#it's just been *so* good! this game was exactly what I was wanting from it

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

guess who has to be studying for another exam but instead she needs to catch up on this fic? (this girl) little annotations below ⬇️

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

manifest it girlypop

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

i eat up any scenes where she wants nothing to do with him and he barges into her life and finds out all the things he's been missing out? the angst of not being able to go backward in time no matter how much you regret it

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

i would burst out in tears

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

i was like why r we bringing up topper's bitch ass here and then i realized it to put in a frame of reference that she couldn't possibly know topper's birth bc he moved to kildare later. i just thought reader needed to put in a quick jab about topper 😭

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

i love the spiral of madness. i'm reading (and analyzing) it and i'm so so amazed by how ur structure descends. it flows so smoothly - from one topic to the next - all at a great pace and with a lot of internal turmoil. it builds up to me feeling everything reader feels.

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

ugh, i love the parallels between her being (potentially) pregnant and the idea that she has to wrap her life around this foundation for children.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

i love her i feel like she inches closer to insanity every day and i, too, feel the same

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

like i said

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

BABES 😭 YOU'RE CARRYING HIS CHILD oh this is too good, the idea that she wants to erase him from her life and leave no space for him (mind), but her body is accommodating spacefor his child, making her reserve a permanent space for him in her life

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

i fear i would crash out if i am currently stressed with the idea of being pregnant and remembering my ex bf and remembering my lost parents

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.You were going to do this without him.

my boss baby!!!

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

topper, in the words of reader, a bitching BACKSTABBER

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

ugh i love ur dialogues sosososo much

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

so fuck his parents then ig

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

apparently me

There it was.

+

💌 — aaaaaaaaaa, i'm so glad i waited until after my exam to read this and truly experience the gift of ur writing. i love the juxtaposition and parallels in this scene! especially with her deleting rafe from the gala's list, erasing space from him in her life, but having his child grow inside of her. i love love how she has to have a gala for children—and crippling over the current dilemma of whether she has a child herself. and i love that she's very isolated in a sense, because it amplifies how this child can truly make or break her. topper was so enjoyable—especially their conversation. u always write dialogues so smoothly!! honestly, i thought this scene would end with rafe showing up unannounced at the gala, haha but ig we'll see in next chapter

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amout of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can I request a headcanon of whb king (plus any other characters you want) reacting to gn mc avoiding them for as long as she can because mc got dared to by some random demon

WHB kings' reaction to MC avoiding them because of a dare

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! This was so fun to write since each king had a completelly different reaction ^^ Sorry for the long wait though t-t

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oh, Satan doesn't like this at all

The moment he notices your suspiciously long absence, he's on the prowl

Where are you and why tf are you avoiding him?

He'll even send out Amy and his group to look for you and bring you to him

Hopefully he'll during his search find out about the dare

At least hopefully for you

Poor demon who dared you will find himself homeless after Satan in his demon form destroys his place

Once that's dealt with, the next time you go outisde, you come face to face with Satan, leaning back against his bike

"Talked to that mf. The dare's called off :)"

    ༺☆༻

Mammon notices that you haven't been around him much, but he just chalks it up to you being busy

He's okay with it, knowing that eventually you'll come back to him anyway

Besides, if you needed something, you'd surely call him

After finding out that it's a dare, he's also curious how long you'll be able to keep away from him

If he ever gets worried about you, he'll just send one of his nobles to check up on you

Once you're back to him, he's taking you out for a dinner to congratulate you on how long you lasted

    ༺☆༻

Leviathan knew from the beginning thanks to Foras

You don't even get to leave the Hades castle so it's easier for you to avoid him when you get a message from the devil who dared you that the dare is off

It doesn't take a genius to realise that the poor demon had been visited by His Majesty himself and forced to end your dare early

Most likely, if you video-called with him, he'll be gasping for air, hung by a noose

The next time you see Leviathan, he acts like nothing happened, but you can feel his piercing stare when you're not looking at him

He's most likely not sure how to punish you yet...

But once he does...

Oh boy, now comes the moment to avoid him for the sole sake of your survival

    ༺☆༻

Funny :)

You think you can avoid Beel? :)

I mean, technically you could do that by hanging around in the Abyssos castle, but even then you can't exactly avoid Beel

If Beel wants to see you, he'll come and see you

Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing

Even if it means that he'll have to sneak through his own castle to escape Bael's wrath

And even more so, if he finds out about the dare...

Oops, he just reminded he meant to take you to this place and booked it in advance and can't cancel it

Sorry, guess you'll have to spend the whole month with him :)

I guess the rule with Beel is that the more you want him, the less he'll be around

(True story with my pulls for his cards tbh T-T)

    ༺☆༻

Belphie would probably realise that it's been a while since you were there when he woke up, but eh...

Maybe you're just busy doing your work

No sweat

That is until Beleth accidentally slips up about the dare

Oh?

Now that is something different

Prepare to start dreaming about him every night

That'll eventually make you come back...

And if not, don't worry...

Belphie's ability can bring you back anytime, so enjoy your time away from him before he decides this little game is over

    ༺☆༻

Keeping away from Asmo is honestly your day-to-day task, so I don't think there's much difference

That is until you realize that it's time for another annual king meeting

The real challenge becomes coming up with a good reason to excuse yourself from it

And all the nobles are helping you at this point

Sure, you could just not go, but Asmo might then leave the meeting to come and see you since he was so excited to meet you after so long

In the end Leviathan coems to save the day and hides you inside his coffin for as long as the need be

Phew

You're safe for another year

    ༺☆༻

To Lucifer, not seeing you for a long time is a good thing

It just means you're healthy and safe

But he does eventually start to miss you

And then Gamigin talks a bit too much and mentions that you've been avoiding Paradise Lost because of a dare

So whenever you need medical assistance one of the nobles has to do a house call

...

A house call?

That sounds unsanitary

Who even knows what germs and bacteria you might catch

Lucifer better make his way over to you for a surprise visit to make sure you're doing well

And no apples can save you from this doctor

[barcaatthemoon]

complicate me || leah williamson x reader ||

Coming back to Arsenal was a mistake, but you and Leah manage to make an even bigger one together.

18+

You had always known that you wouldn't be at Manchester forever. A three year loan was a pretty long time, and for a moment, you had hoped that it would become permanent. Arsenal had let you stay the couple years, but with Jonas out, management ended your loan early. They wanted you back in red, not that you could blame them. There were a lot of important games coming up, and even if you technically couldn't play in a couple of them, you were still an important piece for practices.

It felt weird for you to walk the training grounds at Arsenal by yourself. Jen was gone, and she had always been the person you could count on to still be your mate after everything. Leah had kept most of your friends after the breakup, and then you hadn't exactly helped your case when you just up and left after everything.

You could still remember the way that Caitlin had practically begged for you to stay with the team. If it wasn't for Jen, you probably would have been convinced to stay. A part of you regretted leaving, but you knew that you hadn't been in your right mind with Leah so close after everything. At the time, it all seemed like too much to be reconciled, but now you were hopeful that things could be fixed.

You'd never in a million years get back together with Leah, no matter how good she looked. It didn't matter how many drinks you had on a team night out. After the first couple to celebrate wins, however, you promptly decided that you'd be a loner at Arsenal. With Jen in California, you had lost your personal voice of reason, the only person who could truly keep you away from Leah for your own wellbeing.

"Come on, you have to come over. You never do anything with the team, everybody's gonna think that you hate them," Caitlin pleaded with you. The two of you had been going back and forth for the past week about you coming to the party she was throwing with Katie at their place. It was a bye week, so everybody was free to enjoy the weekend. You knew there would be a lot of drinking, and that was what scared you. You had always been able to hold your liquor pretty well physically, but you made absolutely terrible decisions sometimes.

"Cait, nobody wants me there. Let's face it, they barely even want me playing here again," you reasoned. Caitlin could see you start to move to get up and rushed to grab onto your wrist. "Caitlin, I don't want to argue about this."

"Then don't argue and just come over for a bit. You don't have to talk to anybody but me. Just please, I miss you. I've missed you since you moved and iced everybody out," Caitlin said. She gave you her best puppy dog eyes, and if it was anybody else, you probably would have just said no. But because it was Caitlin, you gave in despite your better judgement.

That afternoon when you got out of training, you went straight home and immediately called Jen. You had hoped that she would convince you not to go, but instead, she had fully agreed with Caitlin. You hated hearing how it was a good idea to bond with the women you'd be spending the next two seasons of your career with. Once your contract was over, you could go somewhere else, but for now, you were stuck at Arsenal.

A lot of things had changed since you left. The changes may not have seemed like much to people who had been around, but they had definitely taken you by surprise. The big one had been Caitlin and Lia. Caitlin had been clinging to Katie's side when you arrived, and Lia was stuck by Lia.

Years before, you had been close with Lia, even closer than Lia and Leah were. Now, you just had Caitlin, who you had only befriended because of Lia. It hurt for the Swiss woman not to even look your way, but you couldn't imagine how it looked to her. You were sure that everybody had gotten Leah's side of the story, which you weren't calling bullshit, but you knew had to be biased.

"You look good. Leah's staring," Caitlin said as she nudged you.

"Whatever." You brushed off Caitlin's comment, but only to force yourself not to glance over at the blonde. You couldn't let yourself get sucked over there, not when you knew where it would end up. Leah had an uncanny ability to complicate everything in your life, and she had been doing it for years now. Your relationship had been far from perfect, but you were happier then. Now, you were miserable while she was getting a chance to live her best life.

