcdonald’s.” his lips twitch into a teasing grin, and the laugh that bubbles out of you is watery but real. you lean forward until your forehead touches his, exhaling shakily.  

“no, n-no, it’s perfect… i j-just…” you try to gather yourself, grounding yourself in the way his hands hold you like you’re something precious, something he never wants to let go of. you breathe deeply, eyes flickering between his. “i think i’ve been telling myself for so long that i didn’t want this—the romance, the grand gestures, all of it. convinced myself i didn’t need it, because it’s easier to not be disappointed by something when you’ve made yourself believe you never even wanted it in the first place. but now…” you swallow hard, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “this whole date, this entire day… it’s been incredible. and i can’t believe i let myself miss out on you for almost two decades.”  

rafe’s gaze flickers with something unreadable, something deep. he cups your face, tilting it ever so slightly. “i’m here now,” he murmurs, the words like a vow. “and i’m not going anywhere for at least another couple of decades.”  

he pulls you into his arms before you can respond, guiding you against his chest, his chin resting atop your head. his fingers thread into your hair, grounding, soothing. “i’m sorry i’m such a mess,” you mumble into the warmth of his skin.  

“you’re my mess,” he murmurs, lips pressing softly against your temple.

it takes five tissues and a few deep breaths before you’re composed enough to properly sit down and eat. you lift the cloche, and immediately, the rich steam curls into the cool evening air. the scent hits you next—warm, savory, mouthwatering, like something fresh out of a five-star kitchen. your eyes sweep over the dish, taking in the careful presentation, the attention to detail. “this looks delicious…” your voice is tinged with awe as you glance up at him, suspicious. “who made this?” a part of you half-expects a chef to step out from behind the mast.  

rafe leans back in his chair, smirking. “i did.”  

you arch a brow. “no, you didn’t. you were with me all day.”  

his grin deepens as he watches your skepticism unfold. “where do you think i went after i left your house this morning?”  

you narrow your eyes, still not convinced. and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’d doubt him.

"i should probably explain how i planned all of this," he says, voice smooth, almost sheepish, like he's letting you in on some grand secret. you nod, twirling your fork into the soft, buttery pasta on your plate, waiting for him to continue.

"this boat is my family's, but really, it's my dad's. no one touches it without his permission, and he’s very… very particular about it." rafe exhales a small laugh, shaking his head as if recalling some past scolding. "but i wanted to do dinner here. thought it’d be more fun, more private. so i asked him—begged him, really—promised i wouldn't break anything, or at least, i'd try not to." his lips curve into a smirk before he leans in slightly, his voice dropping as if this is the part that matters most. "and finally, when i told him i really wanted to impress you… he said yes." he watches your face, gauging your reaction. "i think he likes you, which is a first."

your heart lightens, the weight of uncertainty easing just a little. his father likes you? you hadn’t been sure.

"really? he seemed a little…" you hesitate, searching for the right word.

"frigid?" rafe supplies, already nodding like he knew that’s what you were going to say. "yeah, he’s cold. has a hard time showing affection, all that shit. but he’s a good dad. we have our ups and downs, but he loves us, wants the best for us—most of the time." there's something almost distant in the way he says it, like he's repeating a fact rather than feeling it, but you don't press.

he exhales, shaking off the moment. "anyway, the plan was always dinner. but then, after i picked you up from the elderly home two weeks ago, we went to the beach, and you said you wanted to start having more fun." he glances at you, eyes twinkling under the warm glow of the string lights. "so i started thinking—what’s fun? i mean, dinner’s great, dinner and a movie is great, especially with you, but i wanted something more. i thought about a roller rink, ice skating, maybe an aquarium or the zoo. but the fair just felt… right. versatile, fun, a little chaotic."

you smile, warmth settling in your chest. all of those options would have been perfect, because they'd be with him.

"initially, everything that happened yesterday wouldn’t have happened," rafe admits, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his features. you nod, a little sad at the reminder.

"the plan was simple. you’d stay over at mine, we’d be lazy, stay in bed till noon. my parents and wheeze were coming back at two, so i figured i’d leave you with her for a couple hours. topper’s dad owns the yacht club right by the dock, so topper set it up so we could use their kitchen. i was gonna cook, come back, pick you up, take you to the fair, and text topper when we were close so he could go back, heat up the food, plate it here, and leave." rafe shakes his head, smiling at how much effort it had taken. "same plan, really, except we were at your house instead of mine. i cooked, picked you up, took you to the fair, texted topper fifteen minutes ago, he came, reheated everything, plated it, and left."

you stare at him, stunned. "jesus… that’s…" you start, grinning as you shake your head in disbelief.

rafe laughs, running a hand through his hair before picking up his fork. "yeah. and i hope you like it, because this is literally the only meal i can make."

you chew, smiling against your bite. "you know, you could’ve saved yourself a lot of time if you just ordered the food."

he shrugs, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. "i wanted to cook for you."

your heart stutters, just a little. "well, it’s really good," you admit, nudging his foot lightly under the table. "even if it’s the only meal you can make."

he grins. "better than nothing."

it took nearly two hours to finish eating, though neither of you minded. conversation flowed so easily, conversation leading to laughter, to teasing, to the occasional soft gaze that lingered just a little too long. the food sat half-forgotten between you, growing cold while you got lost in each other. the whole evening made you forget—truly forget—every dark cloud that had loomed over you in the past months. none of it mattered here. none of it existed. all that was real was this moment, the warmth of rafe's presence, the way he looked at you like nothing else in the world held his attention.  

after the last bite, rafe took the wheel, guiding the boat a little further out into the open water. not too far—just enough so the shore looked like something out of a dream, the golden glow of restaurant lights stretching across the waves, bars and shops humming with distant life. you curled up together on the bow, your head rising and falling with his steady breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. the throw blanket, already there like it had been waiting for this moment, draped over both of you. when you tilt your head up, you find his eyes already on you, like he had been watching you all along.  

"thank you for this," you whisper, voice barely louder than the gentle slosh of water against the boat. "this has been the most fun night." your eyes glisten in the soft light, emotions swelling in a way that makes your heart ache in the best way.  

"you don’t need to thank me," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, a fleeting, teasing touch. "i did it with pleasure. you’re my favorite person to be around, baby."  

your smile is small, but it holds so much, and you find his lips again, kissing him once, then again, and again, unable to stop yourself. "still gonna thank you," you breathe, nuzzling into him. "i would've been happy with just a mcdonald’s date, but you went the extra… extra mile. you didn’t have to do that."  

rafe scoffs, his face twisting in a way that tells you he hates the mere thought. "you’re too good for a mcdonald’s date," he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his lips trail down your jaw, slow and deliberate. "you’ve gotta know your worth…" the words are a murmur against your skin, his mouth lingering along your jawline, up to your ear. his teeth catch your earlobe gently, the softest bite, and your fingers dig into his bicep instinctively.  

"please…" the word leaves you in a breath, but the way it sounds—soft, needy—makes rafe tense for a beat.  

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. you’re so close your noses brush, sharing the same air. he’s asking you something without speaking, his gaze searching yours. you nod, slow and certain, and then his lips are on yours, the kiss stealing the breath from your lungs as he eases you down onto the soft cushions beneath you.  

the kiss is dizzying, has your mind floating, thoughts scattering like grains of sand in the wind. rafe kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like tasting you is the only thing that makes sense. his hands are impossibly warm, feverish against your skin, and soon he’s caging you beneath him, pressing closer, deeper. his lips leave yours only to travel down your neck, and your breath stutters, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.  

"rafe…" his name is barely a whisper, a plea, as your hands tug at the fabric of his shirt. you need him closer.  

he doesn’t make you wait. his shirt is off in a second, discarded somewhere in the dark, and his hands skim the hem of your top, fingers toying with the fabric before he pauses. his gaze finds yours again, softer this time. "you’re sure?" he asks, voice quiet, careful.  

you nod, your hands sliding into his hair as you pull him in, kissing him slowly, deeply. "i’m sure," you murmur against his lips.  

he pulls your top over your head, tosses it aside like nothing else matters but this. his mouth is on your skin immediately, mapping you out with slow, careful devotion, like he has all the time in the world. he kisses down your neck, lingers there, like he wants to memorize the way you shudder beneath him. his lips trail lower, between your breasts, his tongue and teeth leaving red marks behind—deep, burning reminders that you’ll feel long after the night is over.

"god, you're so fucking beautiful," rafe groans as he unhooks your bra with a precision that should be concerning—but the thought barely forms before his mouth is on you, his lips wrapping around your nipple, and suddenly, you can’t think at all.

your breath catches in your throat, a soft, shuddering gasp spilling from your lips as heat shoots straight through you. your fingers tangle in his hair, instinct taking over as you pull him closer, urging him on. "oh… oh—" the sound escapes you in a breathless whimper, pleasure twisting sharp and sweet through your body. your free hand fists the throw blanket beside you, lips parting as your head tips back into the pillow. the sensation is overwhelming, toeing the line between pleasure and something almost too intense, too much—but you don’t want him to stop.

rafe switches between your nipples, sucking and teasing until they’re left swollen, aching, but before you can even process the sensation, he’s moving lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. the warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you, but your mind stays hazy, pliant, following wherever he leads.  

two firm taps against your thigh. "up," he murmurs, and without thinking, you obey, lifting your hips like it’s second nature. he strips you bare in one swift motion, your skirt and underwear slipping down and away before you can so much as blink. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, but the heat of rafe’s mouth follows a moment later, his lips dragging slow, purposeful kisses from your lower stomach downward, inching closer, closer—  

your breath catches. he pauses. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, something dark and unreadable swimming in his eyes. "tell me you want it."  

at first, the words sound like nothing more than a demand, thick with lust. but when you really look at him—when you see the way he holds himself there, waiting—you realize he’s asking for more than just permission. he’s asking for certainty.  

