#i mean i can talk about it regardless. but play it so you all know what im saying

[iamverynormalaboutsge]

Those screenshots are for context as to why I decided to lay out my view on Aric and Japeth there and to also avoid repeating myself.

Now back to the grind! (I will put a 'read more' because this WILL be long, be warned)

Topics: Aric and Japeth's origins, the context of their surroundings, the perfect isolation and the communal influence

@liketwoswansinbalance take a cup of tea or an espresso shot, this is gonna be a while

I will lay out a few of my takes on these two characters before I move forth and talk about their relationship because I feel that if I don't some details will not be understood or they will lack, what I call, flavour!

First, let us start with Aric who I am more experienced with because, well what do you know? He's interesting to think about.

Of course, we have to begin with his origins. That means Lady Lesso and his unknown father who for whatever reason the fandom wiki assumes is deceased but we have no confirmation of that. Perhaps it's because after the 'We can't imagine anyone who would miss him' his father didn't appear yet again Nevers have a very different way of 'loving' their children. Aka it's practically medieval times royalty but without the money, make the baby 'pure' for the bloodline, and move on. In our case make a baby for your lineage(with a willing or unwilling participant or with a sacrificial goat to a demon to clone yourself like it happened in Hester's case) and then we see where the rest goes. Now there is no doubt in my mind Lady Lesso loved Aric and she still most certainly held motherly love for him when they reunited despite him wanting to murk at her and managing to do so in the end. She admitted she was never afraid of him and more so afraid of what he could do to the people she cared about. But she WAS afraid of him when she realised that he was not HER son anymore.

We know that Lady Lesso was afraid of Aric's father. Perhaps the whole 'let's make an heir for our bloodline' was mutual but something happened and Lesso wanted to keep her son and avoid her husband(?)/father of the child. It is funny to me how people assume Ares, the God of War, is his father and honestly? I could see it. Lady Lesso has this aura of power around her and I wouldn't exactly be shocked if the woman who deemed Sophie as truly evil despite all of her flaws would only be swooned off her feet by a literal God, similar to how Sophie was very eager with the prospect of a powerful lover and having therefore a power of position. However, Lady Lesso perhaps sought out more than just power. I believe Aric's dad simply wanted to take Aric for who knows what reasons and Lady Lesso, one of the most powerful sorceresses that we know of(because come on. She managed to make the powerful protecting shield Rafal did at his full strength. That takes something) was AFRAID to confront a 'simple' man.

Now how does this all play in Aric's story if he didn't even know his father? Well, genetics count. Dovey recognised Aric's father from her memories after meeting Aric who had a similar outlook on him. Therefore Aric being very eager for war, battle, and savage violence in general despite maintaining a certain level of discipline which IS needed to win a war regardless of how brutal, would justify the Ares theory.

We know Gods can be charming or persuasive, we saw the air of confidence and undoubtedly strength Lady Lesso carries herself, and we see it in Aric how he has no issue getting where he wants, how he wants it, and deceiving everyone along the way. Despite supposedly having no interactions with girls whatsoever, given that the timeline only mentions that Aric's interaction with a girl ever before ending in the Arbed House was with the daughter of the family that rescued him that he nearly killed(not to mention that I remember that he DID murk their family dog. Perhaps the fact that the family's daughter was 'so weak' paired with his recent trauma of being abandoned by his mother who he most likely loved the most led to his whole 'women are weak, frail and pathetic' beliefs).

Therefore, how does Aric go on to 'seduce' Sophie and Hester? Although he didn't exactly go somewhere with either of the plans he had in mind with Rafal punishing him for going near Sophie and Hester not faltering for the guy he got stabbed by(even if the stab was meant for Agatha), we still see he has some maddening skills in being a charming devil and effortlessly so. Let's not forget that he ended up captain of the boys against any better judgement from Tedros. Sure he broke through the magic shield and we see Tedros question it even if he never gets an answer from Aric on it. A completely strange boy showed up on his doorstep and he just- let him in despite the clear threat he possessed simply because he claimed to(and didn't lie) that he was there as well because like everyone else he had something in this 'game' to go after. We see Tedros acting aggressively to Aric when he loses his patience in regards to the whole 'start a war already' situation, being threatened to be kicked out, but THAT was after Aric already become Captain of the boys. Aric must have proved himself in a different way than just breaking the shield. I mean sure he managed to gather up some henchmen between the time he left the Albert House to the moment he got to the schools, and we know that Aric didn't exactly have any friends. He was persuasive enough to get some other aggressive individuals to follow him and potentially even make them obedient to him. We never know what happens to them after book 2 but most likely just like the other princes and boys they are thrown out/leave because they are no longer needed therefore Aric doesn't keep them around.

Where does this play in the whole Aric-Japeth relationship? It does. Sure, Aric is very conscious about what he does and what effect he has on people but he had to learn he could have such an influence on others, and who was his first 'victim'? I believe that to be Japeth. Now I doubt Aric was aware of what he was doing. He was just a boy, no older than six who had been abandoned and turned spiteful against the cold harsh world. We know NOBODY liked Aric. Rhian and Kei surely didn't yet Japeth did. And I think the reason Rhian and Kei didn't like Aric is for the same reason that Japeth did.

Aric's natural charm worked on Japeth as they grew up together and 'explored'. While Japeth's acts of violence until then were to terrify both his twin and mother to the point Evelyn Sader who was very determined to raise Rafal's children(and who she also carried willingly despite being abandoned) turned to leave them in the exact spot where hearts so evil that they would ruin the endless woods if they were to be properly trained in the School for Evil were hidden (another screenshot y'all).

Aric wasn't sent there by HIS blood nor guardian but rather by a family mortified by exactly this, a heart truly evil. He ended up there as an external factor who heavily influenced Japeth's perspective and views to the ones they were already being taught in the Albert House. That school's purpose is to redeem evil hearts like redeeming sinners in the Hazbin Hotel. However, the Arbes House had a far bigger success than we see happen with the demons from hell(weird parallel I know but you can't tell me it's entirely wrong given that Japan didn't do far more malicious war crimes than the characters we are presented in that indie animation). Anyway, as previously stated I believe that just as Aric's genetics made him charming, persuasive and manipulative, effortlessly with little to no struggle if I may, Japeth's genetics made him psychotic, prone to delusion as well as overly blinded sighted by his goal to account for all the details that may go wrong. These characteristics we seen in both Rafal and Evelyn.

We know that Evelyn was supposed to raise the boys and with the Mistral, sisters to help make them into what they are supposed to be. Japeth knew of his true nature while Rhian didn't and I don't think that it was Evelyn or Rafal to reveal that to him but rather the Mistral sisters AFTER Evelyn effectively abandoned the boys. I say abandoned because it wasn't until Evelyn saw how truly awful Japeth was that she was willing to truly drop this entire grand master plan despite carrying it so far. House Arbed specialises in hiding these evil souls from the schoolmaster himself therefore as far as Rafal was concerned in the context that he didn't exactly send monthly letters to his sisters, his sons were gone. Therefore even if Evelyn was still delusional enough to think he could be near Rafal, he rewarded her for helping bring him back or better said punished her for getting rid of his bloodline. It would make sense for Rafal to have noticed the impossibility of tracking down his sons the moment they stepped into the Arbed House which wouldn't exactly lead him to believe that there could be any magic more powerful than his to shorten his vision, because why would he? He never even considered that the students who loathed him could secretly work to overthrow him, or at least he didn't believe he'd get far so clearly while this is certainly a far stretch with the whole believing Japeth and Rhian are dead, it isn't entirely deniable. It would also make sense that after knowing of Aric, despite forcing the whole 'abandon your child or your career Lesso' he went off the radar when he got to the Arbed House just like it happened to Japeth and Rhian. Aric was evil just enough for Rafal to make him a DEAN on the SPOT despite having 0 experience whatsoever(outside the whole 'captain of boys)' and went as far as to give him the title of LORD.

I got a bit sidetracked but the point is Aric and Japeth were perfectly isolated and unbothered by any external factors in the Arbed House(perhaps the mistral sister keeping an eye on Japeth but not a lot more than that in the case of which Japeth and Rhian BOTH came in contact with the three only AFTER they left the Arbed House once they 'graduated' which could have been around the same time Rafal kicked the bucket, and Japeth was given more information than Rhian because the mistral sisters saw that unlike Japeth, Rhian's evil nature as little as it was ended up being stomped on and only Japeth was left with more authentic evil purity).

Japeth had violent tendencies but not out of any specific hatred or anger, but simply how he truly was we do not know whatsoever that Aric had such tendencies until after he was abandoned which would explain how compared to Evelyn who was mortified Japeth and willingly abandoned him and Rhian(perhaps Rhian too in the fear he could at any time turn like Japeth), Lesso had NO reason whatsoever to feel such genuine deep fear towards his son despite everything he did, despite the magic he inherited from her and the strength/mentality he might have taken from his father like Evelyn did. Lesso was afraid of Aric's father but loved Aric genuinely while Evelyn was supposedly madly in love with Rafal but FEARED Japeth. See the contrast?

Now that we have this cleared out we can finally begin the TRUE Aric-Japeth analysis as a WHOLE.

Japeth was corrupted by Aric. Yes, you heard me, Aric who undeniably is less evil than Japeth, is the one to have corrupted Aric and not the other way around. As I mentioned everyone saw it as troubling that Aric and Japeth interact with each other and given that it was Aric who ended up going to extreme lengths and being kicked out, rightfully so to think of it. Aric and Japeth only had each other as friends. Japeth was wicked by nature and birth, and Aric was wicked by his surroundings. While Japeth was relatively kept tame, that most likely changed the moment Aric came along. Aric who despite not being as horrible could NOT be contained(Just like Lady Lesso outright acted on betraying Rafal in the favour of the balance instead of just Evil).

Aric was also the first one to do an actual proper kill and not just torture or frighten as Japeth did to his brother and mother. Aric was the one to go the extra mile the moment he was pushed while Japeth despite all his wickedness never did such a thing or considered it even UNTIL Aric came into view and did as far as nearly killing Rhian. I mean a stab to the head-? Rhian had a hell of a skull not to die from it. A parallel to the False Rafal/OG Rhian on how HE had no issue with Hook eliminating competition but he wasn't able to do so himself until he was corrupted by external factors and did it himself at the end of the prequels by killing Rafal.

Likewise, Aric had an unconscious influence on Japeth. Aric had this natural attraction to get his way through. He got Tedros to place him as the Captain of the boys when Chaddick failed Tedros. He got Rafal to make him the new Dean/Lord of New Evil. He could have easily persuaded Sophie if Rafal didn't catch him in time and I dare say that even Hester was more than likely stunned enough by Aric's shenanigans for his action to still count as effective in playing with the victim's mind. However, while Aric was in conscious control of all of this, he never realised how he influenced Japeth. He was just growing, exploring who he was as a person and Japeth was the first-hand witness to that. Aric is more in the spotlight. He is in the shadows enough to not be noticed until it's too late but in the light enough for people to know to keep clear of him even when it is unclear the full extent of his power. Japeth is more of a shadow villain. He has no desire to step into the light, no need to put himself on display or hurt people just for the sake of it like Aric does, instead he does so by his simple nature, unconsciously.

And when growing up, a child takes from what they see around them including other children. Aric's naturally charming and suave behaviour put a spotlight on him from Japeth's perspective. One bright enough so that to him everything else becomes irrelevant as long as it's not related to Aric. If Aric didn't die I highly doubt Japeth would have helped Rhian with everything because he wouldn't have a reason to. Rhian wouldn't have what to bribe him with, even if Rhian didn't know he was beating Japeth out with the promise/idea of bringing back a person who most certainly everyone in the Arbed House despised. (Also the fact that Aric tried to kill Rhian and Japeth was dead serious on seeing Rhian choosing his safety over Japeth's happiness as a betrayal when he decided that Aric is to be kicked out. I mean I doubt it was Rhian's entire choice but that is the way Japeth saw it. Rhian chose himself over him so why should Japeth ever do otherwise for Rhian?).

Now that we established who wore the pants in the 'relationship' and as to HOW and WHY this is, let us define the status of it.

Japeth loved Aric. No doubt. I mean, having a magic space where you scribble your initials EVERYWHERE? I believe Japeth IS aware of how B+C scribbled on anything is usually a sign of romance or at least a very deep feeling. We see Rhian saying that Japeth considered Aric more of a brother than him, however, we then see Japeth ask decoy Aric for a kiss as a trap. Japeth was aware of his feelings towards Aric and so was Aric. However, Aric rejected that part of Japeth. In this regard, Japeth took after Evelyn's delusion that someone who didn't love him the way HE wanted it to, could ever, and also took after both Rafal and Evelyn, with Japeth believing that if he were to bring Aric back he could make him love him. (Rafal who thought he could make Sophie genuinely love him outside of desperation. Also, Evelyn who had thought that being of service to Rafal would gain her anything in her favour).

Japeth is the more powerful one in any aspect but mentally, whereas Aric in contrast naturally shines in through with his 'good' genetics. Japeth doesn't even think of stepping over Aric's authority over him, he lacks that rebellious spirit that Aric shines in. Aric dominates because he wants to. Japeth ended up dominating others because that was what was needed to get the one person he ever loved back. Japeth obeys Aric in his wishes, but during the scene where Tedros pretends to be Aric, we see that Japeth, from the demanding and cold snake, turns into a pleading puppy desperate for affection. He was right there and then ready to accept everything decoy Aric said if he didn't, to his credit and cunningness, test to see if this was even HIS Aric that he is so desperate about. Once he saw it wasn't his Aric, Japeth's delusion settled back in.

I highly doubt that the interaction would have gone any differently. Tedros didn't truly know Aric but he knew how he acted enough to realistically impersonate him for somebody who knew Aric on a far deeper level. Although he certainly must have had a flaw if Japeth decided to test out if this was Aric or not(outside of the fact that Aric was dead because we did later see Arthur talk to Tedros in the plane of dreams/magic so it's not wrong to think Japeth might have truly considered that decoy Aric was indeed Aric talking to him from the realm of the dead).

Now we established the relationship from Japeth's point of view + the view of everyone else but what about Aric? Now we know the romantic side of love was one-sided. We do know that Aric would send letters to Japeth, begging to come to him because he felt off without him, but I doubt that this was because of romantic feelings. Japeth states Aric was ashamed of their love, but this could be his perspective and rather Aric was ashamed of Japeth loving him like that or doing something to make him believe he could ever do that because loving someone also means hoping the feeling is mutual(unless you are that one sexuality where apparently to love people but you don't want them to love you back-??? Don't ask, I saw it once and that was enough for me to decide that the expertise of sexuality beyond bodily and mental psychology is no place for me to study). Aric was disgusted that Japeth who knew him best could ever think Aric could have such awful thoughts. Sure Aric hates women and he may have influenced Japeth in that aspect too because it's not like anybody else told him that women are pathetic creatures outside of Aric, which might result in a healthy young growing boy's hormones turning their attention to the same gender.(Reminder that places such as the military or conservative schools with only one of the gender present raises homosexuality because, in the age of teenhood where hormones flare up, they won't stop just because the opposite gender isn't present. Aric had contact with the opposite gender and saw examples of heterosexual couples, for example, the family who took him in, compared to Japeth who didn't exactly see Rafal around Evelyn I doubt that in the Arbed House, their biggest concern was making the boys good Christian boys and rather just oppress the evil as much as possible so that they can pass by as good. I mean Tedros is supposedly good and he deadpan chose the 'a villain will burn the world for you' route for Agatha so-).

