#i love whatever im obsessed with at the time

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud. 

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you. 

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those. 

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.” 

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical. 

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you. 

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 “Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

���➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart. 

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

 “I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. 

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate. 

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. 

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

 But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more. 

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch. 

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back. 

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.” 

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair. 

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

 "Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge. 

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

 "God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

 "Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out. 

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it. 

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of." 

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

 The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

 "Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan. 

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high. 

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

 "You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

[tommysm0ondust]

you ever get so obsessed with something that you genuinely start feeling like its hard to breathe, you start pulling your hair, kicking your legs, rubbing your face and trying not to scream and/or cry?

yup me too

what is that

why does this happen to me

why do I get so overwhelmed by things that I like

genuinely scares me a bit sometimes but at least I know I REALLY like whatever it is when this happens, makes me happy

teehee!!

[heartorbit]

🩷💛💚💜

[dinsbeskar]

THE NOTIFICATION THAT THIS WAS POSTED, MY LOVE I'M SO HAPPY!! Post whatever you fancy, whenever you fancy, we are well fed whenever you post 💜

At least, that is what he made himself believe. If he was truly honest, he had different motives as well. Motives of power and control. Motives that would have driven him down this path if you'd never met. His deception was so great that he was able to hide that away. He was able to believe the ends justified the means. And if you were what was at the end, there was no depravity he could not justify.

OOOOOHHH THE DECEIVER DECEIVING HIMSELF, WE LOVE TO SEE IT

Of course it's all out of love, he's not power hungry at all 😂 come through king, give us the deception!!

He smirked at your blush, approaching you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. He noticed that the back half of your hair was pulled up and tied into a bow. He chuckled softly and rested his chin on your shoulder. “What do you read now?”

[...] “Do not doubt yourself, sweet one.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, turning you around in his arms and lifting you to sit on the edge of the table. “I am in awe of you always, but recently, I'm in awe of these things you do with your hair. A bow?” He teased softly, pressing his forehead to yours.

A HAIR BOW, IM SORRY, IS THIS WHERE HE GETS HIS HAIR INSPO, IM OBSESSED

“Do you not like it,” The way you looked up at him, seeking his approval, it mirrored the expression you wore when you were on your knees begging for him. His fingers tightened on your hips, restraining from taking you on the table.

Bro is so down bad, horny at the slightest thing, get a grip!! 😂😂

“I don't intend to ever be parted from you,” he whispered softly, tucking your hair behind your ears. “I mean it.”

We love soft!sauron!!! The sweet promises, the tender gestures 😍🤌

He pulled away, searching his pockets for a moment before pulling out a ring. It had a silver band and a small blue gem at the center. He knew it was more than a simple band. He knew of the power he placed in it. The materials he snuck from the forge to add to it. It would need to be perfected in time to come, but for now, it would do what he needed it to. It would increase your lifespan, heal your wounds faster, and It created a connection with him, wherever you were.

The blue for the water 🙌👌🤌 the purpose of the ring being to preserve her life, keep her safe from the ravages of time, to be connected to her always, ohhhhhh my heart it hurts

It also served as a symbol. That you were his. That his feelings for you were real. His intentions were true.

Hell yeah hell yeah hell yeah!!!! Sauron with true intentions, do excuse me, I'm in love

Your cheeks turned red, and you buried your face in his neck. He placed a kiss on your head, “I'll kneel and worship my queen.”

[...] “I'll fill you with my warmth.”

Lmfao god I love their dynamic, teasing and worshiping all at once 😍🥵

Babe I loved this as always, soft boy sauron has my heart, especially bc we know he's actually deranged underneath 😂

And Comes Dawn pt 11

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader

Summary: The Deciever has a question for his Sweet One.

Tags: fluff. Like FLUFF. He may be deranged but he's got a soft spot. Also, told you I was gonna make the Annatar bow angsty.

Notes: the fic is out of order now because I have a lot going on and ITS MY FIC OK OK. Not having to have everything in order has given me so much inspo that within the next 24 hours there could be 2 more parts and 2 other things too soo. I love you all. Thank you for your support. My dms and inbox are always open, also if you wanna give me like a lil tip it would be appreciated.

Halbrand leaned against the archway to the library and watched you as you read through the scrolls and histories. It's how you'd spent your days since coming to Eregion. He worked on the elven rings, and you were here, reading. It was endearing to him that you sought knowledge in such a way. Proof that he had made the right choice in you.

There had to be three. Just as there had to be three rings.

Him with his power and darkness.

Galadriel with her wisdom and light.

You with your goodness and warmth to balance them out.

Three.

Though, he only desired you. Only loved you. You were what he was doing all this for. He had to create a lasting peace. He had to make Middle Earth safe and perfect. He had to overcome this pesky issue of your mortality. He could not allow you to live in a broken world. He would not allow you to come to harm, and, selfishly, perhaps, he could not let you die. The rings were for you. His ambitions and goals revolved around you.

All for you.

At least, that is what he made himself believe. If he was truly honest, he had different motives as well. Motives of power and control. Motives that would have driven him down this path if you'd never met. His deception was so great that he was able to hide that away. He was able to believe the ends justified the means. And if you were what was at the end, there was no depravity he could not justify.