"(Y/n), I didn't think you'd come." Katie looked just as surprised as she sounded. Caitlin swatted at the Irish woman's chest, but Katie seemed unphased. "I'm glad you came. It's been boring without my favorite drinking buddy."

"Do you really want me to drink you under the table this early into the night?" you asked teasingly. Katie scoffed at that, but didn't deny that you usually did win the little competitions. You watched as Katie sent Caitlin a pleading look before Caitlin just nodded. Before you could react, Katie grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen where the alcohol was.

You let Katie pick the alcohol, and thus, your competition began. You should have known better than to start drinking like this so early into the night, but you wanted to have fun. It had been so long that you believed that you deserved to have a good night out. Several shots later, and you found yourself having to help Katie stumble out of the kitchen.

"Katie, you promised you'd stop at 5," Caitlin huffed as she took her girlfriend from you.

"Hey, it's not my fault that she did doubles," Katie slurred. Caitlin glanced over at you, who just barely had a rosy tint to your cheeks. You didn't seem too out of it, so Caitlin left you there to make Katie sit down and eat something with the hope of sobering her up a bit. It couldn't have been more than maybe 30 seconds of you being alone for Leah to find her way over to you.

"I see that you're enjoying yourself," Leah teased. Your eyes narrowed at her, but your anger was fleeting. You couldn't hold onto any one emotion for too long before forgetting what exactly it was that you were feeling. "You're gonna be feeling that tomorrow."

"That's not your concern," you told her. Leah seemed a bit shocked by the snark in your tone. She shouldn't have been surprised by it, you had spoken to her in worse tones constantly by the end of your relationship. "Why are you over here? You told everybody that I ruined you. Nobody wants to talk to the woman who ruined them."

"(Y/n), I was hurt. You know that I lash out when I'm hurt, besides, I am much more mature than I was before," Leah said. She placed her hand on the small of your back, and it ignited something inside of you. Without an ounce of hesitation, you turned and tried to kiss Leah. "Hey, no, not like this. I want you, but I want you to want me back."

"Leah, it's complicated. I'm complicated now," you told her. Leah bit her lip and glanced at the bottle of alcohol just sitting on the table behind you. You followed her gaze and immediately knew what she was getting onto. "You want to be on my level?"

"I don't think I'd feel so bad if I was," Leah reasoned. You didn't like the thought of her needing to be drunk to want you, but the notion was gone as quickly as it popped into your head. Everything was fleeting, except for your desire to have Leah. You didn't necessarily want her sexually; you just wanted her close. If you had to crawl into bed and open your legs for that, then you were more than willing to do so.

The trip back to Leah's was a bit of a blur. Leah's place wasn't too far from Katie and Caitlin's, close enough for the two of you to walk there. The two of you had left fairly early into the night, but it was nearly 11:30 by the time that you had gotten inside. Neither of you seemed to care as you had both been guilty of stopping to kiss and feel the other up.

Your lipstick was smeared on Leah's mouth and neck by the time that you got back to her place. She paused as she caught a glimpse of herself, a little more disheleved than normal. Leah promptly turned her atttention over to you. You looked just as far gone as she did, pupils blown wide as you watched and waited for her to make another move on you.

"Come on," Leah said as she tugged you along with her. Leah tried to move quickly with you, not giving you a chance to take in the state of her home now that you were gone. She was scared that if the two of you stopped for too long, you would notice all of the little pieces of you that Leah had refused to give up.

The truth was that she had tried, and for a while, they had been gone. However, Leah had always kept the few boxes of trinkets and little things you left behind in her closet. Lia had begged Leah to throw it all away, but the blonde couldn't bring herself to do it. Eventually, she began hating the way that her house felt, so she slowly put all of your things back in their rightful places.

Leah kept the light in her room off, guiding you to the bed herself. She didn't think about you waking up in the morning and seeing anything, but Leah doubted that the two of you would be on speaking terms for a while after tonight. Any time that you let yourself get remotely close to Leah for a little, you always blanked everybody for about a week or two.

"Lee, it's dark," you said. Leah just hummed, neither of you stopping in your attempts to undress each other. You wanted to see Leah's body, but you weren't willing to pull yourself away from her to turn on the lights. You didn't need the lights on to know the look of concentration on Leah's face as the two of you ground against each other.

You could vividly imagine everything happening around you. This was far from the first time that you had closed your eyes and just tried to imagine all of the things you remembered about Leah. Now, it was much more real than before with Leah panting and moaning in your ear.

"I want to feel you. I want to be inside of you," Leah told you. You had never been glad to be laying down before in your life. There was no way that Leah wouldn't have known how her words would affect you. You were sure that Leah could feel the surge of arousal as it coursed through your body.

"Fuck me, Leah, please," you begged her. You pushed a needier tone than usual, letting Leah really hear every ounce of desperation inside of you. Leah groaned as she sat back on her knees. One of her hands slipped between your legs while the other went between her own.

Leah could just barely make out the twisting of your body in the moonlight. She was so much closer than you were, but Leah wanted to make you cum. She wanted to feel you clench around her fingers at least one more time. She didn't know whether or not she'd get another chance to touch you like this again, and so she tried her best to savor the moment.

…

The hangover from hell was the least of your problems whenever you had woken up the next morning. With Leah fast asleep next to you, you quickly snuck out of her home. It had once been your home too, but once again, you were running from it. A few quick phone calls to Arsenal's management staff about taking some time off for your mental health and a hasty plane ticket purchase later, and you were dead set on leaving the country.

Leah would be mad at you, as would Caitlin and everyone else, but you had to go. You watched as a text was sent out from management about you taking the next month off. Text after text began flooding in as you packed a bag. You didn't know how long you'd really be away for, but you just had to get the fuck away from London for a while.

"Jen? I know it's early for you, but I fucked up. I'm not over her, and I just need to clear my head for a couple of days. I swear that I won't be long, they're giving me the month, so I'll probably go back to Glasgow for a bit too. I just, I'll see you later." You had always hated leaving voicemails, but the words just poured from your mouth. You knew that your best friend was going to kill you when she saw you, but she'd also take care of you too.

[utilitycaster]

this may seem needlessly finicky but I do actually believe it's important: calling Verin a himbo is just one of many examples where like, one of the cast says something off the cuff and it's not exactly the right word or it is highly contextual, and that is fine because no one is perfect especially in improv, but then it gets repeated ad infinitum within the fandom when it never really fit in the first place. We have Verin's stats and he's decently more intelligent than average with a 13 (smarter than most of Bells Hells for one; as smart as Pike); it's just he's the guy with a bachelor's degree with good grades followed by military service in a family where everyone has two PhDs - Matt said "himbo of the family" the way in a family where most people are exceptionally tall you'd call the 5'11" child the short one. In Call of the Netherdeep he appears as thoughtful and competent and promoted to a difficult position at a very young age, and in the campaign his appearance is simultaneously as a leader of troops in a dangerous mission, and someone who cares enough about poetry from a completely foreign and distant culture to have tried to learn more about it. I'm sorry, but if you're using the word "himbo" I don't think you're processing a thing about the character yourself; you're just the latest repetition in a game of telephone that's been going on since mid-2021.

And that's not deeply bad on the surface, and I'm using Verin not because he is the character most wronged by this sort of thing but because he's recent and it's really clear where the word came from and that it's not a good assessment, but something I happen to have a decent knack for is pattern recognition in language. I usually find it really easy to pick up on when someone's plagiarized because of the language and pattern shifts. I tend to remember urls and out of place words well. So I do tend to notice when everyone suddenly starts using a single turn of phrase and I tend to flag it. Sometimes that's not bad; sometimes it means everyone came to a similar conclusion and that's the best way to express that conclusion. But like, when Taliesin called the Yios episode a gas-leak episode and the entire fandom started parroting it? The line "bone-dry takes"? The fact that a lot of ship defenses I see were phrased precisely as "I have eyes"? without actually talking about the ship itself? the fact that I've seen a spike in the use of the term "ontologically evil" including in myself and not all uses are actually correct? And extending this beyond strictly language but consider any headcanon with minimal textual support that catches like wildfire (sidebar: remember how we make, or made fun of the SPREAD THIS LIKE WILDFIRE tendency on Tumblr a decade ago? same concept of repetition of a specific turn of phrase without internalizing) all sort of ping this.

And it's fine, truly, to come to fandom and turn off your brain. I know this will sound sarcastic from me, and that's because I don't personally agree, but I do strongly agree that you can do what you want in fandom and you don't have to listen to my opinions so in the end, yeah, it's fine because I am not the arbiter of "fine". But I think critical thought is a vital exercise and I think precision with language is part of it and so if you find yourself using the same exact words and thoughts as everyone else, that should, ideally, trigger a process of "but are these the right words? what do I see when I see this character and how would I describe them? do I agree with this assessment?" Fandom is an interesting and easier microcosm than reality in which to start doing that.

[darkintrinsic]

Devil's Night | Bad Omens

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

One day I woke up and wanted to be chased to the sound of Milagre.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X Female!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. It's devil's night and you've been invited to play. If you don't get caught by them, you win..

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). Foul language, alcohol consumption, masked men, stalking, reverse harem, why choose, taking turns, explicit sex, fear games, submission.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Devil’s Night.

The first time she heard those words, thought it was just another excuse for parties and excess, but here, in Detroit, it’s different. People speak of this night as if it were a tradition, passed down from generation to generation, almost like a silent pact that no one dares to question.

Yes, it’s Halloween Eve, but it carries a taste of danger that goes beyond costumes and carved pumpkins. It’s not about trick-or-treating; it’s more like… a rite of passage, where each person lets their dark side surface, testing their own limits and those of others. And the entire city, somehow, agrees to turn a blind eye to what happens in the shadows.