I believe Aric missed Japeth because Japeth completed Aric. These two were the yin-yang of evil. The spiteful, fiery, rebellious part, and the calmer, colder, tamer part. Evil nonetheless but still, there is a very clear contrast between why these two are evil. It's a spectrum at this point.

Aric missed Japeth because Japeth was secure, Japeth was Aric's safe space. Japeth was the only other soul in this world Aric could share his dark thoughts and desires with, without being judged. Humans are still social animals even if some prefer solidarity, even our beloved introverts feel the need for a pet or some sort of emotional connection. Aric needed that connection. His status of power made it to be out of reach from others. His power build on terror and fear. He wouldn't trust those who loath him most to share his most intimate thoughts with.

Aric effectively isolated himself with his title, just as Rafal had. Aric needed someone wicked enough to understand him yet loyal enough to not choose their selfish reasons over his. Rafal had Sophie for that, however, he underestimated Sophie's external factors, the need for validation from a familiar person(Agatha/Tedros). For Aric though, this would have worked perfectly for Japeth. Japeth had no external factors to care for, not Rhian, not Evelyn, or anybody else. Japeth and Aric were only with each other. No other boys or girls between them. No other friendships or relationships. The only one who could have those was Aric and he effectively couldn't have them. Aric and Japeth wouldn't have been as deadly of a duo as people think. Yes if we take them from a standpoint of view in power and personality sure, but that's where they come and neutralise each other. While I believe that Aric most certainly expressed his feelings of wanting to kill Lady Lesso without hesitation and wanting to hurt Rhian for getting into his friendship with Japeth, he had no other specific targets. Sure Aric killed a dog, terrified a whole family and had an attempt on their lives, but you don't expect a rescue animal, abused, abandoned or traumatised to trust anyone right away. That unfortunate family wasn't the one Aric needed to cool down and recover from the essential meltdown he had for being abandoned and struggling severely in a highly dangerous forest with not just animals to worry about but magical/fantastic creatures who were ten times more deadly and could appear there as well. The Albert House was Aric's anchoring point back to reality and sanity but he had no one to coordinate his evil thoughts constructively like Lady Lesso does with her students because the Albert House works to OPPRESS these tendencies and that didn't sit with Aric's rebellious behaviour. If Aric wouldn't influence Japeth I believe his evilness could have been oppressed to an acceptable extent. Instead, we got the mastermind and his loyal henchmen. While Aric most certainly viewed Japeth as an equal and a person he desired to be around because he could feel human and natural around with, he didn't need him the way Japeth did because Aric experienced genuine unconditional love before Japeth, making him able to depict certain patterns and behaviours unconsciously.

Were Aric and Japeth friends? Yes. If these two weren't bothered would have half of the series happened? No. Were Aric and Japeth lovers? Not really. Did Aric love Japeth? Sure. Did Aric love Japeth? No. Did Japeth love Aric? Yes. Did Japeth love Aric? Yes. Did Aric see Japeth the way Japeth saw him? Not. Did Aric see him as an equal and or counterpart? Yes.

These two were most certainly each other's safe space, however, they viewed one another entirely differently.

Take this as you will.

[luckyorchid]

What If’s

Summary: What if: What if questions were hypothetical questions with hypothetical answers. Everyone’s asked themselves this, everyone including Aventurine.

OR: Ratio knows about Aventurine’s secret relationship with you. Aventurine dissolves into an existential crisis and it’s all THE DOCTORS FAULT.

Tags: Implied hidden/fake relationship, Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild descriptions of violence, Existential Crisis, Ratio is Aventurine’s best friend kinda, Aventurine has ISSUES, Implied tall reader, a bit of a character study in a sense

A/N: Hello!! This is a short drabble/fic on my ongoing series “Time’s Backstage” posted on Ao3. For some context, Reader is a bartender and wagered Aventurine that they can show him love isn’t all that scary. Fake relationship essentially. Ensues the chaos and mess of feelings.

If you wanna check it out: https://archiveofourown.org/series/4312756

Word count: 1,475

Aventurine dreams

It seems counterproductive for him– naive, and don’t get him wrong– it is. For someone who’s supposed to be an IPC representative: dreaming didn’t have a place in his schedule, nor in the list of things he needs to do.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t in his list of things he wanted to do.

But who cares about that? He argues with himself every time; what was the point of dreaming? There was no undoing what’s happened, no undoing the pain he’s felt and the pain he’s caused others; no undoing the brand on his neck, the number 35 etched on his skin. Invisible, but he feels it–

Regardless, he dreams. What if.

What if questions were hypothetical questions with…hypothetical answers. Everyone’s asked themselves this, everyone including him. What if I chose this restaurant rather than the usual? What if I pretend to have a bad hand in this game? What if I drown out the screams of those slaves with my own so I wouldn’t have to hear the sick noises of bones shattering and blood splattering?

Perfectly normal questions to ask yourself.

The good doctor once told him, (and in fact, told him all the time), that what if’s, while interesting; would only make him spiral down that rabbit hole of self-deprecation. “Have you ever considered mulling over something productive instead?” Ratio would suggest, flipping through the pages of that owl-carved notebook.

Aventurine breaks out of his stupor, quickly smoothing his surprise. He sends the doctor a smile. “Productive? Doctor, I’ve been nothing but productive all day.”

The sun’s rays shine past his window, casting his office in an orange hue. His eyes flit to Ratio’s face, alabaster off. “In your head, dear gambler.” Ratio doesn’t look up. “Your thoughts are about as loud as a barn-owl’s screech, if you even know what that sounds like.”

Aventurine scoffs, crossing his arms. He leans over his desk, gaze growing sharper. “Then what would you suggest I think about, hm?”

Ratio shuts his book, sighing. “Starting off, what about that Bartender you’re seeing?”

Aventurine feels like he was just kicked in the stomach. Twice. Thrice.

No one else was supposed to know about that. He can feel his neck and face heat up, but he manages to choke out. “What?” He tries catching his blunder, masking his surprise with a laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, doctor–”

“Don’t play the idiot. To be frank, that role never suited you.” Ratio drawls, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. “The tall one, yes? The one who’s been making you lunch boxes?”

Fuck. Aventurine’s face was burning at this point. “I thought I hid them well.” He grunts out and tussles his own hair. Ratio raises a brow. “You’re lucky nobody else cares enough to pry or perceive further.” He leans against the couch, flicking his book back open. “Then again, luck is your gift.”

Aventurine rolls his eyes and smirks, before slumping against his seat. Silence fills the room, and he finally adds; “I taught them Avgin.”

That catches Ratio’s attention. “...Your mother tongue?”

“Yeah. Well, we haven’t exactly been able to practice in a while, now that I mention it–”

Aventurine’s nervous rambling dies down as those amber eyes look at him again. It’s heavier, and his breath starts to pick up. Ratio didn’t need to look at him like that; like what he’s done was a mistake. He knows it is, he knows it’s a mistake to open to someone who shouldn’t be involved with the IPC– with him in the first place.

Before Ratio could ask another question from that frustratingly smart-ass mouth, the clock hits 5, marking the end of his shift. “Would you look at that?” Aventurine kicks off his chair, fixing his vest. Ratio watches him with a frown. Aventurine recognizes it; it wasn’t one of frustration, rather one of curiosity.

“And your thoughts my friend,” Aventurine says as he places a hand on Ratio’s shoulder. “Are as loud as a roulette wheel, if you even know what that sounds like.”

Ratio shrugs his hand off with a huff. “Touché.”

Aventurine leaves his office and clocks out, all the while screaming in his head to drown out the harsh beats of his heart.

–

Kakavasha dreams.

It wasn’t counterproductive, as Kakavasha was no IPC representative and had no burdens. He was merely a boy blessed by Gaiathra, embroidering clothes with his sister and playing in golden sands, praying every night for fortune to his family and clan.

Dreaming was easier this way. What if.

What if questions were hypothetical questions with hypothetical answers. Everyone’s asked themselves this, everyone including him. What if I used a different technique in weaving this basket? What if I prayed somewhere else? Will it make my prayers come faster? What if I ran faster? Faster so I wouldn’t have to hear the screams of my sister and clan as they get ravaged by fire and Katicans–

He takes a breath. Aventurine– Kakavasha dreams.

He dreams that his mother and his father are still alive, caring for him and his sister. His father would take them every morning to a small temple, offering gifts. His mother would teach them to cook and embroider, and his sister would finally have the childhood that was stolen from her.

He dreams that the IPC did come to aid the Avgins against the Katicans. He dreams that Sigonia was able to experience what Jelena’s– Topaz’s planet got; becoming lush with grass, trees, and flowers. He would pick a pretty one, happily place it on his sister’s ear, and say. “Sister, the dawn finally shined on us.”

He dreams that his clan thrives. He dreams that an ocean surges and laps at his ankles, and he dreams that the IPC was kind, not charging an inch of gold or credits. He wants to laugh– Kind?

In this perfect world, he would’ve grown old with his family, his skin and mind untainted, with no mark on his neck. He might’ve met Ratio under better circumstances, with a better introduction, he might’ve still been Aventurine- or not.

What he was sure of though, was in this paradise, he would’ve met you again– and he could’ve loved you.

You would’ve been a foreigner from another planet, landing a job in Sigonia as a bartender. He would’ve met you after a promotion. You’d slide a glass of honeyed-whiskey into his hand, and your fingers would meet. You’d smile shyly, and he’d allow himself to feel warm.

He’d ask for your number, and then the two of you would hit it off, going on dates by the ocean. You’d want to take it slow, and he wouldn’t feel restless or insecure, savoring each moment. He’d listen to you ramble about your dreams, and he’d tell you his dreams.

In this paradise, he could hold you without scaring himself, without thinking what if you leave, what if you die, and it’d be his fault? He wouldn’t scathe you with his bitter words, wouldn’t scowl at your kindness, instead basking in it.

He dreams of introducing you to his family. His sister would appreciate your blunt honesty and curiosity, inviting you to weave and embroider with her. His father would talk to you in broken Interastral and invite you to Avgin customs. His mother would get to know you better, cooking your favorite every time you came over.

“When will you marry?” She’d tease, and he’d huff out a flustered laugh.

And then he’d kiss you, he could kiss you without feeling as if he were using you, enjoy your company without counting the days of when this would end.

He can live without worrying about another day of survival, without feeling guilty and scared.

…But that just wasn’t possible, for that is all he knows now, is it not? This universe was not kind, and Kakavasha wished it was. He wished, and he prayed that somewhere far away, there was a universe where all his wants were real, that destiny wasn’t cruel enough to make him suffer, no matter where he was.

But it’s too late to wish and pray. It’s too late for wants and dreams– and it was far too late for What-If’s.

His eyes open, wet from tears. He sits up and cradles his cat-cakes. He looks down at them. They were gifts from Ratio, and the reminder of the man makes him scoff. The doctor always had a way to make him think deeper than he should’ve.

Aventurine reaches for his phone, and sees a text from you:

“I JUST GOT HOME FROM SHIFT ARDFHJHGFR YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED–”

Followed by 10 other messages 5 minutes ago. Aventurine’s shoulders melt and he lies back down with a smile.

For now, maybe this reality wasn’t the utter worst.

A/N: AGHAGSHS I HOPE this wasn’t too rusty. My potato fingers are giving up on me. The main fic is currently being outlined and I have so many ideas like what if what if Reader is sorta jealous of Ratio but doesn’t outright say it, then it makes for some delicious banter between Ratio and Reader like 😭🙏🙏

ANYWAYS thank you for reading!! May Gaiathra thrice close her eyes for you <33

[artbyblastweave]

🔥Punisher: Last Gun on Earth?

This ask is referring to the fairly-obscure 2010 zombie apocalypse Elseworld Marvel Universe Vs The Punisher by Jonathan Maberry, as well as the two prequels following Wolverine and Hawkeye at different points in the same timeline. I've been meaning to do a more comprehensive write-up on this for quite some time, as it was a series distinct from but very visibly in conversation with Marvel Zombies, which Maberry was also peripherally involved with. The elevator pitch is that a fuckup by the Punisher during a hit on the Russian Mob results in a cold war bioweapon getting into the biosphere, eventually turning almost the entire human population, and most of the superheroes, into adrenaline-fueled 28-days-later style rage zombies. Content Warning under the cut for discussions of racism

Despite its many, many flaws, there was a lot I enjoyed about this series, and alongside Marvel Zombies it had a not-insubstantial impact on my own aesthetic sensibilities, which I think probably comes through in a lot of my zombie artwork. The first mini, Marvel Universe Vs The Punisher, is a pastiche of I am Legend, with Frank Castle in the role of Robert Neville, an infected Deadpool in the role of Neville's abnormally sentient neighbor Ben Cortman, and with a zombified Spider-Man the white whale that he's spent five years hunting through the remains of Manhattan. Before I get into the rancid shit, I'm going to talk about what I enjoyed:

While the series succumbs to all-too-common Punisher Wank in terms of his efficacy in taking down a number of the A-list infected heroes, it ultimately comes out the other side as a pretty competent piece of character work for Frank; the series is grimly aware that a virus turning most of the human population into a shooting gallery of sadistic cannibal maniacs would be something like Valhalla for Frank, regardless of his pretensions to the contrary. Moreover, it's subtly implied that Frank's belief that he's immune is incorrect, and what's actually happening is that a virus that turns you into a vindictive, dogmatic maniac with a hardwired us-or-them mindset had no effect on him because he was already like that. There are ultimately revealed to be thousands of other survivors in New York, all of whom have spent five years studiously avoiding him because they think he's batshit insane. Even zombie Spider-Man, played up as the Biggest Bad, is ultimately revealed to have retained enough humanity to protect his uninfected family the entire time, whereas Frank is ultimately painted as unrelenting genocide machine whose psychological inability to give quarter ultimately makes him worse than the infected.

From there the series extrapolated some hilarious commentary on the genre as a whole; the zombie outbreak was going on for months before reaching critical mass, and nobody noticed because the baseline levels of random street violence and superpowered brawls are already so high in these settings that nobody realized a lot of the fights were occurring for rage-virus reasons until Spider-Man killed and ate a supervillain on live television. The whole series can be viewed through the lens of the usual spectacle-bait crisis-crossover contrived-battle-between-heroes routine, distilled to its purest form and escalated to the point of Ragnarök; the art frequently deliberately obfuscates which combatants are infected and which are uninfected people fighting for their lives. In this way it's playing with the pre-existing logic of the superhero genre in a way that Marvel Zombies didn't.