Watching you now, you were breathtaking with your eyes focused and strands of hair falling in your face. You'd taken full advantage of the beautiful wardrobe and styles of the elves. Intricate, delicate strands of silver were braided through your hair. You wore a dress of light blue with more silver, and the delicate chains only served to accentuate your curves. He had thought you were beautiful in the Numenorian garb, but now you looked stunning. Breathtaking. He'd seen the most beautiful of the elves, the Silmarils, the light of creation. Yet you were greater than them all.

“I know you're there,” you spoke, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips, but your eyes never moved from the page.

“And yet you stare only at your books. My heart can not help but break.” He teased. “I will not be shamed for staring at the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on.”

He smirked at your blush, approaching you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. He noticed that the back half of your hair was pulled up and tied into a bow. He chuckled softly and rested his chin on your shoulder. “What do you read now?”

“A tale of a human and elf falling in love,” you relaxed into his embrace.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, up to your cheek before turning your head so he could capture your lips in a soft kiss. “Last week, it was the fall of elven cities. This week, it's romance. You never cease to amaze me.”

“You are easily amazed, then.”

“Do not doubt yourself, sweet one.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, turning you around in his arms and lifting you to sit on the edge of the table. “I am in awe of you always, but recently, I'm in awe of these things you do with your hair. A bow?” He teased softly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Do you not like it,” The way you looked up at him, seeking his approval, it mirrored the expression you wore when you were on your knees begging for him. His fingers tightened on your hips, restraining from taking you on the table.

“I do. It suits you.” He smiles softly, his eyes softening as he sees your bright smile.

“Perhaps you could grow your hair, and I can do it to you. I've seen elves of all kind wear it,” there was an excitement to your voice as you spoke.

He chuckled, “Perhaps one day, if we are parted, I will wear it as a reminder of you when my heart yearns for you.”

“You jest.”

“I do no such thing. You have plenty of things to remember me by,” his fingers traveled down to the intricate necklace of copper he'd made for you at the forge in Numenor. You always wore it. “I shall have the hair bow.”

You frowned, and his thumb traced the downward turn of your lips, his head tilted in a silent question. “Perhaps if I were to have more coin, I could get you something. Perhaps…”

Your words were muffled as he pressed a kiss to your lips. His hands held your face as he deepened it. It was only when he felt his body react that he pulled away. His nose brushed yours. “You have given me more than enough.”

You smiled up at him, face flushed and lips swollen. His thumb gently caressed your cheeks.

“I don't intend to ever be parted from you,” he whispered softly, tucking your hair behind your ears. “I mean it.”

He pulled away, searching his pockets for a moment before pulling out a ring. It had a silver band and a small blue gem at the center. He knew it was more than a simple band. He knew of the power he placed in it. The materials he snuck from the forge to add to it. It would need to be perfected in time to come, but for now, it would do what he needed it to. It would increase your lifespan, heal your wounds faster, and It created a connection with him, wherever you were.

It also served as a symbol. That you were his. That his feelings for you were real. His intentions were true.

He looked at it for a moment before looking at you. “ In elven culture, it's customary to give your betrothed a silver ring that you wear until marriage. At that time, they were traded for gold bands. I added a bit more. A gem as blue as the waters that brought us together.”

You gasped softly, looking at the ring and then to him.

“It's the custom of your people to ask the family but you have none. The family who warded you is gone as well. I have no one to ask for your hand but you. As such, I felt that I should give you the same proposal in which I would have given your father.”

He stood up straight, one hand on your chin directing you to look at him. “You fill me with a warmth I've never known. I no longer know who I am if not with you. I was lost and astray, without hope or purpose. It was as if the gods themselves put you on my path. You are a beacon of hope, your smile my purpose. There is nothing I would not do for you, no trial I would not face. I love you. I adore you. I have never thought of children until I met you, and now I know I want to make you a mother. I want to make you my wife.”

He brushed away a tear that had fallen from your eyes, “I give you the choice, I would never force anything upon you. Do you want that? Do you want me?” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “Fuck, I'm so nervous I can't talk. Just tell me, yes or no? Will you marry me?”

You laughed, nodding your head. He slid the ring onto your finger before lifting you and twirling you around. As he set you down, you looked at the ring on your finger.

“I never thought I'd be betrothed. I never thought I'd choose who I could marry.” You smiled up at him, and it filled him with joy unimaginable.

“I never thought I'd give a woman a romantic speech or truly want to settle down.” He rested his forehead against yours once more. “I'm a changed man thanks to you. Near unrecognizable to that drifter on the raft.”

“That is true. You will be a king soon.” You gasped suddenly as a realization dawned on you. “ I'm going to be a queen. Me? A queen” you laughed softly at the thought.

He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “That is true. As soon as my business here is done, we can return to the southlands and be wed, and you can meet all your subjects.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I'm not sure I like the thought of having subjects.”

“Of course you don't, “ he rolled his eyes but didn't stop smiling. “Why don't we go back to our chambers, and I can show you how devoted of a subject I am?”

Your cheeks turned red, and you buried your face in his neck. He placed a kiss on your head, “I'll kneel and worship my queen.”

“Halbrand,” you spoke, pulling back and giving him a look.

“I'll fill you with my warmth.”

"Stop it!” You smacked his arm,causing him to laugh deeply and wrap his arms around you for a tight hug.

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.