In the alleys and empty hallways, you can feel something waiting, hidden between the walls and beneath the fog that stubbornly refuses to lift. The seniors, of course, love it. They create challenges, make absurd promises to the freshmen, as if they’re initiating them into some ancient secret. But it’s not a secret; it’s more like a warning.

I don’t know exactly who started it—maybe some group many years ago, looking for a way to release their frustrations, or perhaps the city already came with this curse built in. But, either way, everyone participates, whether in the role of the observers or those who get lost in the night.

You were about to leave home, dressed up for another Devil’s Night in Detroit. Your friends had invited you over to drink a little before heading to the Lions' party, the fraternity responsible for the highest concentration of players that night. At first, you were ready to turn down the invitation, wanting to go straight to the celebration and get it over with once and for all, but seeing the flyer advertising the Geordin’s pub attraction made you change your mind.

Bad Omens was the main act in an intimate show, and you felt a bit excited to know they were back in town. It had been a while since you last saw them—if you weren’t mistaken, on the last Devil’s Night.

"Don’t tell me you’re not even a little excited to see him again…" Ash nudged your ribs with a playful voice, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"They’ve grown so much since the last time I saw them, Ash. They definitely have no idea who I am."

"And what if I told you that’s not exactly true?" Ashley’s glittering eyes blinked behind her long lashes as if she had some valuable information. She rested her hands and phone under her chin while watching you finish getting ready in the mirror. "I messaged Steve; we chat sometimes, and when he told me he’d be in town, I didn’t fail to mention your name…"

"I can’t believe you did that!"

"I scored us four VIPs tonight thanks to my shamelessness. No need to thank me, babe!" Ash winked and blew a kiss at her own shoulder, ignoring when you rolled your eyes at her boldness.

You didn’t want to admit it, but a strange sensation was building up in your stomach, making you feel cold with every step you took out the door. According to your friends, you looked good enough to draw a crowd to your feet, and deep down, you hoped they were right.

Geordin’s was, as always, sweltering, packed, and filled with people dressed up in Halloween costumes. You were just in a short black dress and heavy makeup—this date was special, a night for vixens to leave their homes in their smallest outfits, best heels, and bold eyes to be, for one night, what they longed to be all year.

At the bar, you grabbed a drink and walked with your friends to the VIP area near the stage. With each minute closer to the performance, your stomach grew colder, while your friends chatted excitedly beside you, never quieting for a moment. It had been a long time since you last saw him, and you tried your best not to expect him to remember any fragment of the past Devil’s Night.

“Welcome to the show of bad omens, my friends,” said the recorded voice from the speakers, making the crowd go wild.

The lights went out, and your body froze in place as the intro to the first song began. His voice was still unmistakable and unique, pleasing to the ear, even live, weaving together with the guitar and drum solos as if they were one.

When you turned to the stage, Noah was gripping the microphone with his eyes closed, and you allowed yourself to take in the melody, singing along with all your heart as you remembered why this was your favorite band. At the end of the third song, he glanced over the crowd as if looking for something, seeming about to give up, until his eyes finally landed on you.

A jolt of electricity surged from your legs, coursing through your entire body. Noah gave a brief smile and bowed his head, waiting for the next song’s intro. You knew the setlist, and this wasn’t one of the songs played at previous shows. In fact, you recognized it instantly; it was your favorite track.

Careful What You Wish For hadn’t been played in recent shows, but he knew how much that song meant to you, and he’d included it in Detroit just to show that he did, indeed, remember you. Something damp threatened to pool in your tear ducts; this song reminded you of moments you’d rather forget, moments the band had made more bearable to face.

As the final song ended, the lights went out, and the guys left the stage to the applause of the crowd. Your heart was still racing from the mix of emotions caused not only by the show, but by the series of subtle glances he had thrown your way during the pauses between songs. You bit your lip gently, gripping your glass a bit tighter, wondering if it could be a sign.

But you quickly brushed off that foolish thought and shook your head, dismissing it.

You and your friends finally arrived at the fraternity party, and all of you, including yourself, were buzzing with excitement to start the real celebration. Everyone was in costume, music was blasting, the smell of marijuana filled the air, and alcohol was flowing freely.

It seemed like the perfect night.

“I wouldn’t recommend drinking too much,” Ash warned, pointing at your glass as you sipped the colorful drink through a straw. “The games start in a few minutes, and you won’t want to be throwing up during the hunt.”

You laughed, remembering what happened last year when you mixed a few drinks with cheesy snacks, resulting in a puddle of vomit that took you home before you even considered playing the traditional hunt.

Every year on Devil’s Night, the Lions held a hunt in the Shadow Woods. The game involved all the guests being released into the forest, blindly searching to capture as many targets as they could until they reached the other side. With no flashlights or any source of light, identifying anyone became nearly impossible as everyone wore masks to hide their faces.

A certain chill lingered in your stomach, and a tremor in your legs threatened to shake your confidence, but you preferred to think it was because of the drink, not the fear of who your potential hunter might be. Your mind raced through quick strategies to avoid being caught, though not knowing the Shadow Woods at night made it all the more difficult.

With your feet firm on the earthy ground, you were as ready as the other competitors. You looked around, feeling adrenaline pulse through your veins, filling your brain like a song made to build tension until reaching its peak. You felt ready for whatever the night had to offer.

The whistle blew.

Your legs pushed you forward, running as fast as you could, straining your vision to dodge trees and jump over branches. You listened closely to the sound of dry leaves and twigs that snapped underfoot as the predators ran. All of them were desperate, hungry in their hunt for prey. At the same time, it felt frightening; it was exhilarating enough to make you push for more speed.

Energized, you glanced over your shoulder now and then, trying to detect any approaching threat, but as you pressed on, you heard fewer footsteps. Breathless, you slowed down and marked the trees with your fingers as you continued to walk carefully.

Your steps froze in place when you suddenly heard heavy breathing. The footsteps behind you moved over the dry leaves, signaling that your hunter was approaching stealthily, like a snake. Slowly, you realized your feet didn’t obey the commands in your head—they wanted to keep running, but your body remained there, unmoving.

He knew there was no point in running. He knew you were lost. He knew you didn’t want to go anywhere.

“Good girl.” His voice whispered close to your ear, making you jump in shock. “You didn’t let anyone else catch you. You waited for us like a good girl.”

“She knew that no matter where she hid tonight, we’d find her.”

“We always find you…”

Through your peripheral vision, you counted all four of them, gathered in balaclavas, closing off any way out. Swallowing dryly, you felt your breathing falter as they each took a step closer, forming a claustrophobic barrier around you.

“Now you’re ours.” Noah’s voice echoed in your ear as you felt the fabric of his balaclava graze your cheek. “Once you lose the game, you become our prize.”

A brief jolt made you sit upright when you felt something wrapping around your wrists; he was tying your hands together with a rope. The remaining length of material was used to fasten another knot around your neck, this time slightly tighter.

In your mind, there was no room for doubt, because you remembered the main rule of Devil’s Night. You were free to make your desires real for one night.

Why not surrender to them?

Slowly, Noah pulled you along the length of the leash, and stumbling a little in your own steps, you followed him. He exuded a scent of sweat mixed with Savage cologne; his arms were exposed by the black tank top, and he wore cargo pants and boots. Each determined step he took made you tense up, fearing what was to come, and the walls in the form of men surrounding you added to your apprehension.

Your steps halted when the tall man pulling your collar from the front froze in place. The forest offered little light, and thanks to the moonlight filtering through the gaps in the trees, you could see the intricate tattoo designs on his back, partly covered by his tank top.

A breath, subtle but present, brushed your ears with warm breath from behind.

"How about a game?" Folio’s voice was so soft it seemed to dance at a unique frequency. "We’ll ask a question, and for each wrong answer, you lose a piece of clothing."

"A game is only interesting to me if both parties are involved. In that case, what do I get if I’m right?" You dared to respond, challenging him with a side glance.

"Don’t act as if you don’t like the idea of not being in control for a few hours…" Folio taunted, stepping closer with a deadly step. His body was too close this time. "All you desire is for the reins to be in someone else's hands, just for one night, someone who knows your dirty mind well enough so you don’t have to spell out what you need. Am I wrong?"

You weren’t afraid of anything and made a point to shake your head in defiance.

"Wrong answer."

"Not at all!" you contested without much conviction. Deep down, defying him and contradicting yourself with feigned reluctance was part of your game.

The cold wind touched your back just as one of their fingers slid the zipper of your dress down, exposing your bare skin. Slowly, you felt the fabric glide down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever it passed.

You shrank a little, feeling a hint of discomfort when you noticed several pairs of eyes observing your exposed form, but a tug on the leash immediately made you lift your chin.

"Don’t you dare lower your head, darling" another voice murmured as a finger traced along your chin, the wetness of a tongue brushing against the skin of your ear. "Not when you have a body like this. We can savor you without even touching. Consider yourself a goddess, displayed for adoration and worship."

Gently, he slid his hand from your chin to reach your cold-stiffened nipples, slow circular movements warming your thighs as Jolly’s voice stimulated you, his hands exploring your body without any rush.

They wanted you to surrender.

Indeed, you were already theirs.

For just one night, you belonged to them.

In front of you, Noah watched you with a tilted head, as if watching an intimate moment of pleasure was amusing to him. He wrapped the excess of the leash around his hands until it tightened, lifting your neck up toward him.

In one last visceral glance, Noah pressed his lips against yours.