Maberry knows how to use Deadpool in a supporting character role without having him eat the entire goddamn thing. It's a fun dynamic!

Unlike Marvel Zombies, which was deliberately unconcerned with logistics as part of the gonzo fever-dream aesthetic, Maberry put some actual thought into a semi-plausible model by which a zombie virus could overrun a superhero setting. The responsible mutagen is air-and-waterborne, causing people to start turning at random months after being infected rather than through bites or fluid contact, and sneaks around healing factors because the mutations it causes are parsed as improvements rather than disease symptoms. Mass swarms of infected, unpowered civilians are as relevant, if not more relevant, than the superhumans are in spreading the infection, leading in turn to a lot of Left 4 dead styled set piece co-op fights like the one depicted above, and leading to the failure state that a superhero might be able to mince human wave attacks all day but at a certain point they'll have chewed through everyone they were ostensibly protecting by doing so, even if they themselves survive. This is a dynamic that, ultimately, only Frank Castle is really capable of thriving within, because with him it was never about protecting people, just hurting "bad" ones.

Which leads to another major positive points- the series is also a lot more concerned with rendering the setting's downward spiral. Eight prequel issues depicting the superhero community going down fighting over the course of months, rather than folding like a dixie cup in a trash compactor for horror value. Dead Days is the closest that Marvel Zombies ever got to rendering that same process, and while that was a very good oneshot it was still a deliberately compact one-shot. Here you get tableau after tableau of survivors throwing down with zombies. Unlikely alliances, second-string deep-cut z-listers crawling out of the woodwork- all interspersed with the growing realization among the protagonists that this is not business as usual, the status quo is not going to hold this time, it's just the actual apocalypse.

Here's Punisher, Hawkeye, Iron Fist and Black Cat trying to hold the Holland tunnel. Here's Dr. Bong, Howard the Duck Ruby Tuesday and Hit Monkey making a last stand in Central Park. This shit unironically kicks ass! This is what I think a lot of people are gesturing at when they say that they want to see a superheroes vs zombies story.

And, on that note, if you're going to tell this kind of story, Punisher, Wolverine and Hawkeye are objectively three of the best characters to have as the viewpoint characters- precisely the right level of competence and street-level scrappiness to survive without having a prayer of turning the tables outright. "Shit, Man, this superhero war is fucked-" the comic.

One additional minor thing I enjoyed about the series, aesthetically, is that while Marvel Zombies was a deliberately anachronistic mish-mash where every character was depicted in their most visually iconic outfits from across decades of publication, This series was very specifically working with the Marvel Universe status quo circa 2010 when it was published- The X-Men in San Francisco, Red Hulk on the Avengers, now-long-forgotten Avengers Academy kids in crowd shots. It grounds the narrative in a way Marvel Zombies was deliberately avoiding, acting as a snapshot and a time capsule in a neat way.

Now onto the two big things I didn't like about this series, the latter of which sinks it really really badly:

One: Caption Cancer. Maberry is one of those authors who I like on balance but who also often lapses into Talking Just To Talk. How many times does the navel-gazey running commentary in the above excerpts double back on itself, and how much is it actually saying- particularly when contrasted with the story told by the art and dialogue alone? Either he felt a need to fill the space (bad) or worse, he thought that these were some kind of deep and compelling rumination on the human condition. In general the balance of exposition to action in this thing were.... all over the place, not always integrated gracefully. The best sequences in the book are the ones where the captions just shut the fuck up so we can watch these people clobber each other. This is not a problem the original Marvel Zombies had- one thing I like about Kirkman is that he's usually a caption minimalist, letting the art and the dialogue do the heavy lifting. You don't get a page as quiet and decompressed as the following in the entire 12 issue run of Marvel Universe Vs.

Two: It's Racist. Like, really really racist. The comic continuously lapses into extremely racist imagery with the infected, using the visual language of "primitive savage tribes" with seemingly zero awareness of the real-life groups that those tropes were used to propagandize against and dehumanize. It's one thing to have zombies that take human body parts as trophies- that's kind of a cool motif- it's quite another to have a zombified Hulk who braids his hair in an obvious caricature of Native Americans, complete with feathers. What the fuck, Maberry!

Moreover it's a comically unforced error- everything compelling happens outside of that imagery, it's adding basically nothing but an attack surface to the premise. 28 days later did this basic premise without the racism, Left 4 Dead did this basic premise without the racism, The Crazies did this basic premise without the racism, Fucking Crossed did this basic premise without using the same racist visual language, at least until after Ennis left the book. Congratulations- you found a way to make the zombies more on-the-face racially insensitive than Garth Ennis. Round of Applause, everyone. This specific issue is why I don't think I've ever brought this book up in depth unprompted, it's genuinely really gross.

Anyway, those are my unified thoughts on the Marvel Universe Vs. trilogy, hope you enjoyed.

[creaturefeaster]

I HAVE 3000 HOURS ON RIMWORLD??? what the fuck.

[todayisafridaynight]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TRUSTING ME BRO I COULD CRYYYYYYYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭😭I hope it does not disappoint... REAL THOUGH about the drama you mentioned in your tags, that's exactly how I felt reading If My Wife Becomes An Elementary School Student's title, for example, but I'm told it's wholesome☠️☠️I would love to hear about the one you were thinking of though!

I WILL BEAR IT IN MIND TO PREPARE FOR ARACHTAGON WHENEVER THE TIME COMES... totally understandable to get frustrated with RNG on top of that, RPGs can be so evil 😭😭😭still, again, I'm glad you're back to it! Also totally understandable to want to play on the original consoles... NOTHING beats the experience... the availability of playthroughs nowadays is nice for sure to be able to experience the series without investing that much!

I would LOVE to see more Normal interactions between Ichiban and Jo for real😭they have so much potential for silly moments... ever-thankful for your content and I Can't Say Enough always looking forward to whatever you might have in store :] whether it's that or something else :]

I EXPECT YOU'RE DONE WITH EPISODE EIGHT NOW AT MINIMUM SO I WILL JUST SAY the Ohashi arc and Episode Ø [<- why the hell is ep eight called this] are peak to me I am soooo glad you enjoyed the arc... LOVE the OST too, Yugo Kanno is a legend. HOWEVER all the songs on it are titled words that start with S and P so you get titles like Scarlet Pussy 😭

OH BUT SPEAKING OF SP'S WACKASS STRUCTURE pleeeeeaaaase consider watching SP: The Motion Picture and SP: The Motion Picture: The Final Episode after you finish the show... there is A Cliffhanger and those are the true conclusions to the story... and SP Final In Specific is what blew my nuts clean off...

STOPPP NO THAT'S EXACTLY THE DRAMA I WAS TALKING ABOUT BUT I DIDNT WANNA SNITCH ON MYSELF 😭😭 it really is a cute show..... im ngl it has some of my fave tsutsumi scenes/performances like it TRULY blew my expectations out of the water. i just feel SOOO awkward about it cause.. with a title like That and a premise Like That i wouldnt blame a single person for giving me a weird ass look so i generally try not to talk about it ☠️ its my guilty treat so to speak and i cant even tell if im making it sound worse than it actually is (╯x╰ )

in any case... i finished Security Police SO !!! onto After The Rain for me when it comes to Media Thats Awkward To Talk About But Please Believe Me When I Say Its Not What You're Thinking :]

LMAO PLEASE like... so long as you have the right equipment you don't even really have to do much extra grinding by the time you get to him... it truly is just hoping RNG doesnt dick you over ☠️ i've been cruising through the game since tho ! i dont expect myself to get into anymore awkward blockades anytime soon and then i can finally say i finished this game (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

THANK YA THANK YA it aint much but its honest work..... i have been real dead this week tho and i always get scared if ill draw again durin periods like this- i HOPE to come up with something soon cause there really is an untapped well of Good Stuff to be explored :]]

THE SOUND DESIGN OF SP WAS REALLY GOOD IN GENERAL THOUGH LIKE not just music wise was it good but i really loved hos inoue's migraines gave me migraines... immersion... but also just knowing when to keep things dead silent (like finding nishijima's corpse) did SOOO well to put emphasis.. the weird as hell names are just bonus points by now like. Gotta Let Bro Have SOMETHING As A Thank You For The Sound Design (╯▽╰ ;;) OH BUT IM GLAD THERE'S MOVIE TIE-INS CAUSE THE LAST SCENE HAD ME CONCERNICUS LIKE 👁️👁️? i was only able to find the first 2010 movie on the site i usually go to but its somethin...

[p0rchc0ll4ps3]

It's four am. Time for unpopular opinion: I don't like it . I don't like!!!! It! When fitzconte is unrequited!!!!!! Please for the love of god let dundy have this one joy in his life 😭

[cursedyuri]

smut! 18+ below, minors dni.

thinking about ellie accidentally sending you a video of her fingering herself.

the video preview is completely dark, so you have no clue what to expect when you click the play button. you assume it’s another one of her rants - lately she’s taken to sending you clips of herself complaining about her family, work, politics. she’s sent a few videos of her trying new foods while completely obliterated on an edible, too, which you’re kind of hoping for. her eyes look so pretty all droopy and red, and she has the cutest laugh when she’s high.

but oh, no. this is… nothing like that.

you’re lounging in bed, head propped up against a pillow, when you get the notification from ellie and click to your text thread. you hit play on the video, watching with a furrowed brow as the camera moves from darkness - the forest green fabric of ellie’s duvet, you realize - to reveal her room. and it’s a familiar sight; you’ve been there a hundred times. but that’s where the familiarity ends.

because this new camera angle shows ellie naked from the waist down.

she’s flushed, her cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink. her chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm; the light catches on a smear of wetness on her inner thigh, and you realize with a flutter in your belly that she’d been going at it for a while before she’d pulled out the camera.

“okay, fuck,” ellie pants, her voice a bit tinny through the speakers of your cell phone. she lifts one muscled thigh to her bed, which she’s standing before - right in front of the camera. your mouth goes dry as your eyes flicker over her body: heather grey tank riding up her toned hips, the faintest sheen of sweat on her chest, her thigh flexing as she spreads herself in front of the camera.

“i got close beforehand so i wouldn’t… didn’t wanna be nervous,” she says, avoiding eye contact with her phone. “but i’m - wait. why the fuck am i talking? you’re not supposed to talk in these, are you?”

blood rushes into your cheeks, warming your face until you feel like your skin is about to burn off. you should probably stop watching, shouldn’t you? you should click out of the video, pretend you never opened it in the first place. this is clearly not for you to see.

but you can’t look away.

ellie reaches her hand between her legs, and your stomach warms with arousal. there’s a flutter between your legs that leaves you squeezing your thighs together, seeking pressure.

“oh god,” ellie mutters as her fingers play in her own pussy, the lewd, wet sounds echoing. she slips a finger inside of herself, then two, her eyes fluttering shut as a string of curses leaves her lips.

she starts to pump her fingers, the heel of her hand pressed to her clit, and your breath catches in your throat when she looks up at the camera. you know she’s not really looking at you this way, but you tense up regardless. the look in her eyes is sultry, lustful, hungry.

there’s a growing damp spot on your underwear.

ellie’s getting close; her brows are pinched together in concentration, and each of her moans is more ragged and high-pitched than the last. beneath the thin fabric of her tank, you see her abs tense with her impending orgasm. you bite your lip until you’re sure you taste blood.

she comes with a shuddering cry, bicep flexing as her hand stalls between her legs. strands of auburn hair, darkened with sweat, cling to her freckled forehead. she lowers her leg from the bed and stands upright again, still panting. she reaches for the camera and the video ends.

you’re still staring wide-eyed at your phone when a series of texts come through from ellie.

oh my god

please tell me you didn’t see that

holy fuck i’m an idiot

i’m so sorry

i did not mean to send that to you. holy shit i’m sorry

your chest tightens with sympathy - you can imagine how panicked ellie is on the other line, how utterly ruined her post-orgasm bliss must be.

you type out a quick response: it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?

finding a convenient place to prop up your phone, you hook your thumbs over your underwear and tug them off, leaning forward to press record on your phone.

read part two here!

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖��𝕥𝕪-𝔽𝕚𝕧𝕖: 𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟’ 𝕃𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪

𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: mutual pining, swearing, drinking, rafe and the reader are intoxicated, oral (male + female receiving), bathroom sex, semi-public sex, spanking, unprotected p in v, pullout method, rough oral, dirty talk, praise wet + messy, cum tasting

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! When you're getting hit on by a loser at your local college bar “boyfriend” Rafe comes in to save the day.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The crowd's roar is deafening as you sit pressed against the glass of the college hockey area. The game had barely begun, but the energy was already electric—hit after hit, shot after shot. Your friend Lexi shouts and claps, pulling you out of your daze as she bangs her wool mittens against the glass.

Rafe Cameron… Your eyes track him as he streams by confidently, his red and black jersey rippling behind him as he skates, dodging the defenseman on his way to the net.

You smile, biting your lip as you look at the man before you. He sat two rows ahead of you in your accounting class, the two of you exchanging no more than two words all year. Still, there’s just something about him that has your heart racing every time you see him.

“You’re staring,” your friend smiles, looking at you from the corner of her eye. She lifts her draft beer to her lips, grinning against the rim before sipping.

“What?” You giggle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. “Am not.” You lie as the warmth of your little crush creeps up your neck, pooling hot in your cheeks.

“Yes, you are, she teases. “And, honestly, I don’t blame you…”

You roll your eyes away, but you can’t get the smile off your face. Rafe skates by the student section, glancing briefly at the glass as he cleans the snow off his stick. The corners of his lips curl into a smile, making your pulse skip, but you quickly shake it off.

I mean, it was a good shift… He had to be happy about that; you explain it away.

After the game wore on, the players moved faster, hits got harder, and the scoreboard stayed locked at an even 2 to 2. You could feel the determination and intensity radiating off him every time he hit the ice; you couldn’t take your eyes off him—like you would’ve regardless.

With less than a minute of play, Rafe broke away from the traffic with the puck on his stick. The crowd rose to its feet, getting louder and louder the closer he got until he drew his stick back and fired at the net. The sound of the rubber puck clanged off the pipe, and the crowd went wild when the red light flashed. The buzzer drones, its sound quickly swallowed up in the Goal Song.

You jump to your feet, clapping and cheering with the crowd. Rafe skates toward the middle, grinning as his teammates mob him, but once that celebration breaks apart, he turns to the student section, helmet off, hair wet with sweat, staring directly at you, smiling, sealing the deal with a cheeky wink.

There was no mistaking it… The look, the smile, the wink. It was meant for you and you alone.

“Did you see that?” Your friend screams before you can even fully process what happened.

“I… Uh…” You stammer, looking at her to confirm what you saw before you say anything, knowing full-well she could be asking about the goal and not Rafe.

“Oh, please,” Lexi scoffs teasingly as she shoves you away. “That shit was for you, and you know it.”

The car ride to the bar was filled with music and laughter. You can't help but get lost in your thoughts. Replaying that moment a few times before opening Instagram, fingers hovering over the search bar.

“Just do it,” your friend laughs, watching it all; face twisting slightly as she catches you debating.