"i want it," you whisper, the plea slipping out without hesitation, breathy and soft. "please…"  

something shifts in his expression, something unreadable yet electric, and then he’s gone—no, not gone—he’s there, right there, between your legs, his mouth stealing the very breath from your lungs.

the moment rafe’s tongue drags through your folds, pleasure slams into you so hard your mind blanks. your hands fly to your mouth, muffling the moan that tries to rip free, but it does nothing to quiet the way your body trembles beneath him. his grip tightens on your thigh, firm and unyielding, holding you in place as his tongue plunges deeper, tasting you, savoring you like a starving man.

everything else fades—thoughts, time, reality—until the only thing left is sensation. his mouth. his tongue. the slow, torturous way he builds you up, pushing you higher, higher, until you’re on the verge of tears.

"rafe… rafee…!" his name tumbles from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, your hips rolling helplessly against his mouth, desperate for more, for anything, for everything. your back arches, fingers tangling in his hair, clutching tight like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.  

he doesn’t stop. not as your body trembles, not as pleasure coils tighter, hotter, unbearable. not as tears burn the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. he keeps going, tongue lapping and lacking along your sweet cunt, dragging you to the very edge of bliss until you’re trembling, right there, ready to break—  

and then he pulls away.  

"no… no, no—" the whimper leaves you before you can stop it, pure desperation twisting in your chest as your hands fumble down between your thighs, chasing the release he so cruelly denied. but before you can touch yourself, rafe tsks, catching your wrists with ease.  

"uh-uh," he murmurs, his voice thick with something dark and dangerous. still gripping your wrists, he rises to his knees, unbuckling his pants with deliberate slowness. the hunger in his eyes makes your breath stutter.

his bulge alone leaves little to the imagination, but when he finally pushes his pants down, your lips part slightly, breath hitching as you take him in.

you'd seen him before—felt him before, had his cock in your mouth, remembered how he'd stuffed your mouth, memorized the way he stretched your throat—but somehow, the reality of it fitting inside you hadn’t fully processed until now.  

your pulse quickens. there’s no way. no way in hell—  

but rafe is already leaning down, tilting your chin so your gaze locks with his and only his. his eyes are molten in the dim light, steady and unshakable as he brushes his lips over yours, a whisper of warmth. "trust me, yeah?" his voice is low, rough, but so, so gentle. "just gotta trust me… i’ll make you feel good, i promise." it's hard not to believe him.

your stomach flips, nerves twisting with something softer, something deeper. slowly, you nod, and rafe rewards you with a lingering kiss—soft, patient, meant to soothe.

as his lips trail down your jaw, your arms instinctively loop around his neck, pulling him closer. he keeps you distracted, kissing you deeply, pulling you under his spell as his hands guide your thighs apart.  

your breath stutters when you feel him there—thick and hot, his tip gliding through your slick folds, teasing, testing. your body tenses. "r-rafe…" you stammer, voice unsteady, eyes flying open to meet his.  

he’s already watching you.  

"you’re okay," he murmurs, pressing a reassuring kiss against your lips, his thumb stroking your hip. "you’re alright."  

then he’s pushing in, forcing your cunt to expand and take all of him and your eyes fill with tears.

your walls stretches around him, foreign and overwhelming, a gasp breaking free as you clutch at his hair, fingers curling tight. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, inch by inch as he sinks deeper, forcing you to take him, molding you to fit him.  

"breathe," he urges, his voice firm but soothing, and only then do you realize you’ve been holding your breath. you exhale shakily, thighs trembling around his hips.  

"fuck," rafe rasps, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath warm against your lips as he sinks into you, slow but deep, stretching you, filling you completely. the moment he starts to move, sliding in and out of your slick, trembling heat, a shudder wracks through you, pleasure blooming so intensely it steals the breath from your lungs.  

your nails dig into his shoulders, your body clinging to his instinctively, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of sensation. "oh god—rafe, god—" his name spills from your lips in a broken sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from anything but the unbearable bliss of having him like this, of being his.  

you wrap your leg around his waist, and his body answers before his mind does, his hips rolling forward, pushing deeper, pressing impossibly close. a guttural groan rips from his throat, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go. "fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick and ragged, "you feel so fucking good…"  

he thrusts into you again, and again, and again, each movement more intense than the last, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he wants to ruin you for anyone else, as if you weren’t already his.

rafe’s fingers dig into your hips, gripping so tight you think you’ll wear his bruises for days, a mark of this moment, of him. his thrusts are relentless, slamming into you, pushing you higher, higher, until the pleasure is so consuming it’s nearly unbearable. the ocean roars around you, but it’s nothing compared to the symphony of moans and breathless cries spilling from your lips, to the desperate slap of skin against skin as he takes you apart piece by piece.  

he looks wrecked—utterly, beautifully ruined—his jaw clenched, eyes dark and hazy, drowning in lust, in you. "fucking christ," he grits out, voice wrecked, nearly a growl, his head tipping back as your walls flutter around him, gripping him like you never want to let him go.  

you can’t think, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the white-hot pleasure slamming into your every nerve. he fucks you senseless, over and over, hitting that devastating spot inside you again and again until you’re sobbing, whimpering, utterly wrecked beneath him.  

"rafe… m’gonna— i can’t— n-need—" you babble, voice breaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as the pleasure coils tighter, unbearable, uncontrollable.  

"hold it," he pants, forehead brushing against yours, his own restraint fraying, his body trembling with the effort. you want to obey, want to listen, but you can’t—god, you can’t. "please… please!" your voice is nearly unrecognizable, high and desperate, trembling as he shifts, lifting your thigh higher, forcing himself even deeper.  

"just a little longer, babygirl," he rasps, mouth trailing over your parted lips, kissing you like he’s savoring your surrender. but you can’t kiss him back—you can’t do anything but take it, take him, take every last ounce of pleasure he gives you.  

"i c-can’t… can’t—!" your body is wrecked, overstimulated, pushed past the point of reason as he pounds into your already trembling, sore cunt.  

"that’s it," he groans, voice tight, desperate. "so fucking good, baby… doing so good for me." his rhythm falters, thrusts growing sloppy, more frantic, his control unraveling as he chases his own high.  

"cum, baby."  

his words crash over you like a tidal wave, and before you can even process it, you’re breaking—shattering—pleasure detonating through you so violently your vision goes white. your entire body trembles, clenches, your mind floating into oblivion as you come harder than you ever have, tears slipping from your lashes, lips parting in a silent scream.  

your heart is racing, hammering so wildly you think it might just burst right out of your chest.

rafe eases out of you carefully, and you wince at the overwhelming sensitivity, your body thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. his hands are on you instantly, soothing, tracing gentle circles along your waist as he watches you with quiet concern. "you good?" he murmurs, voice low, intimate, like it’s just the two of you in the whole world.  

even as exhaustion settles deep in your bones, as every muscle in your body hums with the ache of what you’ve just done, you nod. "that was…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

rafe’s lips twitch, but he stays quiet, waiting, his blue eyes filled with something unreadable. then, playfully, he tilts his head. "good..? bad..? overwhelming..? underwhelming..?" he teases, voice soft, coaxing, and that boyish grin—the one that always gets you—spreads across his face. even like this, damp skin glowing under the moonlight, hair a wild mess, he looks devastatingly beautiful.  

you smile, stretching out the anticipation before answering. "really, really, really…" you pause just to see him raise a brow at you. "good. like, seriously, mind-numbingly good."  

rafe chuckles, the sound warm and low, and he leans in to press the gentlest kiss to your lips. "yeah," he whispers against your mouth. "you did give me that impression."  

you laugh, giving his chest a weak shove, and he just grins, sinking down beside you with a deep, satisfied sigh. his arm curls around your waist, and instinctively, you tuck yourself against him, head resting over his heart, listening to its steady, soothing beat.  

a few beats of silence pass before he breaks it, voice amused. "you know there’s a bedroom down there, right?"  

your head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "rafe. are you serious?" disbelief laces your voice as you gesture to the makeshift bed and the throw blanket tangled around your legs. "we had sex here when there was a perfectly comfortable bed waiting right below us?"  

he’s already laughing, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders as he tugs you even closer. "but now you can say you’ve had sex under the stars," he offers with a smirk, like it’s the best selling point in the world.  

you roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, curling into a smile as you settle against him again. "yeah, that’s really something i’m gonna go brag about," you say dryly, and rafe chuckles, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.  

your heart swells, impossibly full, and when you lift your head, his lips graze yours, the touch so light it’s barely there. then, in the quiet, in the peace of the night, he whispers, "i love you…"  

you kiss his nose, his cheek, then his lips, slow and tender. "i love you too."

a.n —  they finally did it. YAY. i hope this was up to everyone's standards. more coming soon. leave a comment cause i rlly love to chit chat with y'all!

chapter index — next. chap

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let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[demonic0angel]

Twenty something year old Danny becomes a preschool teacher to a class of young meta and liminal kids, he helps to keep the kids calm when they discover their abilities and is genuinely one of the better teachers at the school. He's also a part-time member of the Justice League.