A fierce kiss, charged with desire pent up since the last visit, filling every corner of your mouth, leaving you wanting for absolutely nothing. Between breaths, you let out a contained, low moan as those hands moved from your chest down to your hips.

His fingers, when they found your entrance, sent a current of electricity through the rest of your body. Jolly was warm and soft as a rose petal, he tortured you with the slowness of his synchronized movements on your clitoris and during the kiss you held Noah's lips between your teeth gasping a heavy moan.

Noah smiled, feeling how his body twitched in his friend's hands, he released his lips and dragged them down his face, allowing his moan to reverberate through his ears more clearly.

Just when you were about to give signs that you were going to collapse under Jolly's fingers they suddenly stopped. You panted and wanted to show that you were disappointed, but you didn't have time, Noah pulled you by the collar and turned you so that you were facing away from him. A quick scream escaped your lips at the surprise of the impact of your hips against his, you felt his bulge harden and let out some air through your nose.

A soft hand ran its thumb over her face, a caress similar to the one she felt on her ass as Noah explored her. At the same time they used their thumbs, Noah lifted your dress until you were completely exposed to prepare you, he dipped his fingers in your wetness and seemed to delight in it. Their eyes were fixed on the man before them, gently brushing strands of hair away from his face and lifting his chin.

“Good girl, good girl.” he whispered, sliding his thumb into your mouth, without breaking eye contact, you sucked his finger slowly until you reached the tip.

You watched as Folio grunted and finished sliding his cock into his free hand and bringing it closer to your face, passing it across your lips slowly. You moaned from containing the desire to take him in at once, and from having Noah playing with his head at your entrance in rotating movements. Little by little you relaxed and used your tongue to greet him and a smile formed on your lips when you saw him sigh once again.

Folio grabbed your hair with a little force and demonstrating that the provocation had made him lose his mind, he shoved his dick into your mouth at the same time as Noah entered you. Your screams were silenced by Folio's cock, you used your tongue to drool all over the compliment and without the help of your hands that were trapped you covered his head with the roof of your mouth. As you sucked him, you felt Noah bump his hips against yours in strong thrusts, pulling the collar from your neck each time he penetrated and stopped with his rigid member inside you.

Your legs shook from the force he used, you pressed him against the walls of your pussy and heard him mutter yet another curse due to the lack of space. Her head didn't stop for a single second, going down and up, sucking Folio's cock while he helped her with his hand in her hair.

With each of Noah's thrusts, you felt Folio's cock tear into your throat and you dedicated yourself to not leaving a single space without the contact of your tongue. He pressed your head down more and you enjoyed the taste of the skin trying to contain the entire volume. Noah grew harder and harder inside you and in an explosion of sensations for a few seconds your legs seemed to float.

This was the effect of the devil’s night.

It allowed you to fulfill even your darkest fantasy.

For one night.

[inawickedlittletown]

Sooo I started to read other articles. I didn't after reading the ones that came out right after the episode that justifiably got everyone upset.

This one from tv insider had Tim saying this:

Moving on to Buck and Tommy’s breakup, talk about your approach to it. Why was Tommy sure that Buck would break his heart?

Tommy’s older and Buck is very new to this, and whether Tommy was correct or not, I think what he felt like was exactly what he said: I’m not your last, I’m your first, which is a special thing to be, but as Tommy says, it doesn’t usually end up being the same thing. And I think based on what we know of Buck, he’s maybe not wrong. Buck’s a little impulsive when he’s feeling a certain kind of way. He’s like, move on in, bring your couch. So I just think because Tommy’s a little older and wiser or maybe at some level he feels like he doesn’t deserve Buck, I don’t know. But I think he accurately diagnosed Buck. Buck’s still figuring himself out, and boy, that would be quite risky to move in with that guy as much as you would love to.

That does seem to be Buck’s go-to, which isn’t the best.

Exactly.

Are we going to see Buck single for a significant period of time now? Is he trying to figure out what he wants really out of a relationship?

Yeah, I think that’s right. As Tommy said, you’re still figuring yourself out, and his options have increased by 50 percent of the population. So knowing Buck, that’s going to be choice overload. He’s got to navigate that with a little self-awareness.

--

So they definitely planned for this. That's what this reads like...they wanted to break them up so that they could send Buck through a period of exploration. Tim says everything Oliver said here in much nicer terms. His view of Buck is so...Idk, it's like he sees Buck as a kid that still doesn't know what he wants. And he decided to put that view right into Tommy's head too. It's a little jarring I guess but this show...has it ever been consistent?

What sucks is that 8x05 was written like they were doing so well. And then right off the back with 8x06 we have warning signs in the date scene with the girl that approaches Buck and how Tommy sort of shrugs off Buck checking her out. I really do wonder where hot waiter fit into this and I'm so glad we didn't see Tommy like checking hot waiter out or something. But I guess that scene was there to sow the seeds. We have Buck spiraling because of the Abby thing and we have Tommy maybe not realizing but reinforcing for himself that he's a stepping stone for Buck and being okay with it in the status quo.

The way that Tim speaks about Buck asking Tommy to move in, he makes it seem like Buck is just barreling in without thought...like if they went through with it Tommy might be proven right. But then what is the point of the scene with Josh where Buck is right on the cusp of an "I love you" just to then be like no actually Tommy knows how this ends and he can read Buck and knows they're not forever. But Tommy is not a mind reader.

Where there is hope is in that Tim doesn't outwardly say anything about Tommy being gone for good. As someone else pointed out the Lou interviews were done by buddie journalists with a bias so there is a question to how much that colored what we got and why they were so determined to close the door fully. Also...why did we get exit interviews in the first place for a character that only had three episodes...it's so odd.

The writers made a point of leaving this open. Do I think we'll get Tommy back any time soon. No. But after the doom and gloom and the time to mourn this a bit I want to be positive and there is really no knowing. Tim says he thinks Buck will be single for a while...okay fine...picture that being the rest of this season.

Buck won't just jump into another relationship...and Oliver gets his Buck slut era 2.0...what if S9 brings back Tommy? What if this is the long game...or at least the thing they can have in their back pocket if Lou is available later on to come back. But that's not something they can promise or that they can commit to and Lou isn't on contract clearly and Oliver wouldn't know if that's the plan...hell even Tim probably doesn't know if they'll do that. Or I'm giving him too much credit because as we've seen this season storylines have been rushed to close up at breakneck speeds so it would be an anomaly for him to prolong something like this.

All this to say, showing the network and Tim that bucktommy matters to a lot of people and that Tommy matters...it may just make a difference.

[lairofsentinel]

Since this user's posts seem to have been deleted in previous opportunities I copy-paste their words here because they express exactly what I feel about this game. Dragon Age has died, unfortunately.

I'm a big time Dragon Age lover and have enjoyed every game in the series. Personally, I think Inquisition is the best in the series. And I was excited for Veilguard right up until I actually began playing it. Now, I want to clear things up at the start as to what I look for and believe makes a good Dragon Age game. To start, I DON'T CARE ABOUT COMBAT. I. Do. Not. Care.

You can make it Origins tactical. DA2 fast tactical. DAI hybrid. God of War action, I don't care. Dragon Age has always had combat that was...fine. A nice distraction and breakup in between the bits I actually care about: narrative ROLEPLAYING, story, characters, and exploration. I don't give a crap how great the combat is if the narrative roleplaying and writing are poor, I'm not playing BioWare titles for amazing gameplay. I am here for the story, the characters, and the roleplaying. Truth is, for a time I considered DATV's combat to be the best in the series.

And this is why I feel the game is a terrible Dragon Age, because it lacks or fails to respect those elements concerned with narrative roleplaying, story, characters, and exploration. Now, in many reviews and online videos you'll hear some reference often to the drop in writing quality. And a lot of time people will incorrectly say that the writing with the characters is to "modern" or "Marvel quippy" or not "dark" enough. I think these people are wrong, they recognize there is a drop in writing quality from previous games but aren't able to articulate why that is.

Dragon Age has never adopted any sort of faux medieval speech and vocabulary (though we'll get into this more later). This is a series that used "epic fail" as a thing someone uttered in the very first game. It's always had anachronistic dialogue and banter. So why is it such a drop then? Why is it considered poor? Simple. This is a game that does not believe in the world it has setup for over a decade. It does not believe in or engage properly with its own world and lore. I mean, look no further than the title "The Veilguard" a phrase that is never uttered by anyone in our group, and further proof it was a last minute marketing change. Compare to Inquisition where the title is apparent from the start in the game and has actual meaning.

You see, characters in DATV do not feel or react to events the way they should based on the lore. Why is no one constantly asking what the hell the Inquisitor is doing? The Inquisitor is kind of a BIG DEAL when it comes to Solas and Elven Gods, my Inquisitor drank from the WELL OF SORROWS! So why are we sitting around thinking at the start, "hmm lemme think who I can contact who might know more." The Herald of Andraste! They know more Rook, the guy that is technically your boss. The Inquisitor! Who else have you been working for this entire time? Who do you think told Varric to recruit you?!

But even removing the Inquisitor, the Elven Gods being real and also near synonymous with the old Tevinter Gods is kind of a BIG DEAL. It was only a theory fans crafted long ago that slowly revealed itself to be true. And it completely upends known religious dogma on all sides. Yet, why aren't people we meet going through a massive existential crisis? For instance, the Veil Jumpers we initially meet were presumably told off-screen about Fen'Harel, and are seemingly cool with this massive knowledge alone. But then we talk about those two other Gods being released and they're like, "well, shit those two aren't good." As if they have any clue if the fables about those Gods are real when we previously just upended everything they thought about the Dreadwolf! Why are you acting like this is another Tuesday?! Your entire religion is wrong. In that same conversation, Strife notes "Solas might be a bastard, but compared to the Evunaris? Let's just say they weren't know for being kind rulers."