“I didn't ask you,” you chide light-heartedly.

“You’re thinkin’ about followin’ him… Just do it,” she challenges you.

“Do you think that he would have followed me if he was interested?” You ask as you look at his handsome profile picture.

You hesitate for another second, looking through a couple of his newer pictures. And just when you’re about to take the plunge, you look up at the little heart in the right-hand corner, seeing a new notification. New follower, Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widen on the screen, and you and your friend gasp in unison. Before you can even think about it further, she clicks the little blue confirm button for you.

“What the hell?” You scold her, slapping her away.

“I’m invested, I’m sorry,” she laughs. “What? Were you gonna say ‘no’?” You shake your head ‘no’ and smile, looking at your new friend, feeling your excitement rise.

The bar downtown is packed with post-game and Saturday night traffic. The music is loud, and the energy is high as students pour in to celebrate the hockey team’s win and the start of winter break. You push through the crowd, making your way up to the bar. You order a few mixed drinks before snapping some pictures.

”Ooh,” Lexi coos. “That one’s perfect.”

You upload the pic of the two of you holding drinks, tagging the bar. It wasn’t entirely intentional—or that’s what you told yourself. If Rafe just happens to see it and shows up? Well, that was just a beautiful coincidence.

The night rages on, drinks flowing, conversations blending into laughter, more friends arriving, turning your little group of two into a full-on party. You start to relax a little more, feeling the liquor course through your system, and then you feel something else as a large hand rests on your lower back.

“Hey, Babe.”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze, hearing a voice you were not expecting nor wanted to hear. You turn slowly, coming face-to-face with Mark, a guy from your accounting class, too. The kind of guy who made you excited about the semester’s end. Unfortunately, he was the type of guy who never took ‘no’ for an answer…

“Hi, Mark,” you mumble, keeping your tone flat and uninterested, knowing that even the slightest bit of kindness would be confused for much more.

“You looking stunning tonight,” he praises as he steps even closer, making you take one step back.

“Thanks,” you sigh.

“You here with anyone?” He asks curiously as he scans the crowd. Your friend looks between the two of you—her judgment of his hidden piss-poorly. The girl was unapologetically Team Rafe all the way, and Mark Lundell is no Rafe Cameron.

“Just my friends,” you say as you swirl your finger around lazily, gesturing to your group gathered around.

“No invite?” He fake pouts and you feel your body recoil when you hear it. Mark seems to notice your disdain, but it doesn't stop him from trying. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in possessively. You rest your hand on his chest, pushing away slightly, but he doesn’t get the hint.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you-”

“No thanks,” you shout over the music, not even curious about what he meant to ask.

He chuckles and scoffs playfully, turning his hat to the back as he moves his face closer. “Hey-Hey, don’t be like that,” he soughs.

You close your eyes, swallowing thickly as he continues to talk, wondering what it’s gonna take to get him to fuck off- “She’s with me,” Rafe’s voice rolls through your mind like a sweet dream.

You turn, breath catching as you see Rafe walking in, just a few feet separating the two of you with his big hands stuffed in his jacket. His sharp gaze locks on Mark, and he gives him a little whistle and a nod, kindly telling him to ‘fuck off.’

Mark scowls, looking down at you and then Rafe. “Cameron?” He asks. The two boys are familiar with each other from the gym locker room—exchanging glances when the baseball boys leave and the hockey boys arrive.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, eliminating the space between you. Your heart stutters at the word, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat, reaching behind you to shove Mark out of the way before taking his “rightful” place at your side.

“Since when?” Mark asks as his expressions shifts.

“Since none of your fuckin’ business, Lundell,” Rafe smiles, his tone calm but firm.

“You know, if you’re not interested, you can just say that,” Mark snaps, recovering from his bruised ego by turning to the bartender, gesturing for a new bottle of Coors. “You don’t need to be a fuckin’ bitch-”

“The fuck was that now?” Rafe smiles, his eyes wide and wild as he separates from you, standing toe-to-toe with him. Mark doesn’t back down, his chest puffed as he looks slightly up at Rafe.

Rafe bites his lips, holding back a laugh, his relaxed demeanor’s somehow more intimidating than any show of aggression.

“Call her a fuckin’ bitch again, and we’re gonna have a problem…”

“Oh, yeah-”

“Honestly, bitch. We already have problems because regardless of who the fuck I am, she told you no… And you kept pushin’,” Rafe hisses, emphasizing the final word with a rough shove.

Mark’s a big guy himself, who doesn’t move too far, but the contact made him flinch, leaving Rafe holding back yet another chuckle.

“Walk away,” Rafe mumbles, his voice low and steady.

Mark’s dark eyes lock on yours. The bartender walks over, resting his beer on the bar top. He takes his out, snagging the bottle off the hardwood before rolling his eyes and sucking his teeth, disappearing into the thick college crowd.

You breathe deeply, letting out the deep breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in, quickly turning your attention to Rafe.

“You okay?” He asks protectively as he twists toward you.

You look up at him, your heart racing, and you nod, “Yeah… Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” he shrugs it off. Rafe rests his hand on your lower back, making your heart race, lighting you on fire as he flags down the bartender himself. “You want a drink, princess?”

Before you can overthink it, you rise onto your tippy toes, kissing his cheek. Rafe freezes, a soft, shy smile spreading on his lips, making her feel weak.

“Truly… Thank you,” you whisper. “Do you want a drink? It’s on me,” you assure me, turning your attention to the bartender as she arrives, but you can tell Rafe’s mind is still stuck on the kiss. “Rafe?” You giggle, resting your hand on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath.

“Uh… Yeah. I’d love that, sweetheart. A Coors. Thanks.”

You order your drink, and Rafe reaches over you, his arms a little longer. He passes the bartender his card instead, starting a tab as you protest, but he just rolls his blue eyes and smiles.

The rest of the night is a blur of laughter, easy conversation, and alcohol. Rafe’s charming, funny, and much more than the reserved guy you had seen in class.

You talk about everything—school, hockey, your favorite places in town—and with every passing minute, your little crush blooms into something more. You feel comfortable, like you’ve known each other forever. And to Mark and the rest of the bar, that little boyfriend title he used honestly looked like the real thing.

At some point, the drinks catch up with the both of you. Rafe leans closer, his breath warm against your neck, making you turn into him. The boy quickly pulling you up onto his lap.

“You know…” He says, his words slightly slurred. “I’ve had a big fat crush on you all semester.”

Your eyes widen on his, hands resting on his chest as your mouth falls open in surprise. “You have?” You practically gasp, making him laugh at how happy you look with his admittance.

“Mhmm,” he hums as he wraps his big arms around your waist, moving closer. “You’re so—fuck,” he chuckles as the words get caught on his lips. “You are so fuckin’ pretty.” You laugh and shake your head. “What?” He asks bashfully.

“You, Rafe Cameron, are the prettiest boy I have ever seen-”

“I’m pretty?” He chuckles, lifting his eyebrow as he points to his chest.

“Mhmm…” You giggle.

“Well, shit… Thank you,” he smiles and flutters his lashes playfully.

Just like Mark did, Rafe grabs his hat, twisting it to the back, trying to eliminate the space between the two of you, but unlike the boy before, your tummy only fills with butterflies. Rafe tips his heavy head against your temple, chuckling drunkenly.

“I’ve had a crush on you too,” you admit, and as soon as the last word leaves your lips, he’s wrapping his big arms around you, pressing a rough, wet kiss against your cheek, making you squeal.

“The fuck you have?” He asks as he pulls back fast.

“I’m serious," you giggle as you turn to the side, looking directly into his gorgeous eyes.

Rafe bites his lip, studying yours, his glassy gaze hanging at half-mast. “Well, shit… S’my lucky night. Huh?” He asks.

“Feelin’ pretty lucky myself,” you whisper as the two of you get closer and closer. The air between you feels electric—charged with the buzz of too many drinks and sexual tension. Rafe’s gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, the two of you not realizing how close you’re getting until your lips connect.

The bar around you hums in the distance, and it feels like just the two of you for the moment. It’s uncoordinated—but perfect in its imperfection. Your lips move against his, making heat radiate through your body. Rafe smiles against your lips; you return the same, the pair of you pulling apart, giggling like teenagers caught in the act.

You look at Rafe—that same fire lit his eyes that’s burning in yours. He holds your cheeks in his hands, desperate to kiss him again.

“Should we-”

”We should,” you hum.

“Do that again. Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you giggle. Rafe guides you off the stool, pulling closer, the two of you stumbling slightly, giggling before your lips find each other again.

“We’re kinda drunk,” he whispers against your mouth.

“Is that okay?” You breathe, just hoping he’ll say ‘yes.’

“It’s okay with me. Is it okay with you, princess?” He asks.

“It’s okay-” You pant as your lips crash into his, warm and messy. You let out a soft moan against his lips, hands scratching into the hair at the nape of his neck as his hands roam your body. His grip on you is firm—yet another assurance that he wants you just as bad.

The world spins around you, your head fuzzy from the drinks and your perfect kiss. You break away just enough to grab his hand, tugging him toward the hallway. "Where are we-" Rafe starts, but you cut him short with another kiss, this one hungrier, more insistent.

"The bathroom," you whisper against his lips, feeling him smile again. Rafe draws back, looking both ways before opening the door. The two of you kiss your way inside, pushing back into the first open stall.

Rafe grabs your hips in his big hands, pulling you into him. You can feel his semi-hard cock pressed against his jeans, getting stiffer every second. You let out a breathy sigh against his soft, sweet mouth, Rafe taking the opportunity to slide his tongue inside as his lips move against yours.

He rolls his back against the bathroom wall, making you gasp as his thigh splits your legs. He leans back slightly, guiding you closer, leading you to grind your aching clit on his upper thigh. Rafe smiles against your lips as you take his wordless direction. He moves his hands from his lips to your ass, squeezing as you rock with the tempo of your kiss.

You gasp as you feel his cool hands rest against your tummy, your little breath turning into a deep, needy moan as he cups your laced-covered breasts in his rough hands.

You continue to grind as his lips press roughly against your neck, sucking with a bruising strength as you feel a warmth spread through you, little pangs of pleasure spurring from between your thighs.

You draw back slightly, biting your lip as you ride his leg. Rafe stares back at you, the look in his eyes painting a filthy picture of the two of you doing so much more. Thinking about you riding him just like this, your warm, wet cunt hugging him tight.

You can feel yourself soaking through your panties with each swivel of your hips. You grab his beautiful face, pulling him in for another kiss, hungry for more. “Rafe,” you whisper needily, your name leaving his lips so sweetly, making him moan into your kiss.

“Yeah, pretty?” He rasps, this voice sweet and thick like honey.

“Can I?” You ask shyly, but honestly, it’s why you brought him in here in the first place, desperately wanting your lips wrapped around him and maybe more…

“Can you what, princess?” He drawls before taking your bottom lip between his teeth, biting and tugging, making chills fall down your spine.

“Can I suck your cock?” You ask gently, feeling Rafe let out a breathy laugh like he can’t believe those words are leaving your sweet lips.

“You sure, baby?” He asks as he reaches his hand down, already working on his button.

You move down to your knees, looking at him through your lashes. “M’sure,” you smile. “Very, very sure.”

You grope his clothed cock with one hand, drawing his zipper down with the other before lowering his pants just enough, looking at his dick tented under the cotton, a wet stain of precum gathered on it. You wrap your lips around his tip, wetting Rafe’s boxers, making his breath catch in his muscular chest.

You suck the taste off, quickly pulling down his boxers too. Your eyelashes flutter as you take him in, his tip still weeping precum, long and thick… You release a desperate moan, thinking about what his length would feel like pushing in and out of your wet cunt, wondering if you could take him all.

You stroke him slowly, watching his eyes fall shut, head falling back on the metal partition. Your heart sinks a little, seeing his head sticking out over the top of the stall about four inches; those concerns quickly wave away as you hear a deep groan leave his lips.

Rafe looks down at you again as you hold his throbbing dick in your hand, running your tongue along his length before teasing the tip. Your hand drifts under his t-shirt, fingers working up his cut abs, feeling the little divots under your fingers deepening with each sharp breath he takes.

“Shit,” he pants as you bind your lips around him fully. Rafe wraps his hand around the top of the bathroom door, squeezing tightly as you take him to the back of your throat, bobbing again and again.

Rafe’s head falls back, knocking against the wall, making his eyes double at the loud sound; the man quickly shushing you with a finger up to his pretty lips and a playful smile like you had anything to do with that noise.

You wrap your lips around his tip, sucking, causing him to buck his toned hips, pitching his long cock in your throat. You lift your hand, slipping it through the slight space between his body and jeans, cupping his heavy balls in your hands.

"Fuck, princess," he groans, "I’m gonna cum.” You take your cue, gagging on him, salvia and precum drooling out of the sides of your lips. He bites his lips, stiffening deep moan.

You rest your hands on his thighs— Rafe’s muscles quivering underneath your palms. He cups the back of your head in his hands, tugging you as close as he can get as he cums deep in your throat.

His breath shudders as you draw out the last bits of his pleasure, swallowing it all as he looks down at you in a drunken, lust-ridden daze. Rafe pushes out a sharp breath as you pull off his cock nice and slow, cleaning off your lips with the back of your hand as he helps you off the floor, leading you back to him. You pant into your kiss, your deep breathing competing with his. “That was so fucking good,” he mumbles.

“Mmm… Glad I could make you feel good,” you whisper as you tug up his boxers, trapping his hard cock in the band of it, not wanting to pressure him into more, given you were the one that pulled him in here in the first place. “Should we head out?” You ask, between soft kisses.

“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles. “Do you?”

You giggle against his lips, moving a little closer. “No… I just don’t wanna pressure-“

“Pressure me?” He asks in disbelief, stopping you before you can finish the thought as his big hands cup your cheeks, pulling you into an even deeper kiss. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“I don’t know,” you giggle lightly.

“You can use me however you’d like, princess,” he whispers. “Told you… It’s my lucky night. I’m feelin’ lucky. I’m gettin’ lucky. This is the best night I’ve had in a very long time,” he mumbles the last three words between tender kisses. ”Let me taste you, sweetheart.”

”Yeah?” You ask softly.

“Fuck, yeah…” He hums as he fingers the button of your jeans. “Let me get you good and wet first, hmm?” He asks as he rolls you against the wall.

Rafe tugs at your pants just like you did, making you gasp, pulling them down just enough to get at your panties. He slips his big fingers into the waist pant, spreading your legs slightly, making you whimper as he runs two big digits through your slick folds.

“Shit, pretty. Fuckin’ soaked f’me already,” he hums against your lips. “Bet you’d feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He pushes his fingers inside you, making you reach for a breath; Rafe curls them, drawing out a moan from your pillowy lips.

“I want that so bad,” you pant as you stare into his sin-darkened eyes as he starts to work even quicker, broad palm smacking against your puffy clit repeatedly, making it that much harder to hold back your sounds of pleasure.

“You want my dick, princess?”

“Mhmm…” You hum needily.