He's in the middle of a meeting when he gets a call from a freaked out substitute teacher saying one of the kids is stuck halfway through the wall and doesn't know what to do. Danny excuses himself and explains that one of his kids is having a small problem and he'll be right back and then leaves not realizing the chaos he left behind in his wake as the Justice League believe that Phantom has multiple kids and is a single father.

Phantom laughed nervously. “I need to pick this up real quick.” His phone continued to ring until Phantom had exited the meeting room.

However, he seemed to have forgotten to go far to avoid eavesdroppers or he was too worried to find somewhere else to pick up the call, because he only stopped behind the door to answer.

“What happened? Are they okay?” He said, sounding urgent. “Do I need to get there?”

“One of your kids is stuck!” Came a voice from the phone.

Everyone within the meeting room was leaning in, nosey as ever. Batman, who was presenting, was even tilting his entire body to the door, the only indication of his listening in.

The voice continued, “I’m so sorry, sir, I don’t know how to get them out! It’s causing a panic and no one can help me and all of the kids are crying for you!”

“How many are there? Are they all okay?”

The voice sniffled, clearly distressed and crying herself. “All ten of them are here. They’re all okay, it’s just that Etiel is stuck in the wall and no one can get him out. It’s freaking them all out.”

Phantom muttered, “Fiddlesticks. Okay, uhm. Try to calm them down, if you can. Can you find Cindy? She’s the most responsible, she’ll know what to do. And tell her that when I come back, I’ll make sure to reward her for her help. I’ll try to get there as fast as I can.”

Phantom then hung up the call after a few more words of encouragement and reassurance to the other person on the line. Then he hung up the call and came back into the room, looking apologetic. Everyone quickly pretended to be doing nothing.

Flash was holding seventeen new orders of fast food burgers, but Phantom was too distracted to notice.

“Is there something wrong?” Superman coughed awkwardly.

“Yes, I’m very sorry, but I have an emergency at home. Is it possible for me to get notes of the meeting later to review? I’m sorry— I know that this meeting had been planned for a while.”

Wonder Woman said, her voice very gentle, “Of course. We shall send you a review of the meeting in an email. Please, go home and rest assured. Take care of your little ones.”

Phantom blinked and then chuckled. “You heard that, huh? Thank you. I have to go now, so bye! Thanks again!” Without hesitation, he then flew off like a streak of light.

They were silent for a moment longer.

Then they all turned to Batman.

“Are you happy that you’re not alone in the club of single father with over 2 kids?”

“….. hn.”

Batman was determined to have more friends with kids and poor Phantom wasn’t going to know what hit him.

[topluvr]

Cockwarming With Thanos

bf!su-bong(Thanos) x gf!Reader

blurb

warnings: smut, cockwarming, p in v, dirty talk

Your bf Thanos was currently sat on the couch, His music equipment, laptop and notebook scattered across the table in front of him, black headphones resting on his head.

Your mouth was currently placing little kisses across his jaw, You get so needy for him sometimes and you just can’t keep your hands to yourself, his attention didn’t seem to differ off his computer screen which made you ache more for me.

You hated when he ignored you for long periods of time, you knew he was working but you just needed him so bad. Your kisses slowly made their way down to his neck.

His breath hitched when you sucked on his soft spot. “Stop babe.” He hummed moving his head from your lips. You frown at his actions and sulk into the couch.

10 minutes later your lips were back on his neck again, sucking at the spot you knew weakened him, your hands now holding on to his biceps slightly stroking them.

His hands grip your shoulders and he pushes you back. “seriously y/n stop, i have to finish this song up.” He glared at you with warning eyes, before turning back to the screen in front of him.

You didn’t say anything, your eyes just stare at his face never looking away, you decided to try one more time to get his attention, the heat between your legs getting hotter the more you watch him concentrate on his screen, your heart burned slightly with a bit of jealousy, because his laptop was getting more attention from him then you.

This time your lips suck harsher around his skin and your hand moved slowly to his crotch, you palm him softly with one hand and sink your teeth into his neck.

He growled at your actions and his hand gripped your face harshly to pull you away. “Is my girl feeling needy hmm?.” He said squishing your cheeks, you nod at his words and your thighs clench together.

“Such a needy little girl, distracting me from my work are you that desperate for my cock.” He smirked pulling your face closer to his, a moan left your mouth and his words went straight to your core.

“Tell me how bad you want it and maybe i’ll let you have it.” He said, you could feel his breath on your face every time he spoke, Your lips go into a pout, he knows you don’t like begging but he loves the look on your face when you do and how flustered you get.

“Please I need you, please give it to me.” You whined.

He lets go of your face. “Take your panties off, and come sit.” He demanded tapping his lap, you stand up quickly, your core dripping at the thought of his cock filling you.

You slide your panties down your legs leaving them on the floor somewhere, you walk over to su-bong and sit on his lap.

his hands go to your waist pulling you to sit further into his lap. He pulls the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down and once they were slightly down he took his semi hard cock out and he let it rest in his hand.

“Is this what you’ve been waiting for princess?” He asks slapping his member in the palm of his other hand, you nod a yes biting your lip.

The ache between your legs was unbearable now, he lifted you up slightly by the hips and rubbed his cock against your core collecting your slick across his member.

Once he was lubed up enough he placed his tip at your entrance and you slowly eased down onto him, you both let out a moan at the feeling.

Your head spun at the way his cock fit in you so perfectly, your hands grip onto his shoulders as you fall forward, your head nuzzling inside his neck.

You were about to move your hips but before you could Su-Bongs hands harshly pressed you down and held you down on his cock tightly.

“You’re going to sit on my cock without moving or making any sounds while i finish my work and if you’re a good girl for me i’ll give you what you want.” He whispered in your ear, he moved forward and carried on with his work, leaving you a begging mess on his lap.

[danikamariewrites]

In Enemy Hands

Mob!Azriel x reader

Warnings: kidnapping, guns, violence, a lil murder but nothing graphic, not proof read

Azriel knew. The heavy feeling in his gut twisting and turning as he paced the driveway.

The mini convoy pulling up had him stopping, his eyes widening at the sight of the damaged Range Rover Cassian was driving. His heart clenched at the destruction.

It was rare Azriel let his men see him in this worried state. He was doing a good job of keeping his mask in place, but Azriel felt like he needed to scream. Like he was going to drop to his knees and let this feral thing inside him out.

Rhys silently stepped up next to his brother, clasping his hand on Azriel’s shoulder. As soon as the cars stopped Azriel pulled away from Rhys to inspect your car. Cassian had already given Az a full report of the damage and how you were taken. He just needed to see it with his own eyes.

Azriel frantically searched the car for any clue that you could’ve left. “Az there’s nothing in here,” Cassian says gently.

“No,” Azriel roars, whipping around to give Cassian a deadly glare. “There — she has to,” Az fumbles over his words.

For the first time since he was a child a tear slid down his cheek. For the first time since he was a child Azriel felt fear.

Anger quickly mixed itself in. Azriel quickly sees red. His breaths were bordering on pants as he cast a pained look at your car.

“I am going to kill every single one of them.”

You push your chest against the ropes keeping you to the rolling chair. All that does is slowly spin you in a circle. You pull at the duct tape binding your wrists to the arms of the chair.

Even though your whole body ached from the collision you fought. And you’d keep fighting.

The door squeaks open as Beron stands over you. He's supposed to be a myth these days. Living out his exile in a quiet town, cut off from his family.

When Eris overthrew his father to become head of the family he showed Beron mercy. Something he never showed any of his sons. The fact that Beron was in the city, and with a small army backing him, meant trouble.

“Eris might actually kill you this time,” I break his brooding silence. “Do you not want to live, or are you just itching for round two with the head of the Vanserra fam—” your words melted into a piercing scream as Beron gave your knee a hard kick.

Pain blinds you. Thanks to the crash you’re pretty sure your knee is somewhere between dislocated and broken. Focusing on breathing through it you regain your composure.

“The bastard that took my spot is weak. Your boyfriend even weaker. I know they owe each other. And the pretender has no one, you were next on the list.”

You groan, absorbing the information. Nesta was good at laying low then. And you’re not a rat.

“Finacé.”

Beron gives me a disgusted scowl. “Fiancé now. Do you not get the newsletter out in the suburbs?” You shoot him a shit eating grin. Beron’s growing rage tells you to quit it with the quips.

“The title doesn’t change anything. My plan is already in motion.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Aahh the facade does crack.” He grins. Your glare turns murderous. “If you hurt Azriel you won’t have to be afraid of the family’s. Just me.” Beron lets out a cackle as he leaves you to your pain.

It’s already been a full 24 hours and Azriel hasn’t slept. He angrily paced the house as Eris ran point, commanding men to watch Beron’s old hideouts. To comb the city and leave no stone unturned.

Rhys and Cassian have been taking turns to try and ease their brother’s anxiety. Mostly it was to make sure Azriel didn’t run off to take Beron on alone.

Right when Azriel was about to implode Eris ran into the office to report that you’ve been found.

“I have a man on the inside with Beron. We need to move now to catch them off guard, I’ll explain on the way.” Azriel didn’t wait for Eris to finish before he was out the front door.