My brother in Anduril, what are you talking about! Elven religion teaches that Elgar'nan was so beloved by the Earth that it "the land brought forth great birds and beasts of sky and forest, and all manner of wonderful green things." And that he fought the jealous Sun that tried to burn the land and all beasts away. Custom says that he and Mythal, "created the world as we know it" after defeating the Sun. He is literally described as one of the "good" Gods. WHY ARE YOU ASSUMING HE IS EVIL! It's like finding out Satan is real, but not as evil as have come to believe and then being told Jesus Christ is back and a devout Christian going, "well shit, that can't be good." WHAT?!

The same goes for Andraste and the Chant of Light, it took me 30 hours of playing before ONE character mentioned Andraste and the implications with the Chant and it was never brought up again. Our entire party is seemingly made up of unphased atheists. Now compare to something like Inquisition which explored this aspect HARD and was amazing for it. You'd get into great debates with religious figures and party members about the implications of Corypheus actually being a Tevinter Magister of old. And you'd talk about what it means towards the religious dogma preached and how much is true. And these intense political and religious discussions are present in every previous game, and not confined to a single conversation with one party member where it is seemingly resolved.

These conversations do not happen in DATV because there is no depth to the writing or engagement with the world. The Elven Gods are evil and need to be stopped. That's it. We don't need to think about the implications this has on Dalish customs and religion. Fuck it, all the Dalish are going to still wear their Vallaslin slave brand tattoos. Let's forget about Trespasser implying Solas was removing them from followers coming to join him. Let's even forget they were likely all told at this point that they are slave brands, nope still going to wear them yet speak blasphemy with every sentence against our Gods. No one cares about Andraste or The Maker or the Chant. Big deal if these Elven Gods contradict the overwhelming majority religion in Thedas. Not a single party member has religious or cultural objections to killing the Elven Gods; not a problem. Not one single elf wants to join Solas in tearing down The Veil and getting immortality again?

Again, let's forget about Trespasser setting up Solas gathering MANY Elven followers from Dalish clans who would be super inclined to join him after experiencing CENTURIES of discrimination and slavery by humans. The better question is what Elves wouldn't join Solas at the start? And what Elves wouldn't look at the other two Gods and go, "meh, maybe we should give them a try. They can't be worse than humans, right?" In DA2 you had elves joining The Qun to escape the discrimination of humans, but not ONE ELF wants to join Solas or Elgar'nan? Those Ancient Elves in the Temple of Mythal? I guess they all died, right?

This extends to EVERY single element of Dragon Age that previously had depth to it, it now has been completely removed. Those murdering Antivan Crows? Oh, they're just good Italian Mob Family that protect their city. Tevinter? Yes, it has poor people, but we're trying to do better. Oh, slavery? No, no we don't show that here. The Qun? The what now? No, they are all Antaam now, and so that means they are all generic evil warlords. No, they don't even attempt to follow their own hardcore view of The Qun like when Templars split from the Chantry, they're just warlords now that like plunder. Dwarves and their rigid Caste society? We don't do that here. Elves and racism across Thedas? Elves used to experience racism? News to me, what's a Shemlen? Never heard of that term, we like all humans. Pirates? That is insensitive, we are Lords of Fortune and we are sure to return any cultural artifacts found to their rightful owners; it belongs in a museum after all. The fucking Fade and spirits? Wait, you mean its different than generic fantasy spirit world? I'm sorry, that's too complicated here.

This either intentional disregard of the lore or plain ignorance also extends to environmental design. The asset reuse from Inquisition is particularly hilarious and must speak to the developers not having time after the switch from MP. Why are the same statues found in Val Royeaux in DAI also in Tevinter and Antiva? Why are those stupid Fen'Harel Wolf statues EVERYWHERE? Even in the catacombs of other Elven Gods! There are no statues of Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain. Nothing for June or Anduril. Dirthamen. Falon'Din. Nothing. No, the only Gods that seem to get statues are coincidentally the ones who already had assets created for DAI or past titles that could be reused. Hmmm.

This continues into character designs too, why do the Veiljumpers and Shadow Dragons all dress richly? They are supposed to be poor as fuck. There's a codex entry about Veiljumpers finding a lost cache of old ancient elven armor and weapons and so boom they all get to dress like High Elven Lords and not the dirty, poor, wandering Dalish clans they are supposed to come from. Why do this? There isn't even an attempt to explaining why the Shadow Dragons, an organization supposed to be secretive, has branded clothing in bright rich colors and fabrics for all members. Naturally, it must be incredibly difficult for Tevinter authorities to not identify them.

This lack of depth and verisimilitude, naturally, affects all the characters. Because in this game you cannot roleplay and you cannot ask questions. In Dragon Age Inquisition, once you started the game, you could immediately interrogate Varric about what happened to every DA2 character despite the Inquisitor never meeting them, you know because it respects its players. You could speak to shop keepers, blacksmiths, your horse master. You could interrogate every single person to learn more about them and the world. The same goes for your player character in DA2 and Origins. You show in Denermin and find yourself knee deep in a quest to help Wade the Blacksmith craft the perfect armor. Here you can't actually speak to a single shopkeeper to ask questions and get some lore bits. You can't ask party members questions about their background, religious beliefs, upbringing, their factions, etc. You can't ask any returning characters any questions either about what they've been doing. Enter a brand new area? Great, you're not asking anyone questions about this never before seen place.

How does a lost Dwarven thaig survive every single blight? How are their immortal lichs in Neverra? How long has that been a thing? Why haven't they told anyone about the Elven gods or any other knowledge they've accumulated in an immortal lifespan? If immortality is so "easy" why can't Solas just do that to restore the Elves? Why are the Venatori, Tevinter Supremacists, following Elven Gods? Wouldn't that be a major identity crisis? Why would Antaam, who still preach the Qun, follow an Elven God that speaks blasphemy with ever breadth? Sshhhh, no questions. You get what is directly told to you and that's it, no follow-up questions.

Party members do not conflict with each other or interrogate each other's beliefs which is why their banter feels inconsequential and meaningless. Lucanis is a assassin, he kills people for money. The same organization that marked Zevran for death for failing a contract. The same one that took him as a kid and trained him to murder, often brutally, for coin. And yet no one really seems to care. He's just a nice Italian assassin from a nice assassin organization. Who cares. Let's instead talk about cooking, at length. Harding, a devout follower of Andraste, has no qualms with Elven Gods wreaking havoc on known religion. We get one conversation you can tell her to believe what she wants, and that's the end of that debate. Bellara also gets about two whole conversations about the conflict concerning her Gods wreaking havoc, both easily resolved. We don't need to think about any larger implications or doubt her loyalty when the Elven pantheon are seeking to restore her people that have been discriminated against since forever. Emmerich, a necromancer of Neverra, apparently has no religious belief. A codex entry even states that those of the Mourn Watch don't know where the soul goes after death. They don't like to think about it. Buddy, Mortalitasi belief is literally that our souls return to the Void alongside The Maker, but to keep balance a exchange must be wrought with The Fade to allow a spirit to house the now empty vessel. How do you not know the religion and customs of your own faction and land? This man has a whole quest line about funerary rights, yet not ONCE mentions religion and what he believes happens after death?! Sshhhh, no questions. No thinking.

Hey, remember The Fade? Remember how mages go to dream there every night. Remember how The Black City is always visible there? No? Well, we don't either. You won't see The Black City in The Fade. You might see it in The Crossroads in a closed off section, even though it is NOT The Fade. Oh, we're going to have you physically enter The Fade in multiple quest lines and no one will think it's a big deal. No, you still can't see The Black City. Now, The Fade is reduced to nothing more than your generic fantasy spirit world. It has none of the previous rules and lore that bound it before. Demons can bind to non-mages and we won't attempt to explain it. Solas fucks with The Veil and not a single mage notices a change in their dreams when they sleep at night. No biggie.

Lastly, let's return at last to the actual minutiae of writing. I stated at the start the writing isn't bad because of Marvel quippiness, which the series has always had. I was partly lying. Yes, the series has always had anachronistic dialogue. It has had meme language in its own previous titles. But, it was just that, a small joke here and there. For the most part the series actually tried to use it's own sort of "older" speech patterns. I think a perfect example has to do with Taash, she eventually finds her own identity and declares she is proudly "non-binary." Literally stating, "so, I'm non-binary." I have no issue with this sort of inclusivity in Dragon Age, it's what the series is known for. Yet, why does that sound wrong? Simple, it's far too anachronistic. It doesn't belong in Dragon Age. In Inquisition, Dorian let's us know he's gay. But he doesn't say, "I'm gay!" or "I'm a homosexual" those terms would not exist in his world. Instead he says, "I prefer the company of men."

And it's these little subtle changes in writing that makes it feel all the more different. We went from "I once ventured in to The Fade to serve the Old Gods of Tevinter in person. I found there only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. Now I shall return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world gone wrong. Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods. And it was empty."

To: "Well, shit. That can't be good."

So, what do we have when all is said and done? Well, we have a decent generic fantasy action game. An intentional attempt by the developers to remove every edge from the world of Dragon Age in place of a very simple, easy to understand world with not much depth beyond what you see. You don't need to think, just play and have fun. This is beyond turning a MP game into a SP game, which so blatantly obvious in this game. DA2 was developed in 16 months, but is carried strong by its writing. You see, nothing prevented them from just acknowledging their own world they created. It costs very little to write around what already exists. Even if you can't make no assets or redesign the world. Writing is cheap and having characters voice these elements is not as costly as a redesign. No, they chose to remove the edge in every element because this was design intentionally for the masses with easy to understand world and zero depth.