“Think you can wait?” Rafe teases as he twists his hand, making a moan rip from your throat that has you both looking at each other in shock, fighting back a laugh that quickly turns into another whine as his rough thumb circles on top of your clit.

You bite down on your bottom lip, tossing your head back, and just when you think it can get any better, he moves to his knees, flicking his tongue across your clit, making your muscles jump as his fingers continue to dart in and out. Rafe chuckles against your clit, the warmth of his voice making you whimper, toes curling, fingers twisting in his hair.

“Just like that, Rafe… Don’t stop,” you plead as you feel yourself about to lose control completely.

“Cum for me, princess,” he hums against your sex, the vibrations sending you over the edge, leaving your body fluttering around his big fingers, muscles trembling uncontrollably. He doesn’t stop until your body relaxes fully, you fighting for a breath as you slump against the bathroom wall.

“Holy shit,” he practically moans as he rises to his feet again, his handsome face flushed, chin glistening with your arousal. You pull Rafe to your lips, tasting the two of you together, your body feeling like it could float away.

Rafe pushes you into the wall, his cock hard just like it was before—his want for you practically oozing off his skin. “So, should we get out of here?” He teases you with your own words, chuckling against your lips as you giggle against his; Rafe has no intention of leaving unless that’s what you want. You have no intention of leaving either as you tug at his jeans and boxers again. “Need you so fucking bad,” Rafe mutters as he turns you around, grabbing your wrists, guiding your hands on the wall in front of you as you push your ass onto his hard cock.

Rafe’s hands drift underneath your hockey jersey, lifting it slightly as you bend over. “Gonna get you one of my older jerseys when we get home, aight?” He hums, smacking your ass with his big hand.

“You’re takin’ me home?” You ask sweetly.

“Yeah, baby… ‘Course I am,” he drawls as he leans in, pressing his chest against your back, pushing a gentle kiss on your lips as he traces his fat tip through your slit, bumping your clit, making you gasp.

“We doin’ condoms or what, princess?” Rafe questions as he bullies your hole, bottom lip tucking between his teeth, teasing himself with your warm, wet pussy praying you’ll say ‘no.’

“Boyfriend privileges,” you giggle as you look over your shoulder and smile, giving him a little wink.

“Fuck, I love the sound of that, baby-”

You draw in a sharp breath against as Rafe thrusts into you slowly, his fat tip filling you before he presses in inch by inch, finally bottoming you out. His hands rub along your lower back, letting you adjust to his size; your cunt pulling him in just like he imagined, leaving him tossing his head back to the ceiling.

Rafe grabs your hips, grunting about how tight you are as he pulls out to the tip, shoving himself back inside, making you reach behind your back, wrapping your trembling hand around his wrist to steady yourself and keep from crying out.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the bathroom, but you couldn't care less. And neither does Rafe, slapping your ass again, making your pussy tighten around his fat cock as he ruts into you quicker and harder.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, your bottom lip quivering in overstimulation.

“Mpfhh…” He grunts, pounding into your soaked center again and again. “So good, princess… Taking me so fuckin’ good. You gonna cum? Fuckin’ cum for me,” he begs as he pulls you back fast, pistoning his hips, fucking you on his dick as your fingers spiral on your clit.

“Oh—Oh, fuck. Rafe,” you squeal as you cum around his cock. Rafe’s jaw tightens, using his last bit of power to fuck you through your orgasm, and the second he pulls out, you gasp, feeling his climax land hot on your lower back. His cum pools in the dip of your spine, rolling down your warm skin.

Rafe clutches your hips in his hands, taking a deep breath as his throbbing dick resting on your ass. The two of you panting and groaning, coming down from your highs together.

He cleans you off, helping you back into your clothes between soft kisses and sweet nothings. Rafe looks at your sweater, scrubbing off a little bit of cum caught on the fabric, making a joke about how he’s technically on the back of your jersey now, making the two of you laugh way too hard.

Rafe’s hand is warm in yours; his firm yet gentle grip guides you through the packed bar. Laughter and music swell around you, but all you can focus on is Rafe’s touch and his thumb gently brushing against your hand.

The two of you step up to the bar at the same spot where you started your night, standing side-by-side with your knight in shining armor. You glance up at him and smile as he orders you two drinks before closing your tab.

Rafe kiss-swollen lips curl into a small smile as he feels the heat of your gaze out of the corner of his eye. He grabs the check off her hands, scribbling a tip and a total. Rafe sets it down and moves a little closer, stepping chest to chest with you; your back backed up against the bar. His hair is messy from your bathroom romp; slightly mussed, a soft purple mark forming on his neck from your lips, a particularly rough kiss.

Rafe grabs your hand, flipping it over, pen hovering over your palm. You watch as he works: his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, his chicken scratch handwriting tattooing your skin, but the words stop your heart.

Tomorrow night 7 pm Luna Rosa I like you a lot -RC

You blink, rereading it like your brain is playing tricks on you. But then he looks at you—those intense, drunken eyes locked onto yours—and kisses the back of your hand.

“I mean it, princess,” he mumbles softly. “In case you had any doubts.”

You rise on your tippy toes, kissing his cheek again like you did earlier in the night before tucking yourself in his neck. “I really like you too, Rafe,” you whisper.

When you pull away this time, he’s not just stunned silent; he’s ready. Rafe cups your cheeks in his hands again, kissing you deeply, pulling you into his arms, and there is absolutely no doubts. ♥️

[inkskinned]

the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

[mwagneto]

hungarian/nomadic magyar tumblr circa 998AD dashboard simulator

🏞️ vándor-ló-979 Follow

not yall still spreading emese's foundation myth??? she literally claims she fucked a bird????? like either she's lying or she cheated and she's trying to cover it up or well. i dont even want to consider the third option

🪺 magánügyek Follow

tengri forbid women do anything???

735 notes

🦅 szél-könnyű-szárnyán-szállj Follow

okay im sick of the discourse let's do this.

8,572 notes

🐎 istván-rovására Follow

that took so long lmao -> !!!!!!!∧◇ᛏ⋈∧

481 notes

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

i'm so serious rn if you support """istván""" in any way just unfollow and block me. we do NOT need him or his dumbass god and what he's been doing to our people to spread his religion is shameful.

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

btw we all know your real name is vajk stop larping as a christian it's EMBARRASSINGGGG

✝️ esztergom-örökké Follow

love seeing my mutuals reblogging this /s anyway op has multiple posts on their blog supporting quartering and human sacrifice. in case you were wondering. anyway stand with István

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

1) we dont even do human sacrifices, are you fucking stupid??? show me ONE post where i talk about that. 2) are you seriously forgetting that your bestie istván LITERALLY QUARTERED HIS UNCLE?????

#sorry to put this dumbass on the dash😭 dont even engage just block them #ur not making it up the tree of life lmao #discourse

3,264 notes

🌅 bolygó-kárpáti Follow

friendly reminder that just because you're white passing doesn't mean you're not a real magyar!! people with mixed parents are just as valid <3

🏇 attila-népe Follow

cranky coz ur ancestors decided to mix with the europeans arent you

🧺 lemezelő Follow

isnt your girlfriend literally frankish????

🏇 attila-népe Follow

you had to have done some serious stalking to find that💀 and first of all i didn't have a choice, my parents picked the tribe, and second of all she's not my "girlfriend" i got her via ritual kidnapping (WITH consent. before anyone gets weird)

🌐 a-kiber-kovács Follow

Couldn't you have kidnapped another magyar woman? Or someone from another mongoloid tribe?

🔅 hadúrsimp Follow

ohh sure so now human pet guy is gonna chime in to advocate for the kidnapping of our women while being lowkey racist. what are you even doing on nomadblr????

🌅 bolygó-kárpáti Follow

what the fuck happened to my post

19,276 notes

🪔 rakabonciás Follow

for the nth time, you're only a true shaman if you were born with teeth OR with extra fingers OR in the sac. the rest of you are faking & we can tell.

🦅szél-könnyű-szárnyán-szállj Follow

okay people keep spreading this but this is literally just wrong?? like congrats on the 6 fingers op im glad u and Little Golden Father have a special connection (genuinely) but like. táltos and sámán and mágus and garabonciás and javas etc are all different things with completely different requirements and life paths which you should definitely know if you're claiming to be one?? especially since your post says shaman but you're listing the criteria for a táltos, and your username looks like a play on garabonciás so. which is it🤔 maybe get your facts in order before trying to gatekeep

anyway don't listen to op!! your connection to the Upper World is yours alone and you're the best judge of what the Fathers and Mothers want your path in life to be!!

646 notes

🛐 mea-culpa Follow

It breaks my heart that the majority of my people still refuse to see the One True God and insist on sticking to their pagan spirits. I fear that when judgement day comes, we will all be wiped out thanks to their foul godless ways.

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

how tf am i godless when i literally have dozens of gods? little mothers and little fathers are in everything all around us & it must suck ass to live in a world where you're not surrounded by the small gods that inhabit everything. manifesting that the fene and the guta tag team beat your ass tonight

🔅 hadúrsimp Follow

hadúr will literally strike op down personally. he told me himself. whispered it to me sweetly even

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

while i agree with you, i feel like you might also have ulterior motives, nomadblr user hadúrsimp

#but live your truth! doubly so on the posts of these freak repressed bible lovers. meanwhile on the #COOL side of magyarhood we walk around butt ass naked!!! op have fun never experiencing joy ever again tho #discourse

198 notes

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

posting from an alt so i don't get cancelled but lowkey i'm starting to think koppány was right.... maybe this christianity thing isn't gonna work out after all

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

WRONG BLOG

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

THIS WAS A JOKE. IGNORE THIS

🪺 magánügyek Follow

ISTVÁN????????????? 💀

[puck-luck]

change-up | luke hughes

warnings: unprotected p in v, creampie, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, squirting, dirty talk, praise praise praise, fingering & masturbation, references to prior & future hookups, hookup culture, TW: hinge😩, mentions of size difference pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader summary: “because of how shy luke was when he first met reader, she thinks that he’s going to be inexperienced in bed and she‘ll to have to take the lead..but really lukey absolutely ruins her”, “could I please request luke Hughes smut where he loves being so much bigger than you”, “LOVEEDD the luke hughes one def write more dom stuff” wc: 4382

“Do you, maybe, want to go back to mine?” Luke asks quietly, his lips a mere nudge against the shell of your ear. Even in the loud bar, his voice cuts through the chatter like a flash of light. 

You’d only met Luke earlier that night, a Hinge date gone right for you and your best friend. When Luke had invited you out to the bar he was at with some of his teammates, your best friend had jumped to point out that this could be your Kylie Kelce moment– you had to go and meet your Jason, even though Luke didn’t resemble the football player at all. Not that you minded.

You consider his words– Luke’s arm is thrown over your shoulder comfortably. His body is warm against yours. He’s been pretty shy all night, quiet enough that you felt like you had to control the conversation, but while Luke was in the bathroom, one of his buddies had revealed that that was normal for Luke. He was a quiet boy around new people– it didn’t mean he didn’t like you.

Clearly, it didn’t mean he didn’t like you. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t be inviting you back to his apartment. You’re not a fool. You know what that means. 

Regardless, you agree. “Sure,” you say with a smile. 

Luke returns the smile, leaning over you to gesture towards the bartender. He closes his tab, which houses both his and your drinks. You each had only had two drinks, so you’re feeling tipsy, but not drunk enough to stop what’s about to happen.

Once Luke has closed out, he guides you to his car and opens the door in a gentlemanly way for you. The ride to his home is silent save for the country music playing from the radio. Luke’s hand rests on your knee, a weight that has you squirming.

As shy as he is, you’ve come to realize that Luke’s love language is easily physical touch. He’s been sweet when he speaks with you, and he paid for all of your drinks, which kept words of affirmation and gift giving in the running for a while, but he’s kept a hand on you all night. 

He had seemed hesitant to do so, playing it safe by touching your arm or your knee or your shoulder. When you hadn’t shrugged him off, but rather presented him with a smile and a lean into his heat, Luke had become more sure with it.

You don’t know anything about his sex life or how experienced or inexperienced he is, but you expect that you’ll have to do the same thing in bed. You’ll have to reassure him that yes, you actually want to do this, and you actually like this. He’ll want to make sure he’s being good for you, because he’s the sweetest, but if you’re honest, you’re a little disappointed that you’ll have to take the lead.

One of the reasons why you had matched with Luke on Hinge, aside from how cute he was, was that he looked like an athlete. You’ve always been someone who likes to be overpowered a bit, liking someone bigger than you, and Luke looked like he could throw you around easily. You wanted him to do so, but that just doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards tonight, and you can accept that. You’ll hook up with someone else who will toss you around eventually– but Luke is too pretty and too kind to pass up.

When he pulls into the garage and parks, Luke rounds the car and opens your door for you. He leads you by the hand into his apartment. Your purse slips down your arm and, once inside the apartment, Luke takes it from you and hangs it on a hook near his front door. 

The apartment is still dark and you find yourself distracted trying to look at his furniture through the shadows. Giving up, you turn back to face Luke with a smile on your face. 

Shockingly, he’s already moving toward you. 

Luke pushes you against the wall, his hands on your hips. He’s kissing you, swallowing your noise of surprise. You’re frozen against him for just a moment, caught off guard by his insistent movements and confident grip on your sides. You melt into his touch when his presence finally registers, the catalyst being Luke’s fingers shifting to tug at the belt loops on your jeans. You place your forearms on his shoulders, crossing your wrists behind his head. 

Luke pulls your hips against his, pressing into you with his growing length. He’s leaning over you, causing your shoulders and head to rest against the wall while your back and hips arch into him. Smoothly, he steps forward and moves one of his hands so he’s bracketing your head. 

His tongue flexes when he enters your mouth, his muscle sliding against your own. You melt even further against him, moaning against his lips. You sag against the wall and Luke’s strong hands catch you, holding you upright. 

His fingers roam along your skin, eventually resting on the swell of your ass. He squeezes your cheeks harshly, grunting in appreciation as your bottom fills his large hands. Luke lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, sitting prettily with your clothed core barely brushing his cock. You grind down against him, and Luke’s mouth curves in a smile, lips still touching your own. 

“Eager,” he mumbles, sounding smug. 

“Happily surprised,” you correct, words muffled and interrupted by your kisses. “I thought you’d be shy.”

“Mm, not when we’re alone,” Luke hums, holding you with one hand around your waist. He starts to march down the dark hallway, pushing open his bedroom door with a bang. “Not when I’m so close to getting what I want.”

Luke gently lays you on his bed, hands splayed across your back. He’s still kissing you, adamant and consistent. Now, he’s got gravity on his side. His body is covering your own, trapping you against the soft mattress. A soft curse leaves your mouth, filling Luke’s. You’re sharing the air between yourselves, aching for the other person.

“What do you want?” You ask, one of your hands finding his curls and toying with the strands. 

Luke groans, parting from you to nuzzle against your neck as you continue to scratch against his scalp. He mouths over your neck messily, his tongue painting your skin like long brush strokes across a canvas. 