When the warehouse comes into sight Azriel has to restrain himself from jumping out of the car. “Remember,” Eris’s stern voice sounds down the comms. “Wait for the signal.” Azriel rolls his eyes, knowing that command was targeted at him.

They stay out for almost an hour before Eris’s informant gives the signal.

Entering the building Azriel almost threw up his heart at the sight.

Once Atlas finally gained your trust you let him cut you loose and help stabilize your knee. Thanks to the pain you had to put your weight on him.

Shuffling out of the room you were hidden away in being out in the open made your heart race. Some guards patrolled the upstairs, a few weaved between the stacked pallets.

Atlas dragged you behind a stack of boxes to send a text to Eris. “Stay here.” Atlas whispers. You make yourself as small as possible. Pressing you back against the boxes as you watch Atlas cut through the room to silently cut down those foolish enough to side with Beron.

A second person took down the men upstairs. Silently laying them down as their bodies went limp in his arms.

When Atlas returns you immediately push yourself up, leaning your weight on him again.

Halfway through the warehouse angry footsteps sound from behind. Followed by the click of a gun. Atlas whipped around, shoving you behind him.

“Beron, you don’t want to do this.” He said, raising his gun. The laugh that escaped Beron sent painful chills through your body.

“Enough games. Where’s the boy? Or is he not brave enough to face me?”

“Eris will be here soon enough.”

The two stare each other down. Neither wanted to shoot first. Atlas pushes you, silently asking you to hide and leave him.

Turning as quickly as your knee would let you hobble down the center of the room, aiming to dive behind another stack of boxes.

Two shots sound behind you. One followed by the thud of Atlas’s body. The other right next to your foot. You let yourself fall, putting your weight on your uninjured side.

Beron grabbed you by the back of your neck, hauling you to your feet.

“Any second.” He panted into your ear. Beron’s arm wrapped around your neck, his gun pressing into your temple.

The door slammed open to reveal Azriel, Eris, and the rest of their men. You let out a small sigh of relief at all the familiar faces.

Your eyes meet Azriel’s rage filled ones. “Beron,” he roars. “Let her go!”

“When I have you both where I want you?” You claw at Beron’s arm attempting to loosen his grip.

Azriel was struggling with what to do. He wants to shoot Beron but he was petrified of hitting you by accident. If he moved, Beron would likely kill you.

Eris opens his mouth to threaten his father when a gun goes off. Beron howls and Eris rushes forward to pin him. Everything plays out in slow motion for Azriel. Once he realizes you fall he runs to you.

Azriel scoops you to his chest, rocking you and running his fingers through your tangled hair. “Y/n, oh my sweet y/n. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Azriel keeps repeating the apology. You cling to him, breathing in his comforting scent.

He pulls away from you to look you over. Tears prick at Azriel’s eyes when he sees the small gash on your forehead and hurt knee. “Oh my angel.”

“I’m ok, Az.” He shakes his head pulling you back to his chest. Picking you up bridal style Azriel briefly talks to Eris. The next time you look up Azriel is buckling you in the car, never taking his arm from around you.

Az doesn’t let you walk in the house, carrying you tight to his chest again. Bringing you to the spare room you see the family doctor is already set up. An hour later she determines your knee has a bone bruise and the cut on your forehead just requires neosporin and a bandaid.

Before the doc leaves Azriel brings you to the bedroom, helping you change and tucking you in with a heating pad.

You stare at him holding his hand. “Sit, love.” He does as you say, the tears he’s been holding back finally falling from eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “I’m so sorry I failed to keep you safe.” You shake your head at him.

“You brought me home. I’m with you.” Az nods. “I brought you home.” He says more to himself than you.

He stays by your side for days. You can’t even get out of bed without Azriel supporting you or carrying you where you want to go. You let him for his sanity.

Weeks later, you get up without Azriel beside you for the first time. Your knee still hurts a little but you keep moving through the pain.

As if he could sense what you’re doing, Azriel pokes his head in. You smirk at him. “Hi Azzy.” He blushes slightly at the nickname.

“What are you doing up so early?” You roll your eyes playfully. “Can’t I get up and have breakfast with my fiancé?”

“Of course,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. Azriel has been trying not to hover since you’ve fully healed. You can see the hesitation in his eyes as his other hand twitches to wrap around you.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you lean into Az. “Will you carry me downstairs?” You press soft kisses to his soft skin to butter him up. Azriel relaxes, scooping you to his chest.

Maybe letting Azriel hover for a little while longer won’t be such a bad thing.

[sweetpupii]

cw: dub-con,　fingering,　sev’s mechanic arm vibrates,　 degradation,　 hair pulling, 　 overstimulation,　 cunnilingus (r!giving), no aftercare at all. | 2,3k words, barely proofread I'm sorry.

　coming back to the last drop after a rough deal, five in the goddamn morning, wiping blood that isn't hers off her clothes, a nasty cut on her cheek, thick eyebrows positioned into a nasty frown, a bottle of strong liquor she took from the counter ( even if the bar was open, the bartender would have not stopped her ) on her metallic hand as she went upstairs into silco's office, knocking heavily on the door, ready to speak about how jinx—living up to her name—almost turned the guy who's the usual contact for shimmer distribution into bones and ashes for whatever reason when she wasn't even supposed to be there, is definitely the worst part of sevika's job.

little shit, always getting on her nerves. sevika just wants to smack some sense into that fucked up brain but silco's the only thing that keeps her from doing so.

and of course she had to clean after the bluenette.

after all, you can't attack a trafficker without consequences. an eye for an eye turned quite literal when the man's eye popped because one of the window crystals from jinx's explosion flew right onto it and his men tried to jump at sevika. ‘bit stupid if you ask me…yes, their boss almost died and all but did they really think they could take this woman down with a few weak punches? they lack common sense, apparently.

now the drug dealer has one eye and five men nearly dead.

oh, great, just what she needed—silco is not even in his office. she wants to break something and rip her hair out.

“sevika? didn't see you coming in.” right, sometimes she forgets you come clean the mess the people at the bar make. taking care of the alcohol, the drugs, the shattered glasses, the unknown fluids, etc, that can be found on every corner just so they can do it all again the next day. cleaning up jinx's mess seems like nothing compared to your job. “everyone left already.”

she looks up from the couch to the door where you are standing with a surprisingly warm smile for someone who's working so early in the morning—god knows when your shift even started.

“silco also left like an hour ago, I was hoping I could secretly clean his office because it smells a little… funky.” you laughed gesturing to the mop on your hand before walking into the room, turning your back at sevika while picking up some bright neon, spray painted decoration from the floor to put it on his desk again. focused on getting the job done since she didn't seem in the mood to talk. ( rude but makes sense. )

how is the poor, pent up woman supposed to resist that heaven-sent view?

hand suddenly on your waist as she took one final swing of the strong liquor, pulling you closer even if you gasped and automatically tried to pull away. when did she even get up from the couch? “stay still.” she warned putting the bottle down on his desk to hold your hips more firmly against her front.

“I probably should go clean somewhere—” she could only scoff at your nervous words. yeah, like she'd want you to leave right now when all she needs is someone to pour her stress onto.

“shut up, what did I just say? stay still.”

this woman is one rough motherfucker and that applies to every aspect of her life, as you can tell by how tightly she's gripping at your hips as she moves you to bend over silco's desk. her calloused hand swiping away most of his stuff away, making sure your torso is flush against the wooden—and still dusty—surface, her fingers tangle themselves on your hair to keep your head down.

your legs go just a little weak. but hey, it's just you being tired from cleaning for hours now!

…or maybe it's the wall of pure muscle behind you sliding her mechanic hand under your pants, tracing your panties while she keeps talking.

“been a long fucking night.” her face buried itself on your neck, not even kissing the skin before nibbling on it. why would she? she doesn't owe you any gentleness. her body weight pressing you forward—the action making sure you can feel the cool metal of her fingers. the sharp tips lightly scratching the fabric of your underwear in a way that shouldn't feel this good, especially in the current circumstances but oh, well.

“are you stupid or deaf?” she pulled on your hair a little before pushing your head back down on the desk when she felt your hips moving away from her as soon as her arm made a loud mechanical sound, the rather strong vibration coming right after making you shudder.

you didn't mean to move like that, lifting your hips away from her, but you couldn't help it! the vibration was so out of nowhere it startled you. who's fault is that, hm? definitely sevika's. but I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you—you know, keeping in mind there's still blood that isn't hers on her clothes and body. just saying.

“hey, wait—”

your protests meaning nothing to her as she tugged ( ripped ) your pants and underwear down. “look at that, you whine but you're getting wet?” the most mocking scoff ever coming out of her lips while she pressed her vibrating fingers even more firmly on your now bare clit.

“it's not that much, you're just weak. get over it.”

she's right, it does feel like you're getting weaker by the second. the feeling getting more overwhelming as she gets meaner. “never thought of quitting? cleaning is definitely not your job, the brothel would work way better.” she's infuriatingly good at talking though, it's annoying.

“i mean, look at you. I'm sure people would pay more to see this ass than what silco does for you to clean his shit.” she squeezed one cheek to emphasize her own point, giving a slap to watch it jiggle, her lower lip caught with her teeth at the sight. she could get used to it, actually.