[cerealmonster15]

i want jamiazu + idikei to go on a double date so badly i think the vibes would be So Very Turbulent

[katabay]

original thief series basso & garrett :)

ngl, it's about quality over quantity for me. an npc can have a total of three minutes of screen time, but if they have a cool name, they can live rent free in my head and I'll spend several hours trying to decipher drawable features from a blurry screenshot of pixels

there is a vague hint of a story here, and that's because every time I try to play thi4f, I get incredibly frustrated with how Not Fun the game play is. like, is the story good? well. but it has a PLAGUE. that should've given it instant 'I'll replay this once a year' status in my heart, but the game play sucks so bad that I've never finished it. I can't believe Not Fun gameplay beat out my obsession with narrative plagues.

anyway, the idea is basically if the original era had a game with a plague centric narrative and some other stuff I liked out of thi4f thrown into a narrative blender, with a heavy dash of horror thrown in because some parts of the thief games were scarier to me than entire dedicated horror genre games.

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "insomnia" ⎯୧ (lcy)

+*:🍓:*﹤descrip. : you help anton out after a rough week <3

+*:🧺:*﹤content : sub!anton x fem!reader/dom!reader (i think)

+*:🫐:*﹤warnings : smut, roommates/friends to lovers, 18+, so mdni 🤞(there are some really bad words in here), unprotected sex bc i forgot to add any </3 (please use protection), edging, wet dreams, overstim kinda, palming over clothes, blowjob, light nipple touching, petname babyboy, anton calls reader noona, i'm a year older than anton so i just made y/n older as well <3 this story switches povs bc im unprofessional, vaginal penetration, female anatomy for reader, clit rubbing

+*:💗:*﹤word count : 1.6K

+*:🍓:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

Anton can't sleep. 

He tosses and turns just to wake up two hours later, hot, sweaty, and heaving. He writes it off as having nightmares, but that doesn’t explain the hard-ons he always has. He considers getting one off to help him relax, and that works for the first two nights. Then, in the days that follow, it's like no matter how long he goes at it, getting himself all whiny and desperate, he can't cum. That realization only makes it harder to stay asleep, lucky if he dozes off for forty minutes. 

It's so aggravating. During lecture, he can barely keep his eyes open, but when his head hits the pillow, it's like he can't shut his mind up. 

Tonight, he gives up around 1 AM after going in and out of sleep for an entire hour. He's restless but exhausted, and his mood is shot when you walk in the apartment. You had a long shift, so you can’t wait to snuggle in bed and watch a couple of comfort movies. You stop by the kitchen on your way to your room, unable to ignore your roommate's quiet grumbles. 

“Anton?” You call out, but his back is turned toward you, and he's still mumbling to himself, fiddling with a container.

“Sweetheart, is everything alright?” You ask, placing an arm on his shoulder and gently turning him toward you. 

“m fine, can't get this stupid box open.” He mumbles grumpily. In his hands, a box of hot cocoa packets is bent out of shape. You look at him in question (how did he bend the box like that? They aren't hard to open), but your attention is instead drawn to his features.

To put it short, he looks terrible. His eyes are puffy and red like he's been crying, his hair is tangled like he hasn't brushed it in days, and his oversized shirt is hanging off his shoulder, wrinkled and stretched out like he’s been pulling at it.

“Do you need help?” You reach for the box, but he moves out of your way, tucking the box to himself protectively as he continues struggling with it.

Anton knows he looks stupid, struggling to open this goddamn box, but ever since his problem of not getting off started, he hasn't been able to look you in the eyes. Every time you guys make eye contact, he feels ashamed.

What’s frustrating is that he doesn’t know why. You're beautiful, and he can't lie and say he's not attracted to you, but he's never thought about you in a sexual way, because he’s put in great effort to not do so.

So why is it hard to be around you all of a sudden? He can’t help but feel sad about the circumstances, as he was enjoying the friendship you two had been building for the past three months.

“I got it.” He mutters again, tone sharp and stern. You watch him for a couple seconds and conclude that he doesn't in fact have it.

“Are you sure, Toni? I can-”

“I said I've got it.” He snaps, voices suddenly raised and face scrunched up in annoyance. You slightly flinch at his outburst, a wave of your own irritation washing over you. 

“Excuse me?” You ask, offended by his tone. His face falls and he turns away from you again. Seconds later, his shoulders begin to shake with his sobs. 

He wishes you would leave him alone, because having your eyes on him makes him feel things he can’t explain. He just wants to have some hot cocoa, get off, then go the fuck to sleep. 

“Oh, Toni.” You coo, mood softening as you begin rubbing his back. “What's the matter?”

You and Anton aren’t extremely close, and not by lack of trying. You’re so attracted to him, but love being his friend and don’t want to mess it up by asking him out. Despite that, you've never seen him in this state before. His usually cheerful, even charismatic personality is completely gone, turned into something snappy and miserable. 

“I'm so tired.” He says, his voice shaky and so quiet you almost don’t hear him. The palms of his hands come to rub his eyes aggressively. “Can't sleep, no matter what I do.”

You wonder how long he had to be in this state to be acting like this, feeling a bit guilty that you hadn't noticed the signs earlier. You think for a second about how to help. 

“I was going to go watch some movies in bed.” You offer after a few moments of silence. “Do you want to join me? It might be nice to have some company for a little bit.” 