“Want to mark you up,” Luke mutters, nipping at your neck. He sucks the fleshy skin at the base of your neck between your clavicles. “I want you to remember this night.”

You moan, curling a hand along his collar and pulling at the t-shirt adorning his body in an entirely unnecessary way, in your opinion. You expose his collarbone, sharp and smooth all at once, but you don’t get to reap the rewards. 

Luke instead just chuckles and bats your hand away, capturing it in his own. He presses your wrist into the mattress above your head, exposing you further. “I want to make sure you think about me for weeks.” Luke feeds the promise to you with a swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip and a tiny nibble along the same path. “That every time you get yourself off, you think about how my fingers would be better than your own, or that my cock would fill you better than any toy you own, or any other boy you find.”

You knew that this would be a hook-up sort of thing, nothing more serious because Luke’s Hinge profile clearly stated he wasn’t looking for anything long term, but his possessive tone fuels a fire in you that has you whining and tugging his hair.

He shifts your hand to join the other, his fingers gripping both of your wrists while his other hand starts to explore your body. He dances over the curves of your breasts, along your elongated stomach. Your ribs are prominent and your stomach is flatter with your back against the bed– and Luke touches your skin like you’re precious to him. For a first night together, you already feel so seen. 

After caressing your skin, Luke pulls your shirt up and bundles the fabric near the base of your neck, revealing your little lacy bralette to him. He licks along the band, going from your neck down the V of your chest, then back up to your other shoulder. You watch his nose bump against your curves and your jaw slackens a bit with the possibilities that are running through your head.

You’d give anything to get his mouth on your clit, already swollen and pulsing with faux-lightning shocks from each of Luke’s touches. 

“Eat me out,” you say, a push in the right direction. Boys like when girls speak their mind, right?

Luke stills, his lips hovering above your sternum. You watch him smirk, then resume his kissing, sweet wet pecks marking the space where your breasts meet. “Lost your manners?” He finally asks, pulling away from your body to remove your shirt. He leaves it tangled along your wrist, wrapping it a few times and tucking the end into the band of your watch to secure the fabric in place.

You pout petulantly and Luke slides off the bed, kneeling between your legs that are bent over the side of the bed. He runs a finger along the seam of your jeans, taking extra care to rub his knuckle over your clothed entrance. You keen and he draws his hand up, resting it on your mound with his thumb stationary and heavy against your clit.

“Baby, I want to,” Luke assures you, his thumb lifting up and patting your clit a few times, causing you to jolt. “But I can’t until you ask me nicely.” He starts to rub your clothed clit, up and down in slow movements. He’s peering up at you with wide eyes, blinking like he’s innocent even though he’s driving you crazy.

“Please?” You try, your voice a little squeaky. 

A tiny smile on his face, Luke tilts his head at you. “You can do better than that,” he says, shifting forward to plant a kiss where his thumb rested. “Give it a second try.”

“Please eat me out, Luke,” you say, putting another pout on your face for good measure.

“Better,” Luke teases, trailing off. He reaches for your zipper, dragging it down. He inches the denim down your legs, revealing the panties that you’re practically soaking with your slick. They match your bralette– a purposeful decision that doesn’t do unnoticed by Luke. He thumbs over your clit again, then dips lower to flick over the wet spot staining the fabric. “Keep going. I want you to beg.”

He removes your pants with a kiss to the inside of your knee. His hands move to your thighs, feeling up the skin, keeping you warm in the chilled apartment. His breath passes over your core as he switches sides and you ache for him. It breaks the floodgates and you give him exactly what he wants, falling into that submissive role you’re able to fill so well.

“I need to feel your mouth on me, Luke. I know it’ll be so good– I know you’ll make me feel so good. Fuck, Luke, I want to come on your tongue. Taste me, please, please fuck me with your tongue.”

Luke’s crooked grin returns, his teeth peeking out from behind his lips and glinting at you. “Such dirty words for such a pretty girl,” he teases, but he hooks his fingers along the crotch of your panties and tugs them to the side, revealing your wet folds. He flexes his tongue, pointing it into a solid spear that he uses to spread your lower lips and locate your entrance. “Let’s see how fast I can make you come,” Luke murmurs before diving in and lathering your clit in a wet kiss. 

He pushes your legs apart, using his strong hands to pin your hips to the bed and keep them there. You want to wiggle out from under him and grind against his face, but Luke forces you to relinquish control with his size and strength.

It’s just what you wanted. Whining and tugging at the fabric around your wrists (easily removable, although you choose not to do so), you relax against the mattress and let Luke have his way with you.

He loves it, eating you out like he could do this for hours, like he could die happy between your leg. He’s moaning against you and massaging praise into your skin, all while licking every inch of your cunt. He fucks his tongue into you, he spits along your folds and watches the saliva drip down the crack of your behind before scooping it back up with his tongue and closing his lips around your clit. He leaves you wetter and wetter each time he pulls away, admiring his handiwork from a distance with a slack jaw before locating his next target and assaulting it with his tongue and gentle scrapes of his teeth. The first time he swept his bottom teeth against your clit, you flinched, but it quickly became a moan for more.

You’ve always been a glutton, addicted to toeing the line between pleasure and pain. 

It surprises you that Luke is the same way– although he would prefer to inflict the sensation than receive it. You align perfectly.

The sharp press of his tongue inside you draws a litany of noises from your mouth and it reinvigorates Luke’s efforts, with him flicking the muscle as far as he can within your cunt. He clutches at your skin, reaching under you to envelop both of your ass cheeks in his palms and lift your pussy to meet his face. There’s no room for reprieve, no space between you, and Luke is bullying your core with inconsistent nudges of his nose to your clit. 

“Luke, my clit,” you beg, chest heaving with how badly you yearn for your release. “Please.”

“You can come without that,” Luke replies, licking over the bundle once in consolation before returning to your hole, where you’re leaking fluids. Slick, saliva, and your impending orgasm all find their way onto Luke’s tongue, running down his chin and moistening the bed beneath you. You can feel the sheets growing wet beneath you, but you don’t care. Luke is making you feel even better than you imagined he would. 

You come over his tongue with a series of moans, bringing your still-tied hands down to his hair and tugging at his locks. Luke flicks over clit with quick kitten licks, only stopping when you’re crying out from oversensitivity

Luke kisses up your body, capturing your nipples between his lips over the lace fabric of your bralette, leaving the peaks pointed and cold when his mouth travels further north. 

He brings his lips to yours, ravishing the plush curves until they’re red and bruised. All the while, Luke mumbles praises to you until they blur together and you’re arching your back to feel his torso against yours again.

“You wanna go again?” Luke checks, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Ready to give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, nodding and knocking your nose against his. He leans in and gives you a proper Eskimo kiss before pecking you one last time. 

Luke uses his strong hands to maneuver you the way he wants– chest pressed into the bed, ass pulled up and flush with his groin as he kneels behind you. He snaps the band of your bralette against your shoulderblade, then kneads the skin of your hips. 

“Close your eyes, babydoll,” Luke commands in a gentle voice. “I want you to feel this, just focus on feeling me.”

He rolls his hips against your behind, his cock still clothed but poking at the fabric like it’s trying to find its mark and sink into your heat. He pulls you against him and you wiggle your hips, obeying his command and closing your eyes. Your t-shirt fell from your wrists during the repositioning, so you clutch freely at the pillow under your head with one hand and hold your breast with the other. You squeeze the skin, moaning at the pleasure.

Luke brings your attention back to him with a sharp spank, making you yelp and clench down with both of your hands, scrambling for something to ground you. Luke chuckles and spanks you again, harder this time and on your other cheek. 

“Can’t wait to see this ass bounce,” Luke announces, smirking obviously even though you can’t see it. “I’m gonna make sure it’s pretty and pink while I fill your pussy up.”

If your eyes weren’t shut, they’d be rolling in your head at his words. You’re helpless, reduced to a moaning mess beneath Luke. 

You had no idea that the night would turn out like this, having fully expected to push him down and ride him until he came inside of you because he just couldn’t take the pleasure any longer. The tables have turned– now you’re the one leaking beneath him, your hole spread open from his thorough meal and positively waiting for him.

Luke disappears from behind you to remove his shorts, you assume. You keep your eyes closed and you hold your position, hoping your obedience will result in a reward. 

His voice washes over you, warming you like he’s still draped over your shoulder back at the bar. 

“Keep yourself full for me while I grab something, eh?” Luke asks, a prodding question that you’re scrambling to fulfill before he can even finish his sentence. 

Your middle two fingers slide into your hole, a wet squelch pushing a breath of a laugh out of Luke from his distance. You grind against the heel of your hand, spreading your knees for more leverage. 

“Good girl,” Luke coos, making his way back onto the bed. He’s behind you once again, naked, and you wish you could open your eyes and sneak a peek at his cock. You want to see how well endowed he is, feeling him brush against your thigh before a line of spit drips down your crack and crawls toward your hole. 

You fuck yourself on your fingers, hips rocking back. There are whimpers and whines filling the room, sounding needy and desperate for more, and it takes you a minute to realize that the words are muffled into the pillow, falling from your mouth. Biting down on the pillow to silence yourself, you curl your fingers inside yourself, hoping to reach your g-spot. In this position, you fall just short.

Luke’s index finger traces over the valley of your fingers, nearing your entrance. He’s silent, his moves calculated, and his index finger presses into you. He joins your middle and ring finger, his index finger reaching your insides in a way that has you keening. You can feel his fingertips against your nailbeds, then Luke wiggles his finger in further. 

You feel like you actually drip onto the bed when he pets over your g-spot, the spot that you couldn’t find on your own. Your knees are wide and your hips are slowly coming lower and lower. Your body is defaulting to the position in which you’ve gotten off so many times– hips flush against the bed, clit rubbing against your palm as you clench down on your own fingers. 

Luke uses his knee to bring your ass back up to its previous height, swatting at your flesh when you let out a complaint at the loss. Your clit is feeling neglected, practically calling out for pleasure, but the feeling of your fingers– and Luke’s– inside you is too good to take away.

So Luke does it for you. He removes his finger from your heat and digs under your knuckles, removing your digits from their wet home. The loss of contact comes with a devastating empty feeling and Luke soothes you with a cooed praise when you express your discontent. 

He solves the problem by slapping his thick cockhead against your open hole, resting it there until you’re squirming against him and pleas are leaving you with increasing intensity and higher pitch.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Luke murmurs, pinching your skin as a reprimand. “You’ve been so good, listening to me so well. I’m going to reward you, don’t worry. Let me take care of you.”

He inches his cock inside your pussy achingly slow. You can feel every inch of him, every vein rubbing against your walls. You can feel the precum leaking from his slit and mixing with your own wetness. His tip finally nudges at your cervix, kissing the opening with another blurt of precum, and you ache for Luke to fill you up. You wish you were facing him so that he could drop a line of spit onto your tongue in a similar way.

When Luke starts to move, drawing himself out of you then forcing his way back in, all images disappear from your mind. His cock is all you can focus on– the warmth, how it’s pulsing inside of you, how it’s stretching your hole even though you had three fingers inside of it just minutes ago. 

Luke is consistent, fucking into you with hard and sure thrusts that leave you moaning. A puddle of drool is pooling on the pillow and your mouth is nearly constantly open, your tongue dry and breaths ragged. Your noises continue in their high-pitched tone, spurring Luke on. He pounds your pussy, ruining it for everyone else. 

Luke was right. You’d be thinking about him for weeks to come. 

He has you shrieking with each slap to your ass, the skin growing hot and becoming more red with each swat. You had no idea that you could be so loud in bed– you’ve normally got a handle on yourself. Normally, you’re not so wet that each thrust results in a pornographic sound of skin meeting skin. 

Luke is in a league all of his own.

“So tight,” he groans. “‘M gonna come, baby.”

“Come in me,” you beg. “Fuck, Luke, come in me.”

“I will,” he promises. “I want you to come first.”

Your abdomen is tight, burning with the need to release. You feel like you could explode and the thought pops into your head– you’d never been able to before, not with another man nor when fucking yourself, but you bet you could squirt now.

“Can I touch?” You ask, desperate. “Please, wanna touch my clit. Wanna come for you. Wanna be good. Please, Luke, tell me I can.”

“Go on,” he encourages. “Let me feel you.”

It’s like an out of body experience. You have control of your hands, but your fingers feel foreign as they find your clit and start to rub frantic circles over the bundle. Your chest is snug against the bedsheets. You spread your legs even further, needing the space to keep yourself open and feel even wider. Luke notices and loops a hand under your thigh, lifting the leg and holding it up. He’s able to keep you balanced, able to keep you steady as your fingers slide over your dripping cunt.

His grunts and moans spur you on, your back arching. His tip finds your g-spot and abuses it, knocking the air out of you with each bump.

“Luke,” you whine, his name elongated on your tongue.

“I’m here, baby, let go.”

He’s reassuring and calm, so sure behind you and panting. He drapes himself over your back, kissing behind your ear. 

It’s the smooth brush of his lips that sends you over the edge. Your vision, already black, turns into a staticky void that you fall down like you’re skydiving. 

Luke is your parachute, fucking you through the spray of your orgasm and releasing his own seed inside of you. He fills you up with his warmth, fucking you until you’re sagging on the bed and breathing hard, barely able to move. Luke drags his cock out of your cunt and brings some of his come with it, although he promptly plugs you with his fingers and a kiss once he’s turned you over onto your back. 

His fingers are mostly still inside you, slowly pumping in and out in a way that isn’t meant to derive pleasure. He simply wants to feel you. His kisses are soft and sweet, soothing you and bringing you back down to Earth. 

Eventually, you regain control of your limbs. You shift one of your legs over Luke’s hips and cuddle close to him, rolling your hips against his finger. Your tongue slides against his, tasting your first orgasm on his lips. 

The moment dies slowly. You’re both tired, ready to sleep. Luke draws his fingers out of your entrance, pecking your lips one last time. 

“Go pee, baby,” he tells you. “You’re not getting a UTI on my account. I’ll get some PJs for you while you’re gone, then we can take a shower in the morning after I serve you some breakfast in bed.”

“Mmm,” you hum, beaming. You lean up to kiss Luke again. “How’d you get so good at aftercare? Lots of experience?”

“Just want to make sure you’re satisfied,” Luke replies, fondly smiling at you when you roll away and patter towards his ensuite bathroom. He laughs a little as you cringe, the mixture of come seeping out of your hole and dripping down your thighs.

“How about I take a quick shower now and we’ll discuss that breakfast in bed when I’m done?” You tease, already pulling back his shower curtain and turning the nozzles to find your optimum heat. 

“Don’t pee in my shower,” Luke calls, pushing the covers off the bed and gathering the wet sheets to throw in the wash. He’ll put new sheets on the bed while you’re cleaning yourself.

“I’m not!” You deny, affronted. “How dare you assume such a thing?”

The last thing you hear before stepping into Luke’s shower is his cheeky, throaty laugh. You fail to bite back the smile that comes with it.

[jeonstudios]

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

<previous | next>

© between takes is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights. 

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being. 

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option. 