“there we go, see? wasn't so hard to keep quiet.” her fingers are no longer cold, now sticky and warm from your body heat—body heat she proudly increased by the way—while her hand starts to move back and forth to cause more sensations, moans and trembles.

you feel like it's too much? oh, baby, she hasn't done anything yet!

you realize she's actually doing something when you notice her sliding two thick fingers—lucky for you, real ones instead of the sharp prosthetics—stretching you out without a single warning as the vibration on your clit does not cease at all.

the wet sounds combined with the slap of skin and buzzing coming from in between your legs absolutely obscene in a way that's fucking humiliating. god, you shouldn't be this horny for a woman that treats you like a hooker she found in an alley but it would be a terrible lie if you said it didn't make your lower belly burn and tingle in a way you've felt before, but definitely not with that intensity.

her scent—blood, sweat, and that funky, smoky tang that always clings to her—feels pretty intoxicating, to the point it's impossible to think straight.

you bit your lip, frustrated at the way your own body seems to betray you with the moans you fail to hold back. no amount of deep breaths able to help you. the mixture of pleasure and pain seems to blur together, forcing an embarrassingly whiny whimper to escape before you can even stop it.

“what's wrong?” sevika murmurs with a mocking chuckle, her fingers curling just right, pressing against your g-spot as if she knew your body better than you and honestly with the amount of experience she has, she might as well. “guess you like being treated like a common whore, huh, is that it?”

heat goes straight to your cheeks and down yourq back at her words, and yet again your body completely ignores your internal struggles, hips rocking against her hand despite your best efforts to stay still. she noticed, of course she did, using that to give a punishing thrust that suddenly feels way too deep.

“yeah, that's what I thought,” she scoffed, voice dripping with disdain, but her movements became more purposeful. her metallic fingers pressed firmly against your clit with no mercy, the vibrations and the movements had you clutching at the edge of the desk.

“look at you,” sevika muttered, more to herself than you, as if fascinated by the way your body responds to her rough thrusts. “maybe I'll keep you here, bent over silco's desk, let him walk in and see what a filthy slut you are.”

the thought sent a jolt of humiliation and twisted excitement through you, and sevika definitely feels it, her lips turn into the most asshol-smirk you've ever seen ( if you were able to ), and she speeds up, the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers working you echoing in the small office.

"go on," she said, "are you gonna keep pretending you don't like it?"

sevika doesn't even think about slowing down as she felt the way your walls squeezed her tight enough to earn a small groan from her—your moans being her motivation to keep going through your orgasm—drawing every last tremor from your body until you're left breathless and boneless, slumped over the desk.

she finally pulled out after god knows how long, her fingers sticky and wet from your fluids. sevika raised them to her lips, absolutely shameless, eyes locked on yours as she licked the digits clean with a deliberate, slow drag of her tongue, enjoying the dazed expression on your pretty face while you panted.

“come on, to the floor.” oh, lord, she's still going?

she sat on the couch, pants lowered to her ankles before you could even register her words. shaky legs doing the best they can when you kneeled down in between her thighs. so tired that taking a nap on ‘em seems like the best idea ever, but you can't do that now—not when she's already manspread there, waiting with a cigar on her lips ( probably stole it from silco's desk or something, everything’s happening way to quick for your brain to comprehend ) while casually lighting it up like she didn't just rearrange your guts with her fingers.

free hand wrapping around your hair again, this time guiding your face to her lower abdomen, soft lips pressed on the happy trail that decorated her sweaty skin in a way that now felt sinfully good. “open.”

how could you say no when she's looking down at you like that, making you eat her out as she exhales the heavy smoke?

a low groan, almost imperceptible to your ears covered by her thighs, comes out of her when she finally feels your mouth trail down and down and down, her legs spreading further so you can taste her better.

the scent of her mixed with the smell of cigar was all you could notice. her grip on your hair tightens, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to remind you where you are. half naked, wet and sticky inner thighs, now a sticky mouth, kneeling down on some floor you were supposed to be cleaning while eating the pussy of a 185cm tall woman who disfigured a group of men a few hours ago.

almost in a trance, your lips part, tongue darting out to give her a tentative lick. the taste is overwhelming, consuming your senses until nearly all you can focus on is the feel of sevika,the taste of sevika, the scent of sevika. “that’s it, knew you were playing dumb.” huh, who would've thought you'd be doing this and liking it?

your tongue took another swipe at her dripping slit, this time lingering longer, trying to get deeper. a husky moan from her motivating you to keep going.

at the light twitch on her hips, you vary your technique—going from licking long stripes up and down to swirling your tongue around her already sensitive clit, before dragging it lower to spear into her weeping entrance. the sound of her breathing turns ragged as you lost yourself in the act of pleasing her, of tasting her, of being the cause of such raw feelings.

her hips start to move, grinding her achingly greedy cunt against your face, you grabbed at the tensing muscles on her thighs for support meanwhile she basically used your face like a toy for her own pleasure. not caring if you can breath or not. smearing your lips and chin with her own fluids just like you did with her hand. ( was it revenge? probably not since it's a win-win situation for sevika. )

lost in a haze of sensations, you barely register the heavy, strong hand pressing down on the back of your head, holding you in place—forcing you to feel every clench and twitch. the world narrows down to the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her, until you can barely recall why you ever resisted the idea of doing what she says.

oh?

oh.

she did not just come, make you lick all of it and then push you away. ( she absolutely just did, the motherfucker. )

“okay, that's it, enough.” the fucking audacity to get up, fix her pants and just leave you there, sat on the cold floor as if you were a simple stray dog who got its five minutes of petting from a stranger. “clean up the mess you made.”

“hold on—”

she just left without even listening?! great, now you're stuck having clean a messy desk, pick up the paperwork from the floor, your own panties and pants and having to get rid of the wet, creamy stain on silco's couch that apparently ‘you’ made as if it wasn't sevika's cum.

what a rollercoaster of a night.

masterlist

[mikibwrites]

The Price is Right

inspired by @theweewooshow 's post about a kissing booth :) Happy Valentines Day everyone!

bucktommy | 1.4k | G | ao3

This is ridiculous. He’s officially lost his marbles. 

Tommy’s been in this line for at least fifteen minutes, and every third minute of that has been spent telling himself he should leave. The other 2 minutes of each spiraling cycle have been spent eavesdropping his fellow hopefuls in line, listening to their tittering about how hot the firefighter working this shift of the booth is, surreptitiously cataloguing every person that he can see in front of and behind him and evaluating them on what–little, sadly–he knows about Evan’s preferences and whether or not their dreams of bagging a date with him will come true. Which then, in turn, sends him back into spiraling and berating himself for being among them, given his history with said firefighter. 

He needs to leave. 

There are roughly ten people in front of him, and Evan definitely hasn’t spotted him yet. He could totally duck out and no one would be the wiser. He contemplates pulling his phone out of his pocket with an air of importance, putting the completely silent device to his ear and pretending something dire has just happened that requires his immediate attention. No one would question him for getting out of line, no one would suspect that he’d lost his nerve. They’d think, wow, he must be important to be needed somewhere so urgently. 

Tommy’s definitely, officially for real this time, lost his marbles. 

Also, there are now only seven people left in front of him. 

As he watches each person get their sweet little peck on the cheek, he tries to tell himself this is for a good cause. The money goes to charity. There’s nothing weird about giving to charity. Nothing at all. There’s also nothing stopping him from just dropping the money in the basket on a table near the door that’s designated for just plain donations. He doesn’t need to get anything out of it if that’s all he’s hoping to do. 

He’s definitely hoping to get something out of it. He can at least admit that to himself, if nothing else. 

Five people left. 

“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Tommy hears from behind him. “Look at those arms. Hold me down, daddy.” He almost chokes, the girl’s voice clearly pitched for just her friend next to her to hear, but he’s apparently blessed with supersonic hearing. The friend chimes in as well. “I wonder if he’s actually a good kisser or if he’s one of those dudes who relies on his rizz alone and then can’t deliver when it counts.”

Tommy has no idea what ‘rizz’ is, but he has to physically stop himself from turning around and describing for this girl in detail just how good of a kisser Evan is, how well he can deliver. He’s sure that wouldn’t go over well. 

Two people left. Evan is being so gracious and attentive to each of his patrons that he still hasn’t noticed Tommy. He could still make a run for it. 

He’s not going to. 

There’s roughly enough time for one more cycle of spiraling before he makes it in front of Evan, but Tommy chooses to spend it going over what the hell he’s going to say. Surely, Evan may protest giving his ex a kiss, even if it’s for charity, given the way they ended. It’d be well within his right to do so. So Tommy needs to have some justifications ready just in case Evan gets the wrong idea here. 

And what is the idea? Tommy failed to decide before he attempted this ridiculous stunt. Honestly, he’s been so, so god damned touch starved since he walked out Evan’s door that he thinks he’d do anything for just a brush of fingertips from Evan at this point. And that’s it, really…he only wants it from Evan. His coworkers have told him multiple times that he needs to just go out and get his ex out of his system–Donato offered to wingperson for him, even–but the very idea turns his stomach. 

But did he actually think that throwing some money at charity at a kissing booth of all things was going to get them anywhere near a reconciliation? Jesus, he should have just texted. Not that he hasn’t tried that, many many many times, and all of them ended up deleted because regardless of what he likes to tell himself he does not have the courage to put himself out there without the reassurance–or despair–of seeing Evan’s actual expression when he says what he wants to say. 