He lowers his hands from his eyes and thinks about your offer. You guys have huddled in bed for movies before, so it isn’t a wild suggestion, and your bed is always so warm, multiple blankets and plushies adding extra cushion. He turns around, ignoring the heavy feeling he gets from looking at you.

“Here, I'll even make this for you.” You gently remove the box from his hands, ripping its cardboard flap and opening it with ease. He looks at you in surprise for a second, then nods. 

“Okay, why don't you go get settled and I'll be there in a minute?” 

He pads softly to your room, shoulders slumped and feet dragging.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Anton is buried underneath your duvet and blankets, only his eyes up to his forehead visible when you walk into your bedroom. 

“Comfy, are we?” You ask with a light chuckle, reaching out to hand him his cocoa. He sits up in bed and takes the mug. After changing into pajamas in the bathroom, you settle into your own space and pull up a selection of movies on your phone. 

“How's The Cat Returns?” You ask, watching as he downs the drink and snuggles back into the sheets. 

“Fine.” He mumbles, eyes droopy. You feel bad for him again, hoping he'll be able to get some sleep tonight.

You get through that and a third of Coraline when you hear Anton huff loudly. You glance down to see that he's snuggled up by your chest, eyes shut and breath even. He’s never slept in your bed before, but you don’t want to wake him up from some much needed rest. You take a moment to appreciate his beauty. In the glow from your bedside lamp, you can see his rosy cheeks and furrowed eyebrows, and your heart swells with fondness. Maybe this will make you guys even closer. You smile in triumph and continue the movie. 

Ten minutes later, you hear it. You ignore it the first time, but it happens again soon after. Anton lets out a faint whimper. For a second, you think he's talking to you, but he doesn't respond when you call out his name. Instead, he full-on moans. 

“N-noona.” He mumbles. The blankets have fallen from his chest and pooled around his pelvis, and you see his hips twitch slightly. “Please…”

Was he…having a wet dream?

Surely not, you tell yourself. The circumstances of this happening are quite unlikely. 

“Y/N…need you.” He whines quietly, and your eyes jump to the size of saucers. 

He was having a wet dream about you?!

Your cheeks heat up, feeling flattered but scandalized. He doesn't say anything else, but his breath picks up rapidly, becoming more choked off as it progresses. Seconds later, he jerks awake, gasping and panting, his fingers tangled into the blankets. You watch as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to slow down his breath. Then, he opens them again and looks up from your chest. 

“Oh, Noona, did I wake you? I'm sorry.” He asks, voice thick and words slurred.

You ignore the way hearing him call you that now makes you hot all over, arousal manifesting in your panties. He sits up with messy hair and puffy cheeks. Is he just going to pretend like he wasn't dreaming about you? 

“What?” You scoff, a smile tugging at your lips. You can't help but laugh at how weird this situation was.

“Sorry for disturbing you, I'll head back to my room now.” You watch in disbelief as he sluggishly stands up from the bed and not-so subtly covers his boner with his large shirt.

The truth is, Anton can't wait to get out of your vicinity. Your scent is stuck to his clothes, and he doesn't know why he likes it so much. That shameful feeling is back, and he wants it off his skin.

“Wait, Anton.” You call out, dropping your phone on the sheets and just barely catching his wrist.

Shit. He turns back to you, eyes falling to your mouth, and he could've sworn you were almost…smirking?

“Did you get to sleep?” You ask, but your eyes lack genuine curiosity.

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did.” He answers awkwardly, looking everywhere but your eyes. He’s so cute, and his nervousness makes you feel empowered.

“What did you dream about?” 

“What?” He looks at you finally with a look of confusion.

“Dreams? Did you have any?” You slowly lead him to sit back down. He follows easily, pulled back onto your soft, comfortable blankets.

“Uhm, no, not that I remember.” 

“You can't remember what you dreamt about?” You ask, incredulous. He looks away for a second, thinking, then turns back to you and shakes his head. 

“I think I've been having nightmares a lot recently. I keep waking up on the verge of a panic attack.” He explains. You hum in contemplation. You can’t help but wonder if any more of these “nightmares” have actually been wet dreams, and if so, how many of them have been about you. 

Slowly, your hand trailed along his thigh, and you delight in the sound of his breath hitching. His body is tense, eyes looking at you in question. “But that's alright, I guess I don't w-want to if they were that scary.” He stutters as your hand trails higher and higher. You’re giving him a sultry look, and he wonders if this is going where he thinks it’s going, and is surprised to realize maybe he wants it to go there, despite it being so sudden.

“That's interesting, because I think I know what you dreamt about, and why you can't get to sleep.” You say, circling your finger around a spot right on his hip. They twitch under your touch, and you almost coo again watching him try to restrain himself. 

You’re not sure where you suddenly got the nerve to act like this, but you say to hell with it. You’ve been harboring a crush on him ever since you became his roommate, and he obviously shares the same desire, if his subconscious is anything to go off of. His shy demeanor only makes you more confident. You move on from his hip and slide a hand up his loose shirt.

Anton’s almost relieved by your statement—he wants almost nothing more than to have a full night's rest—but he finds it hard to focus on your words as your nails lightly scrape his skin. His eyelids flutter prettily.