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime. 

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal. 

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.” 

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place. 

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes. 

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest. 

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context. 

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third. 

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that. 

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold. 

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?” 

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there. 

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside. 

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course. 

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over. 

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all. 

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out. 

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always. 

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after. 

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so. 

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty. 

“I scare you?” 

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed. 

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it. 

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy. 

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill. 

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

“I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems. 

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one. 

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob. 

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why. 

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator. 

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then. 

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms. 

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes. 

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans. 

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something. 

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you. 

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

[tojipie]

Omg please please please write another fic about needy cry baby gf and Toji 😫🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

thinking abt him not realizing when he’s being mean because he grew up in a house full of boys where insults were a form of affection :( we’ve all got a little bit of crybaby reader in us me finks

content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

────────────────────────

a sea of limbs dance and weave around the court with intricacies you won’t even pretend to understand, leaving you more confused with each passing minute.

you remind yourself that you’re here for toji, wanting to spend more time with him regardless of whether you were into the activity.

toji liked it, so you liked it. at least before the game got confusing.

“that was two points, right?” you ask him, trying to make sense of the shot a player had just made.

toji pauses, holding the chilled end of his beer can to the back of his neck.

“three, baby.” he corrects, kicking his work boots off. the older man relaxes into the soft embrace of the couch with a groan, propping his feet up on the ottoman.

“right… right.” you realize, listening as the announcer gives a rundown of what just happened. you look over and gauge his expression, searching for any acknowledgment of what you’d just said.

“sorry, not really a basketball fan.” you joke, hoping to alleviate the awkward air.

“not that smart either, huh?” toji chuckles, taking a sip of his beer.

your stomach drops at the comment. blood rushes to your ears as humiliation takes over, eyes welling up with hot tears.

you knew he was 100% joking. that’s just how toji was around the people he loved.

you were being too sensitive, right?

the two of you had discussed instances like this before, the older man explaining that that was truly just how he spoke to people.

he never meant to upset you, in fact he’d rather hang than ever hurt you on purpose. his words, not yours.

toji has promised you he was working on it, trying to choose his words more carefully around you.

that’s all it was, you tell yourself. a simple slip of the tongue.

or was he truly mad at you this time?

nope. just a joke. you tell yourself, fiddling with a loose thread in your sleeve to distract from the lump in your throat. you try to inhale around the blockage, accidentally releasing a sob that alerts toji right away.

“hey.” he mumbles, setting his drink down to look at you. calloused hands cradle your face as the older man takes a close look at you.

you pull away, trying to compose yourself. just a joke! you remind yourself.

a joke, not serious. just. a. joke.

“nonono, hey it’s okay.” he whispers, eyes blowing wide as he realizes the gravity of the situation.

“i’m sorry sweetheart, i’m sorry.” he pleads, muting the tv to focus on you.

“m’ not stupid.” you whimper, wiping each eye with the back of your hand.

“course not pretty girl.” he whispers, rubbing your back in soft circles. “i’m sorry, you know that’s j—“

“just how you talk.” you mumble, not sure if his explanation actually made it ok.

“but.” he starts, pulling you into his lap with a grunt.

“that’s not an excuse, right?” he asks you, clearly remorseful.

“need to watch my mouth around my girl, huh?” he chuckles, still rubbing small circles up and down your back.

“it’s ok.” you conclude, resting your head on his shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead.

“hate making you upset.” he tells you firmly, nuzzling into the crown of your head.

“you wanna watch something else?” he asks, placing the remote in your hand. “movie, youtube?”

you crawl out of the older man’s lap and onto the couch, pulling up prime to scan the comedy section.

“i fucking hate basketball.” you giggle, the man beside you breaking out in full blown laughter as you press play on the remote.

[fatuismooches]

No other reason for this other than me being self-indulgent and having some fun. Dottore and Fragile Reader of course.

Prime Dottore - About You:

"If you were expecting me to... gush about them and whatnot, then your expectations are nonsensical. I have nothing to share with you about them. I merely have three things to say. Do not get close to them, do not make them upset, and do not get in my way, regardless of what I have to do to make them better."

Omega - About You:

"...[Name]? Their time is far too valuable to be spent around the likes of you. Speaking of, have you seen them? ...You say they're with another segment now? A pity. It's a shame they're always swept away by the others. I could please them far more than anyone else in any matter. I suppose I will need to think of a way to retrieve them yet again."

Alpha (Akademiya) - About You:

"Do you know how many pens and pencils I've broken due to [Name]? Even centuries later they still find the need to debate me on certain topics, academic or not, challenge my research and thinking, and criticize my handwriting. Truly an annoyance. If only they were able to be with me a bit longer... What? They are annoying, but I still acknowledge that they have the traits of a true scholar. And their voice is still much more agreeable than the others I have to work with..."

Beta (Webttore) - About You:

"Hehe, what a loyal assistant they are. They can pick apart different parts and mechanics with ease. Much more competent than that man I disposed of a while ago, on that expedition... along with all the others. Unfortunately, I only have a limited amount of time with them. Really, is it so difficult to find someone with even a third of their ability? Actually, that is a foolish question. No one could ever hope to compare to them."

Delta - About You:

"They have an exceptional talent for pestering me at any given moment, somehow seeking me out wherever I am easily. If only they could put their mind into something more productive. Why do I not simply ignore them? Because they do not stop until they've gotten their desired results, just like me. I'd rather not prolong their prodding.

Zeta - About You:

"... As long as they are well, I need not know anything else. Their health is of utmost priority."

Zandy - About You:

"[Name]? Oh, they're the best, most nicest and fun grown-up ever! I'm never alone now that they're around! They're always willing to play with me and they always yell at the other segments when they're being mean. They're never scared at all... [Name] could probably beat Prime in a fight if they wanted. Hmm? But they can't even throw a punch? That doesn't matter! They're much stronger than you think - I've witnessed it many times."

Pierro - About You:

"When I first recruited Dottore from the desert and gave him his Harbinger position, one of the first things he did was set up a room to monitor [Name]'s condition. He did so for hundreds of years, creating numerous segments to help, and it ended up paying off. It is not my place to pry into his life, as long as he fulfills his duties as the Tsaritsa requests, but now that they're by his side again, he seems... never mind."

Capitano - About You:

"I once encountered them when they managed to sneak out of the lab. They were... intriguing and talkative. They weren't scared in the slightest and were more interested in how I managed to befriend all the creatures near me. They wanted... tips on how to convince the Doctor to let them have a pet. I don't think I was very helpful."

Columbina - About You:

"The Doctor is engrossed with his research, but the only thing he truly has a soft spot for is his dearest [Name]. He hides his feelings exceptionally well, but anyone who witnesses him around them can tell the difference. Don't tell him I said this though, you know how he'll act.~ But do tell [Name] this, they're sure to get flustered. ♪"

Arlecchino - About You:

"They have made attempts to get closer to me, but I'm afraid I have no interest in building a relationship with them. Still, I've always thought that their character would be similar to that of the Doctor, but from what I've seen of them, that does not seem to be the case. So, I do wonder if those two opposites truly get along."

Pulcinella - About You:

"I have seen many things in this long life of mine, so unlike many others, their relationship with Dottore does not surprise me too much. Still, they have much to learn if they feel the need to come and ask me for relationship advice. If you ask me, I believe that they don't truly know how much the Doctor values them, even if it is as clear as day."

Wanderer - About You:

"The Doctor's little pet? Every time I saw them, they were always scurrying behind one of the segments, as if they were attached by the hip. I don't know what transpired between the two of them for this relationship to happen, but out of all the people who associate with Dottore, they're bound to meet the nastiest end."

Sandrone - About You:

"The Doctor? [Name]? I have no care for either of them. I am much too busy with my own work to think about his worthless love life. However, I do suppose the idea is entertaining - Dottore being capable of love is as laughable as thinking an Automaton can learn to cherish another, and this [Name] person is equally as idiotic for believing so."

La Signora - About You:

"[Name], you say? I can't claim to know much about them. Everything I've heard is through the mouths of others, mostly from agents who talk more than what's good for them, but especially the Balladeer. What are they really like - a harmless and fragile sweetheart? A tool for the Doctor? His equally as heartless accomplice? Or all of the above? All I can say, however, is that it takes one to know one, right?"

Pantalone - About You:

"Ah, the little one. I am more than familiar with them, although Dottore would loathe to hear that. Did you know the Doctor is more prone to jealousy than you think? It is most amusing to see his ever-confident smirk fall once you get a bit too close to [Name]. I vividly remember the time when I said I would accompany [Name] to a ball instead, as he was too busy with his research. He never changed his mind as quickly as he did once I promised to dance with them."

Childe - About You:

“I’ve always thought Dottore was eccentric, and after meeting [Name], I can say they are equally as weird as him, solely for choosing him as their husband. Their personality is nothing like his either - they are bubbly, affectionate, and most of all… extremely weak. Traits that Dottore has no interest in. And yet the segments seem to fawn over them… I just don’t understand them. I just hope they know what they’re getting into.”

Furina - About You:

"Whenever I see them, [Name] always make sure to arrange a tea party with their own homemade Sumerian sweets! It is truly a delight. I admit, I am a bit jealous of their skill. It's as if they have the experience of a hundred years! But of course, that's impossible. Regardless, they are very kind, and they also seem to have a particular liking for romantic films... an odd thing for someone affiliated with the Fatui to like."

Nahida - About You:

"A raven and a sparrow - two beings that are surely bound to be apart from each other, but when it comes to the Doctor and [Name], it seems that even the impossible becomes possible. Though my feelings toward them will not change because of what they've done, I can't help but be interested. What lengths will the Outcast go to cure the one he holds dear, and would [Name] still be able to love him if he becomes more of a monster?"

[tan1shere]

Her Favorite

Teacher Billie Eilish x student female reader !

A/n: the thought of this is sending me feral rn, enjoy 😩 also Claudia is in this and we are pretending you and her are the same ages okur yuh (20-21)(bills is nearing 30s let's say 😋 MILF) - there's going to be links to the outfits on each day that she wears on one of the words, just to help you get a better visual 😁

Summary: you're the teachers pet. Her. Favorite.

Warnings: smut DURH, mdni ! Thigh riding, soft dom bills nothing new here, sub reader, heavy sexual tension GAHH - think thats it ! Lmk if I left anything out 😙

Masterlist - pt 2 , pt 3

You were a college student. That's how most of these go right? You're the popular party throwing, blonde- no. In this case you were the shy, less know girl who sat in the middle of the class, not in the front and center. Or in the back. You were fairly confident, in yourself and what you loved. But all attention on you sent worry through your body. You had one best friend, Claudia. She was the kindest soul, more outgoing than you were but you loved her regardless.

Today was a Wednesday so that means music class. You don't really have any interest in it if you're being honest. But Claudia insisted you join her as a fun class, which you'd argue with and say all classes were fun in a way. But that wasn't strictly true. You couldn't sing, nor play any instrument so it wasn't as fun to you. "You know, I got you to agree to this class because it was fun, not to be good at it!" She says, walking beside you into the classroom. "But we have to try to be semi good at it- and that's not going so well." She just nudges you. "Well I already know you have fun anyway." She winks. Making your eyes roll.

"Don't you just wonder what she will be wearing today." - "You're annoying you know that?" She shrugs with a smile. "I know you love meee." As you entered the room. You spot her. The teacher of this specific class. She was beautiful and you most definitely had a crush on the woman. Was it silly? Maybe, but it was the only good thing about this class. Like Claudia was teasing to you about before. Today Ms O'Connell was wearing something very casual. A brown striped jacket with a collared white shirt underneath. Her hair was down today and she just looked so good. You sat down in your usual seats.

Ms O'Connell then starts for today. Explaining a few things, you honestly had no interest in them. But you just couldn't help staring at her. You then hear your name being called pulling you out of whatever trance you were in. "Y/n? You listening love?" You swallow discreetly, trying to not make it obvious how nervous she made you. You'd never let it fully show. Besides she talked to all the students that way. "Yes, sorry just tubed out for a sec. I'm listening." You replied sweetly, really not wanting to get in trouble. Or maybe that wouldn't be so bad. She nods in reply, continuing.

It wasn't as if you voluntarily put yourself out there, you never asked questions but for some reason she seemed to ask you all the questions, why? You were just writing something down when she eventually approaches you. "Can we speak after this lesson?" She asked you so softly, you thought youd die right there. You nod. Feeling tingles going throughout your body.

That time, was now. You were packing up your things as everyone else leaved, you go over to her, but not as close. Which confused her slightly. "You wanted to see me Miss?" Her head tilts. "You can come closer. I don't bite." Her pretty smile was then to be seen, you reluctantly go closer. "I've noticed the past few lessons you've been distracted." Uh oh. "Are you sleeping ok? You so look a little tired recently. Everything alright?" The way she's checking up on you makes you want to pounce at her and kiss her beautiful lips. But your mind remains, trying to calm it down. And it was slightly true, you always struggled to sleep but that's just been a thing ever since you were a kid.

"It's ok, I'm fine just not a huge sleeper?" You admit, but there was a concerned look on her face. "As long as you're ok." You nod, suspecting the conversation was done going to leave, but she grabs your arm gently. You look at her, into her eyes. Your nerves coming right back. "I'm always here if you need anything yeah? If you need to talk." And there you were again, in a compelling trance. Her eyes were like a spell. Your heart rate picks up, at the feeling of her hand on your arm.

Little did you know, she saw it all. The way you looked at her didn't go unnoticed by the woman. And little did you know. This was just the start of something, so crazy.

It was now Friday, music class yet again. And you couldn't stop thinking about that interaction, the way her hand held onto your arm, her blue eyes casting a spell on your own. You even slept better that night as silly as that may sound. Maybe she was like a comfort? You walk in with Claud, going to your normal spot. Ms hottie (as you liked to call her in your head.) Was wearing something interesting today. It was another collared shirt, with faint lines. Paired with a sleevless jacket ontop. She had a cap on, and those sexy glasses. You loved whenever she wore them.

She admitted to the class that she didn't need them she just enjoyed wearing them. And your immediate thought was hot. So every time she wears them you freak out a little inside. You listened to her voice, speaking, singing. God she was everything. You had told Claudia about the other day and she just made you more delusional about it, saying...

"Oh my god, what if she likes you."

"She was so teasing you with the bite comment."

"She knows."

It had been driving you nuts, like she was a little person in your head repeating those sentences. And here you were yet again, not focusing. Ms O'Connell looks over at you but staying quiet this time round.

There was no doubt about how bored you were, but it wasn't long to go thankfully. For the class and the rest of the year. You honestly couldn't wait to be done for good, this was the last year. Once the lesson was over you go to pack up your things, when you hadn't realized your other books had fallen out of your bag. You sigh, going to bend down to your knees to pick them up. Everyone was leaving, and it was just you and her. You stand once you collect yourself and your things, turning around but only to be met with those beautiful blue eyes.