But I wanted to play Dragon Age. I wanted to get into intense religious debates with party members as known lore is completely upended. I wanted to debate Elvish clans deciding to join Solas or the other Gods due to their treatment by human society. I wanted to debate the ethics of necromancy with the Mortalitasi of Neverra's Crypts. I wanted to engage in intense debating with Solas on the ethics of his goal. I wanted to see Tevinter react to a real push for anti-slavery and actually see the slavery in the slave capital of the world. I wanted to butt heads with the Antivan Crows and call them out for the murderers they are. I wanted to see the Black Divine and debate the Chant of Light with them. I wanted to speak to the Archon of Tevinter and see how he felt about the Venatori's past efforts in Inquisition. Hey, what happened to Meredith Reborn in Kirkwall and her idol and Red Templar worshipers? Forget about it.

We got none of this. I got a game that is pretty much disrespectful of its own world. I waited 10 years for this? Why even bother if this is the result? They may as well have just killed every previous character we ever knew, including Solas, offscreen and started anew with this game. Because as a Dragon Age game and sequel, it's terrible and no returning character is how they should be.

And when we get to the ending, that's pretty much what they did. Everything you did in all the past games? Well, that was pointless. Everyone is probably dead. King Alistair. Gaspard. Celene. King Bhelen. The Arl of Redcliffe. The Divine. The Circle of Magi. The Templars. The Seekers. Everything, everyone, and every organization that existed in the South is likely dead and destroyed. And now Dragon Age can become what they wanted, a generic fantasy IP.

But I just wanted to play Dragon Age.

[https-murdock]

waiting game - matt murdock

summary: matt will make you wait as long as he wants to.

warnings: - here we go… 18+ MDNI, mean!matt, cockwarming, insults (whore etc), daddy kink, bondage, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, rough oral (m receiving), a little pain kink??, slight choking, tiny slapping (one mention of it and it’s not really slapping but thought i should include anyway)

word count: 1.3k

authors note: heyyy this is soo self indulgent lol but i hope u all enjoy x

Matt didn’t like to be interrupted during his work - whether that be in the office or the menial hours he spent going through his braille-full-files at home. Either way, he didn’t like any interruptions, including any from you.

“sweetheart, what have i said about this? i’ve told you many times…” he trails off, sat with his thick thighs spread out on his couch and tossing his papers back to the coffee table with the rest of them. “please, i-“ you begin, and slowly you’re starting to realise the position you’re in.

spread eagle on his rug. face down, ass up, hands tied behind your back and you’ve never been so aware of the placement of your pussy so close to him - he had tied you up around an hour earlier, leaving your dripping folds sat next to him - knowing exactly how desperate you are just for a simple touch.

“no, i’ve already told you, you’ll wait until i’m done.” he’s sterner now, and you can hear the tint of anger decorating his low tone. the tears brim at your eyes, threatening to fall as you wait for so much as a simple touch of calloused fingers to relieve any of the pressure that has built up.

you do the only thing you can - wait.

just as you’re ready to wait all night for a touch from him, he finally slips the rest of his papers back into their file and rests on his knees behind you, rough hands finding the smooth of your ass cheeks - and before you can even think about what may come next, he lands a slap right to the left one, the sting lasting longer than usual as the welcome of his touch settles in.

“that what you wanted?” he’s asking, tone gravelly and stern behind you, slap after slap landing on your skin, and all you can do is moan at the beautiful pain he leaves in his wake.

“f-p- ahh- please, daddy please.” you’re begging now, and even you didn’t realise quite how much you needed him in any form, even if it included being punished for being so desperate. “hmmm, don’t think you’ve been good enough. so desperate, such a slut.” your ears ring from the pain, but still you hear his voice drift through the air, and you know this means you’ll be waiting all night.

gently, almost too gently, two fingers dip into your wet heat and your jaw drops open at the feeling. “so wet and i’ve barely even touched you.” he smirks, and you can tell it’s the smirk he does when he’s about to ruin you.

“da-daddy please, need it so bad.” you beg, and the sliding of his fingers picks up pace.

the way he reaches so deep inside of you always takes you by surprise, his fingers hitting the spot that has been throbbing while you’ve been waiting for him. the slick that drips down the inside of your thighs is telling the story of your desperate need.

“that what you wanted? just wanted my touch like the whore you are?” he’s asking you, shit eating grin on his face when he knows you’re enjoying the touch of him so much you can’t even reply. you can feel that familiar tight, warm feeling in your lower stomach - and what you’ve been so needy for is finally approaching. “wanna interrupt my work? i’ll interrupt you before you come.”

“no no no, please,” you start, when you feel his fingers pull out and your orgasm fade away.

“no begging, you knew what you were doing when you chose to be such a whore.” and as you turn your head to pleadingly look at him, he stands up and starts to strip his clothes off - before finally untying your hands and gripping your hair, pulling your head up until you rest on your knees. “don’t wanna be quiet, i’ll keep you quiet.” he mutters, standing in front of you as his large shadow looms above.

his cock stands up on his abs, and each time the length of him stirs a little anxiety in you, whether it’ll hurt, or just fit full stop. “open up.” he says, trailing his thumb across your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth apart to make room for him. “relax, gotta relax for me huh?”

as he pushes his way into your mouth, you feel the spit drip onto your naked chest, and as soon as matt hears the sound of it hit your skin his grip on your hair tightens. “fuck, so good for me, such a good whore for me.”

you do as your told, letting him use your mouth to his own pleasure - the head on him ramming to the back of your throat, and the pain leading right to your pussy, clenching at the feeling of him bullying his way through. “fuck, y’mouth feels- s’good.” he’s muttering, and his hips are stuttering, and as you begin to get nervous that you won’t get to feel him inside of you tonight like you do desperately need to, he pulls out of your mouth with a pop.

“don’t worry, calm your heart beat down. you’ll get what you need in time.” matt spits, dragging you to your feet again by the makeshift ponytail he’s gripping of your hair.

he sits himself down on the couch, tapping his knee so you know your place to sit.

“gonna keep me nice ‘n warm. not allowed to move, got it?” he tells you, hand wrapped tightly around your neck as he pulls you down onto his cock, seating perfectly within you. “please, need to move, just let m-“ you beg, again turning to the pure desperation that’s ripping at you from inside.

“i said no, you need to listen, little slut.” matt growls, his hand still attached to your neck like a necklace, other hand tapping at your cheek to make you flinch.

he makes you wait, the feeling of him nestled so deep bringing that warm feeling back, with no building feeling. the hand around your neck keeps you in place, no matter how many times you try to rock against matt’s hips to feel some relief.

“so needy for me to fuck you, wanna come? that what you need so bad?” he’s asking, eyes darkened to the point his pupils are hard to find. gently, his hands meet your hips and start rocking you back and forth, your moans immediately filling the space of your air, matt’s heavy breaths through his nose becoming audible when he feels the way your walls clench around him.

“yes, yes please, daddy let me come please.” you speak, words coming so fast part of you wonders if he really knows what you said. and you can tell matt is getting close when you start to bounce on him, feeling his length hit the spot you need him so badly.

his warm, tough fingers finally place themselves at your clit, tight circles rubbed around, gathering your slick as you continue to pump up and down on him, listening to his grunts and moans mix with your own - and the way his thighs clench underneath yours tells you you’re about to feel him fill you exactly the way you like.

“g-gonna come, fill me up please, please…” you’re trailing off, just speaking into the ether and hoping he makes enough sense of you.

“oh, fuck, fill y’up so much- ah-“ he stutters, and the feeling of him painting your insides triggers your own orgasm, clenching so tight around him it’s hard for him to lift you up and down his length with the way you suck him in.

your head collapses onto his shoulder, hips slowly coming to a stop as you sit together and try to match your breathing. the silence that sits around you is a peaceful one, full of gratification and released need.

“maybe you should interrupt me more during work.”

- tags -

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat

[shammers86]

I’ve slept on it. And I find the breakup to be actually quite good to me. Let me get into it.

Someone else mentioned it but linking Tommy and Abby together is perfection to parallel these two relationships. Despite what people think, Abby was the first serious relationship he had. It may not have been serious for her but it was to him. And we cannot discount that, nor can we discount this relationship with Tommy. But linking the two of them really showcased that Buck really loves with his whole heart and yes he is impulsive when it comes to new relationships.

Buck went from 0 to 60 in this relationship, just like he did with Abby. However, the difference lies in the reasons why they left. And this just came to me.

Tommy left because he didn’t want to get hurt (really the unsaid Eddie of it all). Abby left because she needed to find herself. Buck has held onto relationships so he doesn’t get hurt. But now Buck really has to explore what liking men in addition to women means for him.

Tommy doing so, knowing Buck is still finding himself, really allows Buck to dig deep down and figure out why he’s fast forward through relationships. It’s selfish really. Tommy knows he’s not Buck’s last but being his first is just a special. Abby was the same for Buck. She helped change his view on casual flings and looking for love.

The one major difference in these two very similar relationships is the Eddie of it all. He went all in with Abby and when she left, he waited. But then Eddie (and Chris) came along and he found a new person to go all in on, even if he doesn’t know that yet.

Tommy, however, comes in with Buck and Eddie already established. If Buck is there, most likely Eddie is there too. And Tommy does go into this relationship knowing how these two are. And he was exactly like Abby, wanting to shoot his shot. Eddie’s straight after all right? Buck is a charmer and Tommy is like ok this could work.