“When was the last time you came?” You ask abruptly, causing Anton’s eyes to snap open.

“I’m sorry?”

“You likely can't go to sleep because you're so tense. When you do, you can't stay asleep because you keep having wet dreams about me that eventually wake you back up.” You’re not sure if the last part is true, but that’s your working theory. You watch as he struggles to comprehend your statement as you graze a couple of fingers over his nipple, voice catching in a gasp. 

“What are you talking about? I'm not even having inappropriate thoughts about you.” He defends, because he tries so hard to not have inappropriate thoughts about you. He doesn’t want to be a pervert and take advantage of the friendship you guys have, so he pushes away any sexual thoughts that creep up in his mind. Sometimes it’s so hard, but he values your company so much, and doesn’t want to upset you.

“Oh, yeah? So when you moaned, ‘Y/N noona, I need you’ in your sleep, you weren't having inappropriate thoughts about me?” You ask, over-exaggerating the way he moaned. His eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of you tugging on his nipple, then you trail your hand back down to lightly trace his bulge. His hips lift towards your hand, and you pull it away. 

Even in his aroused, half-asleep mind, your words make sense. Why he feels shame looking at you, why he’s always rock solid when he wakes up. It’s not a far fetch to think he’s been having sexual dreams, nor is it to wonder if those dreams are about you, since you’re the only person he’s been attracted to lately. 

You wrap your hand around his member through his pants, snatching him out of his thoughts. 

“F-fuck.” He gasps quietly, surprised at your actions. “What are you doing?”

“Did you think you could get off on the thought of me and I wouldn't take up the opportunity to finally fuck you?” 

Questions swim around in his head. Have you been wanting to have sex with him? You’ve been thinking about him inappropriately this whole time? The mere idea of you finding him attractive gets him even more hot and bothered, but he has no time to dwell on these thoughts once you start palming him roughly through his sweatpants.

“Oh, g-god.” He whimpers out after a few minutes, hips finally bucking into your touch. “Please, ‘m close.” His breath quickens again, uneven and harsh like it was in his sleep. His cheeks are dusted with baby pink, embarrassed about how close he’s gotten so quick, but he can’t help it. You’re so beautiful and you’re touching him and he’s realizing maybe his feelings are bigger than he previously thought. 

“You're gonna cum from humping my hand?” You ask, unimpressed. “We haven’t even started yet.”

Your words make him feel like he’s being boiled alive. Part of him can’t believe this is happening, but he’s so desperate to please you. Anton gasps, pushing his hips back onto the blankets to get away from the stimulation.

“Please, stop. Wanna last.” He begs. He’s so cute, all weak and compliant, and you want to tease him more, see how long he holds out, but you can tell how much he wants to last, so you relent. He mumbles weak “thank you”s as he comes from the edge, and once his breathing returns to normal, you straddle him. He opens his eyes and looks at you in question, audibly gulping when he sees your dark, hungry gaze. He starts a sentence, but you cut him off as you grind your cunt against his member. 

“God, Y/N.” He groans, throwing his head back into the pillows. 

“Sorry, you were saying?” You ask, giggling meanly. You keep the movement up, building a rhythm while watching him struggle to string words together.

“I can’t– ahh– can’t believe t-this is happening.” He manages, interrupted by a particularly rough grind. For a second, his head catches on the opening of your cunt, and even through two layers of clothing, the feeling has him reeling.

“Hm.” You sigh into the feeling and accept the fact that you were gonna have to throw these underwear away. “Why’s that?”

“You’re so pretty a-and nice and– Fuck, fuck, need you, please.” He whimpers out, echoing the words he spoke while asleep. You take in the sight of him, and he just looks so beautiful, brown hair fanning out beneath him. His lips are red from him biting them, and you can’t resist the temptation to lean down and kiss him. He tastes a little like the cocoa he had earlier.

It starts out slow, Anton taking a couple of seconds to comprehend the situation, overcome his shock, and actually kiss you back. Then it becomes more of him panting against your mouth, hips jerking erratically under your weight.

You still don’t want him to finish just yet, so you lift off of him and ignore the displeased whine he lets out. You pull his sweatpants off slowly while lightly scratching the skin of his thighs, reveling in the sharp gasp he takes. He’s so responsive, so fun to play with.

“Oh,” You whisper, shocked to realize he’s not wearing underwear. “So what’s this? Were you expecting to come in here and get your dick wet?” You ask in disbelief, eyeing his cock. It’s about average, but thick, and just thinking about having that in you has your pussy throbbing. You’re just teasing, but your words break Anton into a cold sweat. 

“N-no! No– these are m-my pajamas.” He explains desperately, words clipping off into a whine as you lift his hard cock with two fingers then let it flop back down. You can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It was a deep shade of pink, almost red, and a white bead of precum was forming at the tip. You subconsciously lick your lips at the sight. You professionally move on from the fact that Anton doesn’t sleep with underwear on in favor of running your tongue across the slit of Anton’s dick.

He let out a choked sound and his hips jerk violently, but you’re able to back up before his penis collides with your nose. 

“Toni, if you want me to touch you here, you have to be still.” You warn, one hand coming to rest on his hip.

“Sorry, sorry, I can do that. I can-” His rambling is cut off by you taking his entire head into your mouth. “Shit, shit, I– ‘m.” His hands come to tangle into your hair, but you pull off of his dick and place his arms back by his side. You don’t say anything, but you’re sure he gets the command.