You gasp, had you of been expecting she was right behind you. "Sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to startle you." You flash her your sweet smile. "It's ok!" She looks over your body, slowly. Hm. Unusual. Unusually hot. "You seem to fade into space alot. Is that normal?" She asks. Referring to you being distracted earlier. Her eyes keep roaming around your body, landing on your eyes... Then your lips. Continuing that motion til she settles on your eyes. "A little yeah, big daydreamer." You laugh a little, nervously. "What do you tend to think about?"

You. You. You. Your brain chants. "Things." Her head casually tilts, but it goes straight to your head. Or maybe your aching core. Because that was way too hot. You swallow, audibly. A tiny smirk plays on her lips. "What's the matter?" She asks with slight concern but her smirk overpowers any of that sympathy. You felt like for the first time you couldn't speak to her, your words gone. "Hm?" She asks with such a velvety smooth tone. You wanted to whine, it's as if she knew what she was doing. Making you feel such a way. But that's impossible, right? You pluck up some confidence. When she gets closer to you before you could speak. "Kinda glad this is your last class for today." Your brows furrow. What? "W-why-?" You then ask, widening your eyes at how pathetic it came out.

"Because, I get to do something that I've been wanting to for soooo long." Your breath becomes quicker, unsteady. Similar to your legs. "Please." You breathe out, too into your own thoughts to care about how wrong this situation may be. In broad daylight. Her lips come softly onto your own, so incredibly slow. Your tongues eventually mingle together, tasting the sudden desire against one another. She pulls back going to swipe her thumb against your lip. Staring at them. You felt dizzy, weak. No way you just kissed her. "Things. I didn't know that was my new name." She looks into your eyes again. Darker, sexy. Fuck. You thought. Her hands reach for yours going to take you into her secluded office.

She shuts and locks the door. Approaching you. "I see the way you look at me angel, I'm very aware." You swallow, louder than the last time. "Just know those daydreams have you soaked huh?" She pouts slightly, in a mocking sense. Your head reluctantly nods. Looking into her eyes, she backs you up against the desk. "Then you must know just how much I daydream of you." Your eyes grew bigger, did she really just say that? No way... Her hands rest on your thighs, face leaning closer to yours. Moving slowly to your ear. "May I show you, pretty girl?" Your breath catches in your throat before you reply, breathlessly. "Please do." Her smirk returns.

Grabbing your hand again and leading you around to her chair, eventually getting you to sit on her lap. Your hands rest on her shoulders. Hers gliding up and down the sides of your body. "Just want a little taste of what I've been mindlessly thinking of, yeah?" Whatever the fuck that meant you didn't care, nodding nonetheless. Her hands then grip your hips, manhandling you so your cunt is directly over her thigh. The change makes you gasp slightly considering you hadn't expected that. Your hands grip her shoulders as your underwear is met with the rough material of her pants. Having your skirt semi out of the way. "Thin. Wet." She says inches away from your face. You bite your lip as you both hold eye contact. The way her glasses sit on her face making it 10x better.

This woman. She's driving you mental. Were you dreaming or something? She begins to slowly move you on her thigh, making your first noise come beautifully past your lips. "Good, you know how to use your voice." She says, averting her eyes to you and her thigh. "You gunna make a mess on ne sweet girl?" Your eyes shut as her movements quicken, feeling your brain fog over with a euphoric sensation. "M-more.." You blurt out. "More she says?" Billie chuckles deliciously. (Like at the end of guess 😵) "Angel wants more, how very sweet." You gulp. "P-please?" Your soft voice made her go nuts. She wanted so badly to ruin you right here right now. But she resisted for the time being. "And she asks sooo-" Her movements speed up, causing your eyes to pop, jaw agape. "-nicely."

Your head lulls back as you feel it coming, the way your clit was throbbing against her rapidly. Soon after feeling that tightness, only to be met with that sticky necter. All over her thigh. She hums in approval. Letting you fall against her, head landing in the crook of her neck. Your breathing slowly coming back to you as her hand rubs gently over the skin of your arm. "That's why you're my favorite."

After a minute or two you come back to reality. Not the right reality but your senses turn back on. She swiftly tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. Smiling at you gently, thinking for you second before taking her hat off and plopping it on your head. She looks at you so lovingly, now seeing that compassion in her eyes. It made you melt, softly putting your hands on her face. Hers latch delicately over your wrists, soon grabbing your hand and kissing it tenderly. This was wrong, not because of any age, but because she was your teacher. Did you really care tho? Hardly. Once you leave it's not like it'd matter. But oh fuck it felt too good.

"Go clean up darling, I'll see you on Wednesday." She then winks, as you leave the classroom. And all your mind could say was.

Oh.

My.

God.

Pt 2 will be out soon. ;)

[nadvs]

looking to score (one-shot)

pairing footballcaptain! rafe cameron x female headcheerleader! reader

rating explicit 18+

summary rafe has been flirting with you all season long. just when you think he’s never going to actually seal the deal, you do something to make him dangerously jealous and he realizes he’ll need you to prove who you’re loyal to.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The state championship game coming up means there are two sure things you can count on.

One, you have to hold twice as many cheerleading practices to make sure your routines are clean and flawless.

And two, everyone on campus has Rafe Cameron’s name in their mouth.

He’s the starting quarterback, the captain of the football team, the fucking pride and joy of your college. For him, it’s awesome. He loves the attention. As for you, you’ve given up on trying to stifle your eye-rolls any time someone mentions him.

Rafe is the cockiest man you’ve ever known. Your interactions with him have been limited, but telling. He’s been teasing you all season, flirting and acting like he’ll finally put a move on you. But then he never does.

Before every home game, as team captains, you stand first in your respective line in the tunnelled corridor that leads out to the football field. This gives Rafe a nice few minutes to flirt with you and does he love to lay it on thick.

Today, finally, it’s the day of the championship game, and your college is hosting. The campus is buzzing with excitement, colorful signs in the stands, every parking lot full.

You’re waiting in your usual spot. The crowds in the stands outside are roaring and the conversations of cheerleaders and college staff are bouncing around the concrete tunnel.

The players aren’t here yet, but you know it’s only a matter of minutes before Rafe leads them down the hall, pausing next to you, messing with you like always.

It’s almost torment the way he works you up, then does nothing about it. Nonetheless, you look forward to this little routine you two have and hope he puts his money where his mouth is one day.

Rafe lives for the buzz before a home meet. The local fame he amasses, the promise of an hour-long game where he’s celebrated for his aggression, the opportunity to talk to you before he steps out onto the field… it’s electrifying.

When he saunters down the corridor towards you, all height and breadth and fucking ego, his eyes trail down your body like he’s imagining what’s underneath your cheerleading uniform.

“Damn,” he lowly mutters to you. “I swear, that skirt keeps getting shorter.” He leans back against the hard wall, waiting for his cue to rush the field.

“Wishful thinking,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Rafe soaks in the sight of your cleavage, the way your tits press together under your v-neck top when you stand like that. His blood runs hot like it always does when he sees you.

“This is a big game,” he says. He’s rolling his helmet in his big hands, his shoulder pads wide, the red of his jersey somehow making his blue eyes look even bluer. “You shouldn’t be distracting me.”

“Do you ever give it a rest?” you ask. He bites his lip, gaze dropping to your legs.

“We both know you don’t want that.” His smirk is so cocky, his dimples so taunting, that you have to look away from him. He’s almost too hot.

“Got me there, Rafe,” you say sarcastically. When you roll your eyes at him, his dirty mind immediately imagines you doing that from pleasure while he fucks you.

“Good, get used to saying my name,” he chuckles.

“Because I’ll be screaming it later, right?” you quip. “Original.” Regardless, you feel yourself flush a little when you imagine him on top of you.

“I’m just sayin’, be prepared,” he says, amused as hell. The band starts playing the familiar entrance music in the stands, prompting you to get ready to run out.

“You want me so bad, it’s embarrassing.” You kneel over to pick your pompoms off the ground, purposely perking your ass in his direction. He feels his groin tighten at the view.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he says. You meet his eyes and can’t stifle the smile on your face, shaking your head as he pulls his helmet over his head.

Goddamn, he wish he knew if he actually had a chance with you. But he hasn’t ever made a real move, sure you’d reject him in a heartbeat. It’d be too big a blow to his ego.

The game is a close one through all four periods. You and your team cheer on the sidelines as the sun starts to set, trying to weaken the thick tension that stretches across the field.

Rafe plays fast and rough like usual, but you’ve noticed he has a sudden rivalry with one of the opposing players. Every time he gets even remotely close to number 33, who’s clearly been tasked with taking Rafe down, he’s shouting at him or shoving him.

His aggression is hot. Always has been. You look away from the field as if someone can read your mind.

Of course, it’s Rafe’s touchdown that wins the game for the home team. You’re elated, the cheering and applause and energy around you magnetizing.

You and the other cheerleaders storm the field, followed by the marching band and everyone on the coaching team.

In the crowd, you see Rafe with his helmet off, smiling the biggest you’ve ever seen. The stadium lights are strong, washing him in a bright light, showcasing the handsome planes of his face.

“Don’t rub it in, huh?” you hear. You turn to see a player from the other team smirking at you, his helmet hanging off his fingers.

“Kind of my job,” you reply, gesturing to your pompoms. He laughs, nodding as he looks down. Okay, he’s cute.

Rafe’s impulse is to look for you, brag to you about his win and about how you have no choice but to cheer for him.

When his eyes land on you, you’re standing on the field looking so fucking cute with your hip cocked, smiling at…

His blood boils. You’re smiling at another guy. The guy who’s been dogging him and pissing him off the whole game. Number 33. Why the fuck are you smiling at him?

Rafe can’t control himself. He starts to push through the crowd to get you the hell away from that asshole, when the coach stops him, talking to him about their play.

He loses sight of you and it makes every sore muscle in his body tense.

When the team heads inside, Rafe doesn’t even have the patience to peel off his muddy uniform. He leaves his helmet in his locker and rushes out of the room to find you.

He’s pissed off at your lack of loyalty. He’d like to think it’s because he cares about the team that much, but no. You’re his. Some dickhead, especially one on the opposing team, isn’t going to flirt his way into your pants.

When he spots you walking through one of the hallways that surrounds the stadium, he rushes to you and grabs your wrist.

You look up to see Rafe staring down at you with hard eyes.

“Why were you talking to that asshole?” he asks over the sound of the chattering crowds surrounding you.

Excitement burns through you. Is he talking about the player who flirted with you? Damn. He’s jealous. You give him a gratified smile.

“Only asshole I talked to today was you,” you reply.

“What did he say?” he demands, voice low. What’s worse is that you fucking smiled at him, a smile that should only be reserved for him, but he won’t say that out loud.

“He was hitting on me,” you reply, smirking. “Hopefully he’ll actually do something about it. Unlike you.”

Your response throws him for a second. If you want him to follow through, to finally resolve months of sexual tension, he’ll gladly fucking do it.

He angrily yanks you towards him and you allow him to guide you through the throngs of spectators.

Rafe has one thing in mind. He knows where the visiting teams park their bus. And he’s taking you there.

He roughly pushes open the heavy door to the back parking lot, pulling you behind him. The evening air is warm and the area is dark and fenced up and all you can hear is his panting.

Hard hands find your hips and push you against the cold, metal wall of the bus. Rafe’s finally facing you again, his stare penetrating. Your heart is hammering with anticipation.

“You want me to do something about it, huh?” he rasps. He pushes his hips against yours, grinding against you.

“Fucking finally,” you breathe.

His lips are on yours as he huffs a chuckle, unable to believe that you’re crumbling for him this damn easily.

His tongue runs against yours and his body feels so firm, the smell of his sweat musky and so fucking sexy. You feel the bulge of his hardening cock against your groin and you buck against him.

His hand eagerly runs up your thigh, below your skirt. When his fingers press against your cunt, you jolt, your breath stopping for a second.

“You wet for me?” he asks, pads of his fingers pushing up against your entrance. His breath is hot, his nose nudging yours. Arousal coils in your stomach, tight and hot.

You feel so soft and moist through your panties. Rafe knows he won’t be able to simply touch you for much longer. He needs to be inside you.

“Mhm,” you can only desperately hum.

His other hand moves from your hip to your face, squeezing your cheeks together as he looks down at you.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply clearly, eyes boring into his.

Excitement pools in you when he moves his hands away to pull down his pants. You eagerly hike up your skirt and yank down your underwear.

It’s so fucking insane to be doing this out here. Someone could come through the door in a second. But the risk of it just adds to the thrill.

You revel in the sight of Rafe’s hard, curved cock in his hand. He’s fucking huge. You can admit the ego is warranted.

Rafe loves your expression, the way your lips are parted in surprise.

“Damn, look at you,” he huffs with a smirk. “You want this dick so bad.”

You eagerly lift your knee for him and he takes the invitation immediately, holding your leg up against his hip.

The feeling of him lining himself up against your cunt is mind-blowing. He pushes into you slowly, every inch feeling better than the last.

“How long have you wanted this?” he grunts once he bottoms out.

“Feels like fucking forever,” you admit breathlessly. “What took you so long?”

“Just be grateful you’re getting it,” Rafe replies. So cocky. Typical.

He pulls back then thrusts into you. Hard. You let out a strained sob and he inhales sharply at how nicely you’re squeezing around him.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. The leg holding you up is wobbly already, making you grateful his hand is firmly hooked underneath your knee.

“You think that idiot can fuck you like this?” he says, driving in and out of you.

“No,” you say, and you mean it. You’re not sure anybody can pound into you so effortlessly, with so much passion.

You dip your head back, eyes squeezed shut while he fucks you.

“Don’t fucking talk to him again,” he orders, his hand rubbing over your chest and roughly kneading your tits.

This jealousy, this ownership, is so fucking hot. He continues to pull in and out so hard and so fast that you know you’ll be sore tomorrow.

“I won’t,” you promise. He’s so big inside you, stretching you so nicely, that you feel your stomach tightening already. “Shit. I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it loudly,” he says with a self-satisfied laugh. “And say my name.”

You obey, and when the orgasm rocks through you, your blood runs hot and sparks go off through your entire body. Rafe feels you squeezing him even tighter and he groans, cumming inside you in hot waves, twitching.

You bite your lip as he pulls out, feeling aftershocks of pleasure rocking through you.

Realizing what you’ve just done, that you’re in a fully public area, you frantically pull up your panties and readjust your skirt. Rafe looks amused by your nervousness, slowly getting dressed again.

“That was…” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Rafe leans down, capturing your face in his hands again to kiss you deeply.

A loud bang forces you apart. You see a player from the opposing team stepping out the door, trailed by the rest of his team.

A few seconds earlier, and you’d have been mortified. But Rafe takes the opportunity to kiss you again before taking your hand and pulling you through the door, past the group of guys.

“Get home safe,” Rafe mutters to them with a smirk, his tone taunting and entirely disingenuous. He spots number 33 and smiles at him with nothing but contempt.

He squeezes your hand and tilts his head towards you as the two of you walk by the sullen man.

“Looks like you lost,” Rafe half-laughs, very clearly not talking about the game.

thank you to this anon for inspiring this fic! if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