But it doesn’t. Tommy realizes this as they celebrate their six month anniversary and seeing how Buck reacts to Tommy saying he can bring Eddie to the Lakers game definitely tells him he’s gonna get his heart broken eventually.

Him telling Buck this, saying I’m not going to be your last tells me everything in this breakup. Eddie has haunted their narrative from day 1. The minute Buck asks him to move in, he knows. He knows that if he goes further, then he’s gonna get hurt just like he hurt Abby and Abby hurt Buck.

His reasoning is actually kinda perfect if you look at it through the Abby lense. Buck was very offended that Tommy hurt Abby the way Abby hurt him. And once it’s shown they dated the same woman, Tommy is like oh. I can’t say yes because he’s misplacing his feelings again. And that he needs to walk away at this point. For Buck and for him.

Buck does need to see what else is out there. He needs to know that he can be attracted to both men and women and that it’s ok to be.

Tommy (and in part Abby) were stepping stones to his forever love. Tommy knew this and allowing Buck to settle into who he is now, his sexuality, is to be honest good for us and good for Buck.

Because after Abby left, Buck threw himself into the Diaz family. And Buck and Eddie need to find themselves

And love themselves before they can ever be together.

This is one step in the right direction for Buddie.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hey there, ‘s me <3 so, my first request will be for a story in a shell 🦪 for mattheo, with the "exes to lovers" trope i’ve been obsessed with lately, and the song will be sabrina’s good graces that i’ve been listening to pretty much ever since the release. i think it would be cute with the trope. thanks in advance 💘

Hey there me, it's Ivy! ⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)づ (sorry that was a terrible joke; I think it's my dad's influence) Anyways, thank you so much for requesting, honey (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) And yes I had good graces playing on loop the whole time I was writing it (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

ivy's 1k celebration 🦪 navigation 🦪 characters

ˋ°•*⁀➷ MATTHEO RIDDLE exes to lovers with good graces by sabrina carpenter

The party was in full swing, voices buzzing and music thrumming through the walls. You could feel eyes on you, not the least of which belonged to Mattheo Riddle from across the room. Every so often, you’d look his way, meeting his gaze with a taunting smirk before turning your attention back to Theo, who was by your side, grinning like he knew exactly what kind of game you were playing.

The sound of laughter bubbled up as you leaned in closer to Theo, trailing a finger down his arm and smiling sweetly. “You know, I think you might actually be my favorite person tonight, Theo.”

His laugh was smooth, leaning closer to match your energy. “Glad to hear it. Though I can’t say that’s everyone’s opinion tonight.”

You knew who he was talking about but before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Mattheo’s tone was laced with a mix of annoyance and a bit of jealousy as he looked between you and Theo, his jaw tight. “Didn’t know you’d be here, Theo.”

Theo just raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hey, it’s a party, man. She invited me, didn’t she?”

You turned to Mattheo, one brow raised as you toyed with the rim of your glass, letting the tension settle thick around you. “Jealous, Riddle?”

His lips curved into a smirk, though his gaze was anything but amused. “Only if I thought there was anything real going on here.”

“Oh?” You leaned in closer, voice dropping, making sure only he could hear you. “Guess you should have stayed in my good graces, huh?”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but he didn’t back down. “Funny, coming from someone who used to be ‘sweet like an angel,’ as if you’d do anything for me.”

You shrugged, giving him a slow, infuriating smile. “I am still 'sweet like an angel', Mattheo. But I don’t waste that and my time on people who don’t deserve it, sweetheart. Besides, there are plenty of other guys who appreciate my attention. Like Theo here,” you added with a pointed look, making sure he caught your meaning.

His jaw tightened, his voice dropping lower as he took a step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You think this is funny? Trying to make me jealous?”

“Why would I care what you think?” You whispered, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. “Trust me, darling, I don’t give a fuck about you. Not anymore.”

There was a spark of something dark and hungry in his eyes as he leaned in even closer, his lips just barely grazing your ear. “Then why are you still here, talking to me?”

“Who says I’m here for you?” you countered, your voice all bite, but your heart was thudding as you took in every feature of his face. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, trying to ruin my fun.”

“Oh, is that what I’m doing?” he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but his hand lingered near yours, fingers almost touching. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re really over it.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see you falter. “I’m over you, Mattheo,” you whispered fiercely, lips brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

His eyes darkened, a wicked smirk twisting his lips as he looked at you, clearly unfazed. “You really want me to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “It’s not my problem if you’re still caught up on something that’s long gone. Just don’t expect me to sit around waiting for you to get it together.”

A dangerous glint sparked in his gaze, that familiar cockiness slipping back into place as he edged closer, eyes boring into yours. “You don’t waste time, huh? Right. So that’s why you’re here, standing in front of me, talking like you care about every word I’m saying.”

Your breath hitched for just a second before you steeled yourself, stepping back. “Don't mistake my nice for naïve, Riddle, I’m done. So unless you’re here to show me something real, you can find someone else to play your games with.”

He just stared at you, frustration flickering across his features as he tried to find the words. “Maybe I don’t know what to say. But maybe I’ll figure it out.”

For the first time that night, you let a little softness creep into your tone, though you didn’t let him see any hint of weakness. “Yeah? I guess we’ll see.”

You turned, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving him standing there, the mix of frustration and longing plain on his face.

The night dragged on, tension simmering between you and Mattheo like fire, every glance, every shared look, a new unspoken challenge.

Eventually, you stepped out into the night, the cool air biting at your skin. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of Mattheo’s words—and the way they still made your heart race.

You’d barely gotten two steps outside before you heard him again, his voice unmistakable. “Leaving so soon?”

You didn’t turn, knowing he was already close behind. “And if I am?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a thrill down your spine. “You don’t have to play coy with me. You and I both know there’s unfinished business.”

Turning slowly, you met his gaze, refusing to let him see the conflict raging inside you. “You keep talking, but I don’t see any actions, Mattheo. You don’t get to act like you care after all this time.”

He stepped forward, his face a perfect mask of intensity. “You’re right. I don’t deserve it. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The air between you was thick, every word charged with the weight of old feelings. You fought to keep your voice steady, refusing to give him any satisfaction. “Then maybe it’s time for you to stop waiting around. If you think you deserve my time, prove it.”

There was a flicker of determination in his eyes, his hands reaching out to cup your face. You froze, feeling every inch of distance between you vanish in an instant. He looked down at you, his voice low and hoarse. “Then let me prove it.”

The seconds dragged on, tension thick and consuming as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as intense as it was inevitable. You gave in, matching his fervour, the unresolved anger and passion spilling into each kiss, each lingering touch.

Finally, you broke away, breathless, heart pounding as you met his gaze with a knowing smirk. “Stay in my good graces, Mattheo. Or I’ll walk out of your life and never look back.”

His gaze softened, a smirk of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. “I don’t intend to mess this up again.”

For once, you let your guard down, allowing a touch of vulnerability to show as you looked up at him. “Good. Because I don’t give second chances.”

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes warm and full of promise. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make it count.”

And for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he was ready to do exactly that.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Aha I’m back for the oc ask game! This time around, mayhaps any of these?: Kaleb x Taryne, Sarra x Yorick, Aldreda + Brandon, and Kaleb + Cassana?

Can I hear a round of applause for world class slut & professional other man for Lord Kaleb Dormaire?

We have already established with the Aldreda ship that this man is willing to bottom, but I really think Taryne would push that limit. Does he love a strong woman? Yes. Will he take the strap like a champ? I fully believe in his ability to do so. Can he exclusively be a sub? Honestly, I don't know if he's got it in him & Taryne will not give up control in the thing she's doing Just For Herself. That said, I don't think they wouldn't not work. I feel in my bones that Kaleb & Taryne would be more a "friends with benefits" type thing than whatever exactly she has going on with Gwayne.

It'd probably start out in a similar way of "I have a pre-established relationship with Alicent, & when I came back to King's Landing to see her here is some rando she's made part of her household since Lyonel Strong's promotion/Jasper Wylde got a job. Things have now spiraled a little out of control a little bit." Kaleb would definitely have more tact than Gwayne upon first contact, but he'd wind up in a similar situation of picking up the queues of how awful & traumatizing Taryne's marriage is, & once some level of comfort was there between them he'd offer some form of companionship at the very least just to give her some moments away from her husband, & from there it just kind of builds until they act on whatever attraction is there. They'd both definitely be having a nice time, & letting Taryne be in charge on occasion is probably nice, but bestie I am looking at this man's amount of kids & his pullout game is not good enough for Taryne to have him be her regular Other Man unless he's willing to never put it in. Kaleb, I see your breeding kink. You can't hide it from me. My son, Yorick, is the same fucking way, I perceive you whether you like it or not. Taryne's definitely fond of him though! He's an actual good, genuine man who won't hurt her, & that really goes most of the way for her. Not a long way, like 90% of it. The bar is on the ground.

They've definitely got "judging & side-eyeing people at the function, & maybe they hookup after it" vibes.

Yorick & Sarra sounded familiar, so I did hunt through the tag & I have ruminated on this before actually! So linking

Oh, you mean her step-son by way of fucking both his parents?