“Gonna cum already, baby boy?” You ask teasingly, rubbing his wrists gently. His breath hitches at the pet name, and you make a mental note to revisit that later.

“No,” he mumbles defensively. Your eyebrow lifts in suspicion, but you take his word for it.

“If you get close, let me know, okay?” You hold eye contact while saying it, and he responds with a nod. “No, baby. Answer with your words. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll let you know, promise.” He says, nodding quickly, so desperate to get your mouth back on his dick. You’re not sure how much you believe him, but you oblige, slowly taking his member into your mouth inch by inch. Since he’s on the shorter side, it doesn’t take long for you to bottom out, his tip barely even reaching the back of your throat, but he’s hot and heavy on your tongue.

You wait and adjust for a second then begin a pace. Under you, Anton doesn’t say anything, the only communication being his gasps and grunts. You can tell he’s close by the way his hips stutter, desperate to buck up into the wet heat, but still, he doesn’t say anything. You pull off his dick to instead suck at the head, tongue sliding across and dipping into the slit. Almost immediately, Anton verbally explodes.

“Stop! Stop, please– too much, ahh–” He rambles, stuttering around portions of a sentence. He’s so embarrassed, but it’s not his fault you’re playing his body like a fiddle. 

You love the sound of him begging, so you keep up the ministrations a bit longer until his whines are so loud that he’s practically screaming, squirming on your blankets. You pull off again and rub up and down his thighs slowly. He gasps and pants as he comes down, so tense, and his cock is even more red, twitching as a steady stream of precum leaks out of the tip. It’s so vulgar that it almost drives you insane, and you’re starting to think you’re gonna lose it if you don’t sit on his cock in the next few minutes, but you push through it.

“Aw, that looks like it hurts. Want me to help you, or should I just leave you like this?” You ask, rubbing lightly at the head. In Anton’s sleep-deprived, sexually frustrated mind, he can’t see how much you want him, how you’re just as desperate as he is, and thinks you’re serious.

“No, please, please, don’t leave me, it hurts so bad.” His hips jump lightly, drawing your attention to his member in an effort to prove his point. “I can’t–can’t get off alone, need you.” He can’t even fathom the thought of you leaving him like this, tender and submissive and so, so hard. 

You can’t help but coo at that. You slip your pajamas and underwear, as well as his shirt, off, then straddle him again. You grind your cunt against his member again, this time without the barrier of clothing. Before he can beg, you crash your lips into his, swallowing any small sounds that try to escape. 

You kiss him until your lips hurt, making up for all the time you spent silently pining after him, not knowing he wanted you just as bad. When you pull away, he’s struggling to catch his breath and looking at you like you hung the stars. 

“You’re s-so stunning, I c-can’t believe you l-like me.” He mumbles through stuttered breaths. His hands lay awkwardly by his sides, and you lift them up to rest on your hips. His thumbs rub circles into them shyly, which causes your heart to swell up.

“How could I not like you, sweet boy? You’re so handsome and smart, so caring.” You run your hand through his tangled hair, gently undoing a couple of knots as you remember the traits and quirks that made you like him from the beginning. He practically melts into your touch and praise, but you’re not done with him just yet. You raise your hips and lean into his ear.

“You’ve been such a good boy, do you want me to fuck you now?” You barely get the question out before he’s nodding again, all eager at the idea of finally feeling your walls against his cock. 

Anton watches with slow, bated breath as you line your opening up with his length, but then you actually take it in, bottoming out with no hesitation, and his eyes roll into his head. He screams, but the sound is muffled due to his teeth trapping his bottom lip. You sigh in pleasure while letting yourself adjust to the feeling, then study his features as you clench around his dick.

His eyebrows furrow, and he lets out another high-pitched keen, and you’re mesmerized by his beauty. Anton’s grip on your hips tightens as you lift up and slide back down, but you feel a bit annoyed that his eyes remain closed. 

“Look at me, Toni.” You request, hands resting on his chest to support your weight. His eyes barely open, fluttering like it’s a struggle, and you can't help but think again that he’s just so cute. You want to destroy him.

“Good job.” You praise and graze his nipples with your fingers. His hips jerk at the sensation, pushing himself deeper into you, and you squeeze your eyes shut momentarily as a wave of pleasure washes over you. You breathe through it in an attempt to hold on to some sanity. On the next inhale, you pick up the pace, sliding his length in and out of you rapidly. 

“Oh, oh god- fuck, th-that’s so good, you’re so good.” Anton rambles, his voice strained and high-pitched in a way you’ve never heard before. You’re instantly obsessed with the sound and make a tsk-ing noise when he bites his bottom lip. You lift your hand off of his chest and squish his cheeks. His bottom lip juts out in a forced pout.

“None of that, baby boy. I wanna hear you.”

“-t’s embarrassing.” He mumbles weakly, which tapers off into another moan as you sink down fully and roll your hips. You throw your head back, feeling his thick size touch you in places you’ve never reached. You pick up a rhythm of sliding him in and out of you a couple of times then bottoming out and rolling your hips.