Which is…what? Exactly? He still hasn’t deci–

“Tommy?”

Shit. He’s missed the last person in front of him getting their dutiful peck on the cheek, and now he’s run out of time. 

Evan’s voice as he says his name is full of awe, trepidation, and…dare he say it…hope? His expression is even more devastating: like he’s seeing the sunrise just beginning after a century spent underground. His narrowed eyes are earnest and a little guarded, but they are trained wholly on Tommy.

Shit….what was he going to say?

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I, um…well I. Uh.” Tommy runs his fingers over his hair roughly, feeling unbearably stupid and exposed. He should have run when he had the chance. “Look, Evan, I–”

Evan’s breath hitches audibly at the sound of his name. They’re staring at each other. 

“Shit or get off the pot, dude, we’re all paying customers!” Some guy further back in line is shouting. 

“Um. Did you want a kiss?” Evan says, his face turning pinker by the second. And this. This Tommy can definitely answer.

“Yes,” he says, with maybe a little too much conviction behind the word for their current circumstances. Evan seems to clock it immediately, his eyes flicking down to Tommy’s mouth before coming back up to his eyes, his expression morphing to hopeful disbelief. “But, I mean, you don’t have to, here, I know you probably weren’t expecting–”

Tommy’s words are cut off by Evan’s mouth sealing onto his. 

God, god, he’s missed these lips. Each slide is like a revelation, and the thought is not lost on him that they’re in the middle of what is essentially a work function, they are both in uniform for christ's sake, having a whole existential crisis shared along with their breath and space and saliva. Because yes, Evan has now bullied his insanely talented tongue right behind Tommy’s teeth and is exploring like he’s going to be asked to draw a map later. 

Evan kisses him long, hard, and thorough, endless seconds ticking by and Tommy definitely doesn’t listen to any of the complaining going on in the line behind him. Evan does, though, and he very reluctantly pulls his lips away from Tommy’s and blinks in the most adorably flustered way and Tommy’s so, so gone on this man. How did he ever walk away from this?

“Can we talk?” Evan asks breathlessly.

“Please. But maybe later. Your adoring public awaits,” he adds, gesturing with his thumb to the line behind him, still nearly thirty people strong. He can’t blame them, but he’s also feeling a tad possessive so he leans in one more time to press his lips to the apple of Evan’s cheek, causing the blush to intensify when he pulls away. 

Tommy begins to turn to walk away, his smile already making his cheeks sore when Evan clears his throat. He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t pay, you know.” He’s smirking, the little shit. 

Before Tommy can make a move, someone in line shouts, “Damn! How much does it cost to get that?”

“That is not for sale,” Evan states with finality, but he’s still looking at Tommy, lips pursing, trying to hold back a full blown grin. There are a few groans from the line. 

Tommy reaches into his wallet, pulls out a $100, and slaps it on the table in front of Evan. “What time does your shift end?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Meet me at the cafe two blocks down. Bring those lips. We’ll talk.” Tommy congratulates himself on being smooth as he smirks right back at the look on Evan’s face. 

“Mmm, okay. I’ll bring these lips. But I hope you remember they’re good for more than just talking,” Evan adds as Tommy turns to walk away. 

He retracts his self-congratulations as he trips over his own feet. 

[morganbritton132]

Because one person asked!

Here is how you make a 'Steve Has Superpowers' AU from this post I made about Corroded Coffin ransoming Steve.

I'm not a big fan of this type of AU (despite the fact that I did write one), but I think for it to work (in a way that specifcally appeals to me) is that Steve's power is either completely useless or so subtle that Brenner doesn't think he has one.

Like, El can move things with her mind and Kali can cause hallucinations but Steve can...sense when bad things are going to happen? Not in the sense that he can see the future or that he knows what the bad thing is. It's more like a feeling, like....anxiety.

Steve's superpower is general anxiety.

So, Brenner gets rid of him. He's a failed experiment and a blight on the progress he has made. The whole project could get shuttered because of this kid, so Brenner hands him off to one of his scientist to dispose of. That scientist handed the kid to his sister who wanted a family, not neccessarily a child.

And thus, The Harrington have a son.

They leave Hawkins as they please but the boy - Steve - never does. He's monitored. They keep trace of him in case his powers manifest but they never see it. Never notice how lucky it was that Steve left that party before the police showed up, or that he slammed on his breaks right before a car blew a stop sign, or that he showed up at Jonathan Byers' house at just the right time to save his friends.

Somewhere along the way, someone finds out that Steve isn't exactly who he thinks he is or El shows up and sees the brother she used to know, but everybody finds out. Hopper already has one experiment living under his roof, he'll take another.

And Steve.

Well, he's adopted and his adopted parents don’t give a shit about him, and his 'Papa' didn’t give a shit about him, and probably whoever gave him up the first time didn't give a shit about him either. And if no one can give an ounce of a shit about him, then why shouldn't he ruin their lives?

So when the Corroded Coffin boys kidnap him, something kinda snaps in Steve in the funniest way. He doesn't feel anything here. His chest isn't tight. He doesn't feel heat behind his eyes. He's safer here as a hostage than he ever was at home, and he wants to keep that.

When the boys say they need money. Yeah, Steve can get them money. All he has to do is stand in front of the keypad at his dad's office and see if he feels nervous before pressing a button.

When they say they're going to Chicago? Steve's never left Hawkins before but Chicago settles in his chest shiny and new, and he wants that too. So, he goes.

They practice a new song on the way that makes Steve feel electric. He insists they play it and they win the battle of the bands. A record label tries to sign them and Steve feels that tightness in his chest, he insists his lawyer (Erica) should read the contract before they sign. Good thing too because they would've got screwed.

That's how Steve becomes their manager and how Corroded Coffin takes all the right steps to stardom, and who knows. Maybe these powers were always going to lead him here.

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 2

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she’s pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

2 weeks had passed but time dragged on slow for you.

You were back at your place and back to work. Being in Caleb’s home without him there was both comforting but so very lonely.

You didn’t know if it was the depression, the loneliness, or the memory of Caleb’s small sob that you had caught that last day you were together.

But you weren’t eating, your clothes felt a little looser but you felt a little bloated in your lower stomach.

Maybe it was your period coming…

This thought stuck with you as you filled out your report. Tara stopped by your desk, eyes glittering with worry.

“Are you doing ok?”

You muster up a smile and laugh

“Yeah I’m fine, why?”

“Your face looks worn and skinny. Are you eating ok?”

“Just had a bit of a stomach bug.”

The captain was walking nearby, she stopped hearing your words and turned to look at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re sick?”

“Uh, I think so, maybe? I’ve felt like I have been anyways.”

“Go home early today and go see your doctor. We don’t need a virus sweeping through the association and leaving us with minimal staff.”

You sighed, you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

Typing up the last words on your most recent take down of a rogue wanderer. You catch a rare glimpse of your partner Xavier.

His eyes seemed to scan you as he asked

“Are you okay?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation and stand up to leave for the day.

“Not you too! I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He kept his eyes on you as you gathered your coat and bag.

“If you’re sure…”

“Yes I’m sure Xavier, good night.”

You didn’t bother putting on your coat as you left the building. You grabbed your phone and dialed the doctor's office.

“Akso Hospital, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’d like to make an appointment to see Doctor Zayne as soon as possible.”

“Can I have your patient number?”

As you boarded the subway to head home, you read off your number. The city started to pass you by as you waited in silence.

“Actually he has an opening tonight at 6 PM, can you make it?”

You check the time, it’s 5:15 PM. Just enough time to stop somewhere and grab a protein drink since that’s all you can stomach.

“Yes I can make it, thank you.”

“We will see you at 6 then. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

You slip your phone into your pocket and lay your head on the window. Your stomach churns, but you haven’t felt hunger since Caleb left.

All that food he had made, it was all wasted.

He had packed it up all neatly in the fridge for you but you had spent the few days left at his house over the toilet.

So it had gone into the trash, making you feel horrible. Who knows when you’d get to taste his cooking again?

Who knows what your relationship would be like when he got home?

Caleb had left you that little note saying he was sorry, it was tucked into the case of your phone.

A physical reminder for you that he had really been here.

He wouldn’t be back for 4 months though. Keeping yourself busy was the only way to avoid sinking into the deep rut you could feel coming on.

Your long sigh fogged up the glass, winter was coming.

Getting off the subway, you headed to a nearby cafe. Inside the atmosphere was warm but all your focus was on that sad beige drink in a carton inside the fridge rack.

You grabbed it and waited in line.

Spacing out at first but a familiar voice caught your attention.

“I’ll pay for her drink too.”

“Zayne?”

“Going to workout?” You glanced down at your protein drink and laughed a bit.

“No, just about all I can stomach these days.”

You followed him to the side of the counter where he grabbed his presumably sickeningly sweet treat in a box.

Zayne frowned a bit before asking

“Are you sick?”

“I think so. I actually have an appointment here with you soon at 6. My boss insisted I go check before I go back to work.”

He nodded a bit before holding the door open for you.

“I’ll walk you there then.”

Companionable silence follows you down the streets. As do all you thoughts of Caleb.

You can’t help but feel that the reason he was so scared to define your relationship is because of what the Fleet higher ups might do.

All the secrets and what they were up to. Caleb wanted to keep you out of it but he also wanted you next to him.