“Damn, Anton. You f-feel amazing.” You moan, stuttering when his hips buck into your own. You look back at him and his eyes are still open, and he’s giving you that look again, the one that makes you want to shy away under all of that adoration. Before you can, he throws his head back, baring his pretty, flushed neck as another high-pitched noise rips its way out of his throat. 

“F-fuck, -m so-sorry, can’t look– gonna cum, I’m–” 

You still on his lap and ignore the frustrated noise he lets out. Next to his ear, you whisper, “Not yet, Toni. Don’t you want to make me feel good too?”

He nods dumbly, unaware of how good he’s already making you feel. His eyes are empty and glossed over as you guide his hand to your clit. He rubs it experimentally, and your pleased sigh has him speeding up a bit, pressing a little harder to hear more of those sounds from you. 

His entire body is tense and burning hot, so close to the release he’s been chasing for a week, and watching your beautiful body react to his touch only makes it worse. He wants to get you there first, but when you roll your hips down again, he doesn’t think he can do it.

“P-please don’t move, please, please.” He begs, words slurring and eyes shining with desperation. He’s so deeply submitted to you that it’s almost unbearable, and you have the sudden need to please him, make him cum so hard he forgets his name, then kiss him to sleep. You support your weight with your shaky arms and lift your hips up.

“Fuck me, baby. Don’t you wanna cum?” You ask, putting on your sweetest voice for him. 

“Fuck yeah, yes, need it.” Anton grunts out. He wraps your arms around his neck and grips your hips tightly before roughly thrusting into your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck, Toni–” You gasp out with your face burried in his neck. His desperation shows through his lack of rhythm, his strokes uneven and harsh. He’s hitting your sweet spot so aggressively it feels like you might lose your mind, then his hand comes to rub your clit again, the grip on your waist strong enough to hold you up with one hand. 

“Oh, god. Cum, please cum, I-I can’t hold it.” He begs, words interlaced with keens and gasps. Despite your previous permission, he’s still so desperate to please you, even with wet cheeks and eyebrows furrowed in agony. The sight, the feeling of him pounding into your sweet spot, and the harsh, uneven rubbing on your clit sends you into overdrive. You cum so hard your hearing almost goes out, but you can faintly make out his muffled screams, and you feel him cream in you, hot fluids spilling back over his cock as he works himself through it. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Eventually, the air stills, and for the first time in hours, Anton’s tense body fully relaxes, his bones melding into your pillows. You lift off of him to let him fully catch his breath, and slip into the bathroom. His eyes are closed when you return, and flutter open when he feels something warm and wet touch his skin. 

You’re clean now, having wiped yourself down in the bathroom, and he’s silent as you clean him up as well. His blinks are slow like his eyelids are heavy, and you’re overwhelmed with the desire to leave kisses all over his puffy cheeks. 

You put discarded clothing as well as any dirty blankets in your laundry basket, then climb under the duvet with him. He’s warm and cozy when you pull him to lay on your chest again.

It’s silent for a few minutes, but you know he’s not asleep, because his breath is irregular.

“...Noona?” He calls out so quietly you’re surprised you hear it, alert to make sure he’s got everything he needs, so you hum in response. 

“Did you mean it? That you think I’m…handsome, and stuff?” He mumbles. His voice is so soft and sweet that you just wanna eat him up, but you don’t wanna disturb his comfort. 

“I meant every word, Anton. I’ve adored you since we met.” You confess while running your fingers through his fluffy, tangled hair. 

Moments of silence pass.

“I think I’ve been denying my crush on you for the past four weeks.” He whispers again, almost uncertain. His words have your heartbeat picking up, the idea of him reciprocating your romantic feelings makes you so happy you could jump on the bed, because you don’t know how you would’ve gone back to being just friends after tonight.

Similar thoughts run through Anton’s mind. He can’t believe he didn’t see his feelings for you sooner. It feels like after a full week, he’s finally able to relax into his skin again. You’re so comforting, and remembering how you took care of him gives him butterflies. Curiously, he looks up at you, and your eyes are staring back at him, as soft and sparkly as they’ve always been. He can’t believe how deep his feelings for you actually run. 

Your lips curl into a big smile, then you're suddenly cupping his cheeks and pressing warm, wet kisses all over his face.

“So cute. You’re so, so cute. I can’t resist any longer.” You say through smooches. He grunts in feigned annoyance, pretending that his heart isn’t threatening to jump out of his chest. You lay him back down, but he still has one question on his mind.

“Noona, w-will you…be my girlfriend?” His uncertain tone is back, despite everything.

“I better be.” You say lightly, half-joking. You continue running your fingers through his hair, and Anton’s eyelids become so heavy that he can’t keep them open despite wanting to stay here in this moment with you. 

You want to be sure before you drift off yourself, so you wait for a few more minutes, and then his breath evens out, and Anton falls asleep.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : this story on ao3 <33 pls lmk if i missed any tags i should add! this is my first ff so it's lacking, but i tried my best to fix up any obvious plotholes!!

[casualavocados]

Learn from who? Learn from you? You are still a brat. What do you know? You're only three years older. Like you are any better than me. You're 21, and still a virgin. What are you proud of? I think you can't do it.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 06

[izel-scribbles]

just finished malevolent relisten. needless to say the obsession has been rekindled tenfold its previous magnitude

[somethingaboutmint]

Quick ugly doodle of cassidy contemplating her sexuality at some dump somewhere

[hammity-hammer]

steve harrington realizing that he’s got no purpose if he’s not protecting the people he loves from outer-dimensional beings, and has a minor (read: major) spiral about it post-vecna & the party fixing everything. he’s just a regular ole 20 something with no purpose— his friends are all in school, except eddie, who managed to pick up an apprenticeship as an electrician; putting all of that wire knowledge to use (just not in cars, he hasn’t hotwired one since 1986 and he’d like to keep it that way si vous plais) and making the rich houses have even cooler guts than they deserve.

the kids end up graduating (their first tries) and heading as one little pack to the same school (don’t ask me which, i’m a college drop out) and steve, eddie, and rob end up staying just outside of indy. rob finished school early, because of course she did, and she found that she may have a knack for hanging around high schoolers, so why not teach them how to become polyglots like she is?

steve still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing— he bartends at a little club in the gayborhood, because they went there so often that the bartenders just kind of pushed him into it, and don’t get him wrong— mixing drinks and flirting all night is super fun, but it also… is kind of depressing? even if he gets to be around people like him and see them happy— he knows that a lot of alcohol and drugs causes that happiness and he wants so badly for his people to be out and proud and not murdered for it. but he can’t do that,, so he does the next best thing.

he talks with one of the regulars, andy, who owns a little tattoo shop on the corner, and andy invites him to come check it out. so he does the next day he’s free, and holy fucking christ. tattoos aren’t his thing— at least not on himself, but on other people they’re gorgeous. and they’re painful, but you’re turning the pain into art and you get to live with it in your skin and look at it and think about the fact that you’re here and you made it and you fucking survived. and people purposefully put scars into their bodies? and not in the i-battled-literal-other-dimensional-beings-and-won kind of way, or the i-battled-my-personal-demons-and-won kind of way, which both are things he’s dealt with so fucking intimately— but in the i-will-decorate-this-flesh-prison-and-make-it-a-castle kind of way, and that’s fucking beautiful. queer people taking their bodies and making them into art with ink and hot metal and needles and the love that they have for each other and the passion and the fucking spite at the world that keeps them going and making their presences KNOWN.

and maybe he gets some piercings while he’s there— it’s fascinating and feels so weird and freeing when the needle punctures his flesh and the jewelry goes in— and now he’s got a shiny little ring hanging through his earlobe; his nostril; his lip.

he learns that piercings take time and effort and care and that he has to treat himself with love to be able to heal— and that he is deserving of that love and care and dedication, especially from himself.

he keeps going back, maybe not always to get stabbed, but to watch others have it done. to see how different people’s anatomy takes different piercings, how he can’t have a piercing through his cheeks because he bites them too much when he’s anxious, but the girl that just left got both of hers done and they looked good. they fit her face, like little shiny dimples.

eventually, the piercer, killie, asks steve when he’s going to help them with their needles and their piercings— and he doesn’t know how to react because he hadn’t even thought about it and yet… maybe he could help other people fall in love with themselves and their bodies and help turn them into art one day

maybe he could be a pretty boy with his scars and his metal and his missing chunks and his polos and his jeans and his sneakers.

[jabberwockprince]

pride is not over yet!!! rise bisexuals RISE!!!!!!!!!!

I think this is my first time properly drawing these two LMFAO they're so bi4bi to me...... anyway !! feel free to use as icons, just make sure to link back / credit me!

and here is the 1010 pride icon set if youre interested <3

[cyellolemon]

ocs: Klaus, Myel and Stellan, apparently they're boyfriends..

[lottieurl]

please ignore this if you disagree. this is just me thinking out loud but i keep coming back to this impulse shauna had to EAT the ear and of course there's been all this talk about how she wants to consume jackie. how it's wanting to destroy her how it's wanting to be as close to her as possible. but i'm interested in the physicality of it. like there is the metaphor of cannibalism and then there is the REALITY of it

i read about mortuary cannibalism in the past and i believe it wasn't even the close loved ones eating the dead usually because often it would be too hard for them and even those who weren't as close and were the ones to consume the dead would sometimes throw up while eating. like let's put aside for a moment everything this means narratively and metaphorically. there is the physical act of putting a real uncooked half frozen eat into your mouth and the fact that that's the ear of a person you LOVED. the ear you may have whispered secrets to during class and one you felt against your cheek when the two of you hugged. and shauna does that after gently caressing the ear in her pocket for an entire day

i think there's an interesting component to how she's interacting with dead-jackie. some part of her brain acknowledges that jackie is dead while a much larger part of her refuses to. and i think at least on some unconscious level she's aware of the way the cold preserves jackie's body. after the initial shock of finding jackie when we see her sit in the same room with her now she's keeping her distance. there's this feeling people usually get from seeing their dead loved ones especially if it's been a little while since they died - a feeling of alienation. the muscles are no longer animated, the skin no longer warm. a feeling of this person being foreign to you in some way suddenly. and so a part of me wonders if on some level she wanted to stop the ear from rotting now that it's not frozen, warmed by shauna's hand and safe in her pocket. i don't think it would be a conscious thought but it's just. walking around with that ear in your pocket. not wanting to part with any part of jackie. wanting to consume her yes but also wanting to preserve her in a very physical way in a sense

[skunkes]

we may be getting a little too silly.