It was quite the conundrum, you got it.

But it wasn’t fair to either of you.

Sighing deeply, letting out a waft of visible breath in front of you.

Oh well, you’d have to wait for him to come home to even fix things.

No communication was possible between ground and deepspace.

You followed Zayne in silence up to his office. He motioned the receptionist to check you in as he watched you with worried eyes.

You were uncharacteristically quiet.

Zayne set his box down at his desk and took a seat, he motioned at the seat in front of him for you to sit.

Sitting without a word, you could tell your silence unnerved him.

But you didn’t have the energy to play polite right now.

“What are your symptoms?” He brought up your vitals while asking you specifics.

“I’ve been feeling nauseous all through the day, been a bit a dizzy but that’s probably because I haven’t been eating much. I don’t have much of an appetite and I think I’ve lost a little weight.”

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping well either.”

Averting your eyes, you deflect

“That doesn’t have to do with this.”

“Mmmm, if you insist.”

He flicks through your vitals before something catches his attention.

“Are you sexually active?”

This question startles you a bit but you answer hesitantly

“Yes… what does that have to do with anything. Wait…. are you saying?”

“Yes. I’m seeing evidence of you being pregnant. Looks like it’s 5 weeks along but we can do some more in depth scans to be sure.”

You don’t hear anything after that.

Feeling a mixture of dread, wonder, happiness, and wondering how the hell you were going to deal with this?

“Was this a wanted pregnancy?” This question snapped you out of your spiral.

“Well I didn’t even know that I was pregnant! But….. yes, I think so.” Caleb’s baby. You bring your hands to your slightly bloated abdomen.

Ah, that’s why.

You hadn’t even noticed that your period was late in all the turmoil.

“I can give you a referral to an OB if that’s what you prefer.”

“Yes thank you, I appreciate it.”

He sends you some virtual information and lets you know that you should read the e-book on what to expect.

“Thank you Zayne.”

“Right, well you should get home. The information I sent you should have some foods that may be easier to keep down. I would suggest reviewing those and actually eating something. The weight you’ve lost already isn’t great for the baby or you.”

You suddenly feel guilty, not that you knew that you were pregnant but it still made you feel bad.

“Yes thank you Zayne, good night.”

You start to head out but he calls your name out so you stop to look back at him expectantly.

He seems to swallow a bit harshly before uttering

“Congratulations”

Smiling for real for the first time in half a month, you glow at him

“Thank you!”

You head out and head home.

Caleb may be gone for now but he had left you something very precious.

You hadn’t thought that you would be pregnant in your relationship quite this soon but you did what this baby. It was Caleb’s after all.

Wait

Caleb.

He doesn’t know and you have no way of telling him. He won’t be gone for the whole pregnancy but he was going to miss a lot of the early important milestones.

You don’t even know if he wants the baby.

No no, you shake your head.

He would definitely want this baby.

Determined now, you reach your apartment and sit on your couch while sipping your sad protein drink.

Using your phone, you look at the list of foods in the information Zayne sent over.

Crackers, ginger, fruits, a lot of mild and still somewhat sad foods but it was better than a protein drink.

Quickly tabbing over to a delivery app, you load up on early pregnancy foods to be sent over that night.

Task completed, you stretch back over the couch.

What a long day.

Oh! You could write letters and send Caleb voice as well as video messages so that when he gets back he’ll have a total record of what happened.

That way he could still be a part of it in some way.

Settling down into the couch, you hold your phone up to record your face.

“Hi Caleb! Guess what!?”

Making a show out of it, you bring your face close to the camera and glare at the imaginary Caleb.

“You got me pregnant! All those times you told me you would just pull out have come back to bite you. I told you so!”

You laugh a bit before continuing

“But really, I’m excited. I miss you so much so this is like having a small piece of you with me always.”

You look down where you had been unconsciously rubbing that small bloat that really wasn’t a true bump yet.

“Oh do you want to see?”

You place the phone on the coffee table, propping it up against your fake plant.

“See! It’s not a true bump but you can feel the firmness and see my little soon to be bump.”

You run your hand over it to exaggerate it. Smiling down sadly before glancing back at the camera.

“I wish you had been here to find out with me. You would’ve probably fainted if I had taken a test to check and I showed you the positive result. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have!”

You tear up a bit at the thought of him being gone for all this.

“I wish you were here…”

You grabbed your phone and brought it back to your face again.

“But I’ll send you lots of updates! So you can see them all when you get back! I love you Caleb. Come home soon okay?”

You stop the recording, sending it to him. Knowing he wouldn’t see it for a few months. But you were just glad to make him a part of the process somehow.

All the while, unaware that Caleb may never come home to you.

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @midiplier @tabi-callico

[henry7931]

Billy’s College Adventure Part 3

Samuel:

“Good Morning,” says Billy to me from my body.I almost have to do a double take after seeing myself laying next to me.

“Morning,” I say with a grin.

“So it’s Saturday, what do you have planned for us Mr. Bodythief?,”

“Well you’re gonna just have to dressed to find out,” I say back.

“Booooo!!!”

I stand up and Billy tosses a pillow at me.

“Relax! I’ll tell you more, let’s just get ready,” I say winking at him.

We both get dressed and it took all of my energy not to ask him if we could hook up in the shower.

I’m starting to really like Billy but I have this weird thing about getting too attached to a guy. Especially with the assholes I’ve dated in the past. I’ve just been burned too many times although Billy seems different…

I don’t know…I just don’t want him to think I’m too clingy. Which I now realize is an oxymoron since we are literally in each other’s bodies.

Anyways enough about my feels.

Billy and I head back to my apartment.

“This place looks familiar,” says Billy sarcastically.

“It’s not much especially compared to your place but it’s my temporary home,” I say back.

“Ohhh come this isn’t bad at all!”

“Billy you’re in a full ass house,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m just the rich privileged kid.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re at least aware,” I say pushing your shoulder.

“So what’s the game plan? Are we just gonna stand around in your apartment?”

“ No. I need the book that my great uncle left me.”

I head into my room and open up my closet. I grab the book from the top shelf.

“So Billy, are you ready to put your powers to test?”

“Geez, I think so.”

“Good!”

I start scrolling through the book digging for the part where it talks about the power of having to swappers.

“Here it is!”

I’d start skimming through it and get to a specific part.

I start reading aloud, “ one swapper is powerful, but their abilities can be limited… but with two swappers now that’s some real power. Rarely in our culture you will see two swappers who are capable of getting along… But if two swappers can conjoin powers together, they can do some really interesting things. For instance, swapping and creating a new reality . Two swappers have the ability to swap two individuals bodies, and change the perception of reality where both individuals think that the body they are in has always been their body. Essentially, neither one of them know that they are swapped and everyone else around them thinks that has been their body the whole time.”

I stopped reading for a second and look up a Billy to see what his thoughts were about what I just read.

“ are you gonna keep going?”

“ well yeah, what do you think though?”

“ I think that’s pretty freaking cool. I mean it could be a little bit messed up, but I’m kind of interested to try it.”

“ Really? Are you 100% sure?”

“ yeah let’s do it!”

I continue to read the rest of the page and I get through all of the instructions.

“ OK Billy, now we have to find some guinea pigs.”

“ I mean, should we start with someone we know or try it with a stranger first?”

“ Well I think I controlled environment would be best. Somewhere where we cant let them walk away and lose them immediately after the swap.”

“Smart!”

“ I’m a genius right? Also, Billy, this doesn’t have to be the first one we try.”

“Wait, what else can two swappers do?”

“Do you want me to tell you about all the other swap powers or can I jump right to the one I really want to try?”

"HOW MANY MORE ARE THERE?!?"

"Let's start with this one, third party possession. Or I like to call it-- a person puppet. Basically one of us can take over someone body without leaving the one we are in habiting. It's like two bodies at once."

"Does that person know that you or I have taken over their body?"

"No... I have read this one over a couple of times now. Basically they will be in a unaware state while one of us are in control."

"Okay, I guess that one sounds less chaotic. Who should we try it on?"

I thought about it for a minute and then I had someone in mind. I peaked out at the window to see if my neighbor was home.

"I got someone who could work," I say with a mischievous grin.

“Who?”

“My neighbor Reid, you’ll like him or at least his body lol.”

“Wait am I going to possess him?!?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it.”

“Fuck, fine! Let’s do this!!”

I grab Billy’s or I guess my hands and say, “I want you to focus. Thinking about all of your powers almost like you’re about to swap with someone, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Now close your eyes and picture a part of yourself floating out of my body, not all of yourself… just a part.”

“Okay…”

“Can you see it?”

It takes a minute for Billy to focus but then I see our hands and they start glowing a bit.

“I can see it,” he says softly.

“Great, now picture that second half of you floating out the window to the house door.”

Billy’s closed eyes move shut.

“I’m in the neighbor’s house… I can see everything inside. Wait, I hear someone… sleeping… now I’m in his room. Holy shit! I can see him!!”

“Really?!? Now Billy this is what you’re going to do next, float into him. Doesn’t matter how you do it.”

Billy’s eyes spring open and he says, “I’m in him. I feel his body… it’s so strange Sam. I’m him and I’m me.”

“Well come on over lol!”

“Okay one sec.”

A few minutes later and our front door swings open. It’s my neighbor’s body.

“What’s up you sexy fellas!!”

I turn to Billy and then back at Reid’s body as they are both grinning cheek to cheek.

I watch as Billy coordinates Reid’s body over to a chair.

“Look at these muscles Sam!,” says Reid’s body

“Fuck this is so hot! I’m watching myself control him, it’s like I can do some kind of strange role play. Wait a minute!!”

Reid’s body tugs off his tank top and then his shoes and socks.

He stares down at the giant feet and says, “they’re big.”

I watch as he picks up foot and smells it. He rubs Reid face all over his massive foot.

“This is so wrong but I’m so turned on. You’re gonna either have to watch or join us.”

Billy still in my body walks over to the giant hunk and reaches into his shorts.

They say in unison, “that feels good.”

I was starting to get hard just watching both bodies interact. Billy started running my hands over Reid’s muscles.

He pulls off Reid shorts and underwear. His dick comes out and both of us marvel at the giant cock.

“Let’s take turns with it,” he says from Reid’s body. “Shit I meant to say that from your body!”

We both laugh and I say, “All good lol, bedroom?”

“Great idea! You fellas are gonna have fun with me aren’t you? Especially this giant cock!,” says Reid’s body standing up while shaking his dick.

“Yes sir,” I say to him.

Billy picks me up in Reid’s arms and carries me to my bed.

We all three climb in and Billy asks me, “could you tend Reid’s junk.”

“Sure!!”

I grab onto the massive dick girthy dick. It’s surprising to see just how big it is.

“Are you gonna just stare it or suck it?,” says Reid’s body.

I turn to Billy down by Reid’s feet. He’s giggling and says, “sorry, I have two hard dick right now!”

I try to take as much of Reid’s I could fit in my mouth. It’s just so big. I get the entire thing wet and use a hand to work the shaft and his big hairy balls.

Billy on the other hand pulls off my pants and begins using Reid’s feet for a foot job.

Both of them moan in unison and say, “FUCK! You have no idea how amazing this feels!!”

I pump Reid’s dick faster and faster…

Both of them moan louder and louder….

Billy in my body reaches up under his ass cheeks and fondles his my body’s cock for me.

“LET ME FINISH IN MY MOUTH PLEASE SAM!,” he screams out.

I’m forcing Billy’s throat down on Reid’s dick.

Both of them scream out, “FUCKKKKKKKK!!!!”

That’s when rounds of cum squirt down my throat. It fills my throat and I can’t take anymore.

I look down at Reid’s dick and it’s still pouring more and more out.

Billy in my body cums all over Reid’s feet both of them grinning.

I fall back on the bed and both my body and Reid’s body with Billy still in control use themselves to give me every inch of pleasure.

Billy in my body climbs to my face and start making out. He twist’s his actual body’s sensitive nipples. Meanwhile Reid’s body sucking me off and tickling Billy body’s ballsack.

I can’t only take so much before I blew my load into Reid’s mouth…

All three or two… I don’t know… we just lay back cuddled up.

I turn to Billy in my body and say, “That was amazing.”

Billy grins and says, “we are definitely going to try this again!”

[cozmowrites]

first time

First Time - Hozier

+++++

The battlefield was silent now, save for the faint crackling of distant flames. Smoke curled in the air, wrapping the ruined city in a suffocating haze. Dynamight stood in the center of it all, his chest rising and falling heavily as the adrenaline bled out of him. His palms still tingled with the aftershocks of his explosions, but his mind was elsewhere—on you.

You. The reason he fought harder than anyone else, the reason he pushed himself past the limits of his body and mind. Somewhere amidst the chaos, he'd caught sight of you—your form darting between collapsing buildings, your eyes fierce as you threw yourself into the fray. You'd held your ground against the villain's henchmen, refusing to back down, even as the odds stacked higher and higher against you.

The memory of it made his jaw tighten, guilt gnawing at him like a persistent flame. He should've been by your side. He should've kept you safe.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned, searching for you in the destruction.

He found you sitting against the wreckage of a collapsed storefront, blood streaking your temple and your breathing uneven. Relief and panic hit him in equal measure as he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands hovering awkwardly before finally settling on your shoulders.

"Idiot," he growled, his voice rough but trembling at the edges. "Why the hell didn't you fall back when things got bad? Do you have a death wish or somethin'?"

You blinked up at him, a small, wry smile tugging at your lips despite the pain etched across your face. "Good to see you, too, Katsuki."

His scowl deepened, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. "Don't play dumb with me. You're hurt."

"It's just a scratch," you lied, wincing as you shifted against the rubble.

Bakugou's hands moved to cup your face, tilting it so he could examine the cut on your forehead. His touch was surprisingly gentle—contrary to his usual explosive demeanor—and it made your heart twist in your chest.

"Shut up," he muttered, grabbing a cloth from his pocket to press against the wound. "You're lucky it's not worse."

Your eyes softened as you watched him. He was always like this—tough on the outside, all sharp edges and sparks, but underneath it was a man who cared more than he knew how to express.

"I'm fine, Katsuki," you said, your voice softer now.

"No, you're not," he shot back, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "You're not fine. You never are, and you never tell me when you need help."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"Do you know what it's like? Watching you throw yourself into danger like you don't care what happens to you? Knowing I might not get there in time?"

His words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. You stared at him, stunned by the vulnerability he so rarely let slip.

"Katsuki..."

He shook his head, his hands falling away from your face. "I can't—" He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "I can't lose you, okay? Not you."

The admission left him exposed, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile. You reached for him, your hand finding his and holding it tightly.

"You won't lose me," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked at you like he wanted to believe you, like he needed to believe you, but years of battles and losses had etched doubt into his soul.

"I mean it," you continued, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. "I know I'm reckless sometimes, but I'm still here, Katsuki. Because of you. You keep me grounded. You're my anchor."

His eyes searched yours, and for once, he let the weight of your words sink in. Slowly, he leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently against yours. The scent of smoke and sweat clung to him, but beneath it was the warmth that always drew you in.

"You're such a pain in the ass," he muttered, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

You chuckled softly. "Takes one to know one."

A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest, and for a moment, the world around you fell away. It was just the two of you, tangled in a fragile kind of peace amidst the chaos.

"I'm serious, though," he said after a beat, his voice quieter now. "Don't do that again. Don't make me—" He hesitated, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find the words.

"Worry?" you finished for him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed, his cheeks flushing faintly. "Yeah. That."

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture that made his breath catch. "I'll try," you promised. "For you."

His eyes softened, the storm within them calming ever so slightly. "You better," he muttered, but there was no anger in his tone, only a quiet desperation.

For the first time in a long while, Bakugou let himself linger in the moment. He let himself feel the warmth of your touch, the steady beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips. He let himself believe, just for a little while, that maybe everything would be okay.

Because with you by his side, he didn't feel so alone.

+++

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[notaplaceofhonour]

The application that any Palestinian families in need can apply to that you’re describing is what the Palestinian National Institute of Economic Empowerment provides.

The PNIEE was set up in 2019 to provide needs-based aid programs like you’d find in other countries, aimed at self-sufficiency rather than endless payouts (their stated philosophy is essentially the proverbial “teach a man to fish”): vocational training, incubators grants, student aid, short-term aid for families in need with a case manager helping them get on their own feet—that kind of thing. It’s entirely separate from the Ministry of Social Development & the MSD’s “Martyrs Fund” (Pay For Slay) model. PNIEE doesn’t pay people for hurting Jews, being prisoners, or martyrdom.

And according to JPost, the “restructuring” being referred to is taking funds from the old model of MSD’s “Martyrs Fund”—the Pay For Slay program that provides welfare stipends to prisoners & families of people killed in altercations with Israel security forces—and putting that money into the PNIEE—which operates more like welfare in other countries: providing needs-based programs to any Palestinians in need, without the prisoner/martyr criteria, aimed around self-sufficiency.

I get that “restructuring” sounds incomplete, but that’s literally just what it’s called when you liquidate a department and move the assets elsewhere. If Abbas just signed a piece of paper that said “Abolish the Martyr Fund”, the money that was allocated for it would still exist. Abolishing it still means restructuring it. Those funds have to go somewhere. So, restructuring: it goes to the PNIEE.

And if you’re removing something many people in your country see as a fundamental part of infrastructure, and your justification for not getting rid of it sooner has always been “I’m not going to abandon the martyrs”, then you need to reassure the families that genuinely do need aid because they lost a caregiver that you aren’t abandoning them. There’s still a safety net and they won’t be left without help. And that is what these articles are saying: they’re eligible for the same low income benefits as other Palestinians without discrimination.

That doesn’t mean the PNIEE is now going to operate like that Martyrs Fund system did.

It’s not quite a done deal from what I can tell, bc it’s still dependent on lifting sanctions, and I’m not ruling out some kind of chicanery where Abbas/The PA try to have their cake and eat it too & find some other way to start a new Martyrs Fund, but that’s not what’s being conveyed by calling the changes in infrastructure restructuring.

And due to a bunch of factors like mounting pressure from Israel requiring the PA to pay taxes for the payments, the US not backing down from sanctions for PFS, and now families of victims suing the PLO—none of which go away if they just do Pay For Slay through other avenues—as well as the benefits of not having to pay out Hamas, and the potential for using this to advance Palestine (not just its image but provide better infrastructure) give them plenty of incentive to follow through.

But I guess time will tell.

THE PA FINALLY ENDED PAY FOR SLAY??