Gonna be real, she looks at him & just sees her youngest brothers, because some of them died young enough that temporarily being heir to Lonely Light or the expectations of their dad or Ironborn (specifically at Lonely Light) never had a chance to super get to them. So Brandon is kind of a What If scenario for her. "Would any of my brothers have been like him? Would they have been friends?" That type of thing

I think he'd be interested in Aldreda as a person regardless of what canon we're going with (Alicent alive at Lonely Light with Aldreda or her canon fate) just because she's important to his parents & "she's a cool warrior woman who let me have a knife!" And that would obviously evolve as he gets older to probably seeing her as some sort of extra parent or aunt or something--how that plays out I think would just really depend on what happens with Alicent (& by extension probably where he winds up going)

Honestly though, Aldreda would probably waffle a lot on if she wanted to be around him when he's younger. She'd never be outright cruel to him or send him away, it'd be more a "do I have the mental capacity to be around a child?" Part of it is her having never thought about her own ability to have kids & the subsequent having of them/motherhood & being at least a little confronted with it by now kind of being his step-mom, & part of it is the weird "my younger brothers were all this age once" that turns into "he's older than [brother x] ever got to be." It's, like, "am I mentally okay to be around the happy, optimistic child? If yes go be near the child. If no, decide if you want to do emotional self harm or not & proceed from there." (I never said Aldreda was the healthiest person out there). She'd definitely be encouraging of him & would probably give him pointers for training, but she'd also be rolling her eyes at the knight thing, I cannot lie. But you can't totally blame her, there's no knighthood culture on the islands! She wouldn't discourage him though, she'd just privately think that there's better things to dream of. Also, she's definitely taking him out on her longship at some point because "every boy needs to go out on the ocean. It puts hair on their chest." Did she tell Alicent or Kaleb beforehand? Maybe.

I think they'd be at least casual friends, with varying closeness depending on if it's SOTF or TRP. Because, like, they were both growing up in The Red Keep, but she was also never really a part of Rhaenyra's friend group until they were both a little older.

In SOTF, it'd definitely be a case of "this is my husband's cousin's boy (aside from Laenor, of course) that I also know & have a positive opinion of. Of course I am going to be kind & welcoming to him!" Because Cassana Strong is, first & foremost, a big sweetie pie. She's a little insecure, but she's a sweetie pie & she will never make someone feel unwelcome unless they've given her a reason to. She'd maybe be a little judgey about him having so many bastards (because she's even judgey about her brother in that regard), but she wouldn't say anything to him about it. Because that's rude & also it's kind of just expected in Westeros. Not stopping her from being gossipy as hell though.

In the TRP crossover AU though, they're definitely closer since he's married to Her Girl. Like "that's Daenys's man, your honor. I have to giggle about him with her, that's girl code." Also, like Rhaenyra, she's definitely encouraging them & probably helping to set them up, because she's watching Daenys moon over him too! Her insecurity would make a bigger impact, temporarily at least, on their relationship here though. I'm not going to go into too much detail, because that's spoilers for her arc in that fic, but there would be a rough patch where she kind of ices him out & is kinda harsh towards him for a couple months. Yes, it would be a bitterness thing & she is butting heads with at least Daenys & maybe even him depending on how much he's willing to try to pus that due to her very sudden 180 on how warm & friendly she normally is. It's not beyond repair, & she gets over it, & I also think she'd be willing to tell Kaleb what was going on more than she probably is Tyland in noncrossover TRP since, like, she's known him since he was a kid.

Overall, I think Kaleb & Cass would have a very nice friendship. Maybe not a best friendship, but a comfortable one.

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO REBLOG, I WAS PACKING TO MOVE 🙂‍↕️ always these r my comments on my first AND SECOND read through because im actually obsessed with them ⬇️

also the two songs i've been playing on repeat for this fic is everytime by ariana grande and y.d.l.r by tory lanez. take from that as u will 😌

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

i cannot tell u how giggly i am rn

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

i love this so MUCH SO SO SO MUCH

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

i unfortunately do not know what a slapshot is

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

YOU TOOK MY IDEA AHHHH 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

ohmygodohmygodohmygodddd

Bang!In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

As he FUCKING SHOULD I AM LITERALLY ON THE EDGE OF MY SEATTT

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

choose me love me fuck me (who said that)

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

his jealousy is RADIATING and i’m eating all of it up

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

sometimes yes pls prove how obsessed u r w me

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

my favorite part of hate sex when they r LIARS

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

HES SUCH A DICK

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

OH I FUCKING LOVE HERRR

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

HE DOESNT EVEN LET HER ANSWER why is this so hotttt

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

i’m so quiet bc i’m so into this 🫣🫣🫣🫣

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

ONE FUCKING CHANCE

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

he’s INSATIABLE

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

YKW FUCK U I WILL

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

so u give me earth-shattering smut and emotional angst? screw u

💌 i am absolutely enamored by the way u wrote their tension, how rafe fucking banged against the plexiglass and DARES her ohmygod i melted in a fucking puddle. ur smut was absolutely hot scorning riveting AND I WAS SO SURPRISED BY THIS MANS STAMINA LIKE CAN WE CATCH A BREATHE ugh ☺️💘 u did my req so much justice n gave me sm inspo i must write now

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle. Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you. This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. But tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus. You weren’t here for Rafe, not anymore. You loved hockey. You loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace.

Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth. The game was just about to start, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

And then, as if the universe was personally trying to screw with you, you saw him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

He always had to be in charge, on and off the ice.

He still had that same cocky swagger that made you wanna scream… for entirely different reasons now.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

His number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, sure. But you loved Rafe a little more. Or, you used to. Or, well, maybe that was still complicated.

The puck dropped, and the game started. For a while, you tried to focus on the action. Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he thought he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, like he knew you were there. And maybe he did

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up. That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And then, just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen. Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but this was... awkward. 

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, could see his lips getting closer, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat. He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. The look on Rafe’s face as he stood on the other side of the glass?

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

And you hated that you still kind of liked it.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words. Silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew exactly how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working. He wasn’t just playing hockey—he was playing with you.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him.

He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was almost infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, with his stupid intense eyes, all but daring you to move on. Why did he have to look at you like that—like he knew you were still his.

The breakup had been brutal, the kind of messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful. And now here you were, months later, still dealing with the fallout. 

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you. The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but all you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore. You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. You could practically hear Rafe’s teeth grinding from across the glass. Good. If he thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned the place—and you—then he deserved to stew in it a little.

But, of course, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, like he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah. His shoulders were tense, movements a little too aggressive, like he was about to snap.

You tried to focus on the game again, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You hated this. You hated that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him. Why was it so hard to let him go?

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Every hit was harder, every pass sharper. It was like he was playing angry. And you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

But then, with less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated. He slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off. He stood over the guy, glaring down at him like he was ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer. You knew exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at Rafe, but his eyes weren’t on the ref. They were still on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet. The arena was buzzing, the crowd getting rowdy, and for a second, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched, jaw set—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face. Your heart was racing, your body tense. Elijah had leaned back in his seat, totally unaware about everything.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

You didn’t answer. Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t just about murder a guy on the ice. You could feel his eyes on you, even from all the way across the rink. You hated it. You hated that he could still get to you like this.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, not to the score, not to the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, about the way he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers. Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the tension building in your chest. It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe.

And you knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, still clueless. But you were distracted, scanning the crowd without even realizing it.

And then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight. He didn’t even pretend to care about the people around him—his gaze was dark, intense, like a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your gaze, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was low, casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring Elijah completely. "Didn’t even stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool. "It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He took a step closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably. "You didn’t used to leave so soon," he said, voice dripping with that familiar cockiness. "Used to be the last one out."

Because you’d always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, trying to stand his ground. "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes flicked to him for the briefest second, before landing back on you.

"Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

He glanced at Elijah briefly, his gaze cold and dismissive, then back at you. “You sure about that?” he asked, “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now. Not with Elijah here. Not after everything.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at Elijah’s arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated. But Rafe wasn’t having it.

He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. “Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut him off quickly, your voice tight. “Let’s just go.”

But Rafe wasn’t about to let it go. 

“Yeah, Elijah,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.” His eyes flicked to you, dark and daring, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with the same fire.

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway, your body practically vibrating.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door. 

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the anger, the unresolved pull between you two. And maybe it was the way he still had that stupid hold on you, the way your body responded when you shouldn’t want it to.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the dimly lit hallway that led to the locker room. The second the door closed, you spun around, shoving him in the chest hard. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe barely flinched, his gaze smoldering as he crowded you against the wall. 

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, and not just because Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did— God, why did he have to be so damn close? The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the game, sending your mind spiraling. He was overwhelming, and you hated it. You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended. The way his blue eyes were boring into yours, like he could see through all your bullshit, wasn’t helping.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.” 

He stepped closer, caging you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away. And he knew it.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him. But even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them. The truth was, part of you had always been his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he could read every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin’ about me all night.” His breath was hot on your skin, and you hated how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin. The way his body hovered over yours—it was like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t spent the last few months trying to forget him.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your stomach. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had. But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Don’t—”

But he was already kissing you, hard and rough like he owned you, like you were his and his alone.

And the worst part? You kissed him back. His hands were on you, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, to slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans. 

This was so wrong, on so many levels. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Rafe didn’t back off. He was staring down at you like you were his next meal, like he’d been starving without you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

Rafe’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did.

“Oh, you will.”

And God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You wanted to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face. But instead, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, and it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing soft or sweet about this. It was all heat and frustration, months of unresolved anger bursting out in one chaotic, messy kiss.

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you yanked him down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, rough, and you hated how much you craved him, like you were still his.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be.

But every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head back as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart, and it pissed you off that he still had that power.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so damn wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again. Like you hadn’t been apart at all.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe muttered against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. You did want this. You hated that you did, but fuck, you couldn’t lie—not to him, not to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, and for a split second, you thought maybe you’d find some kind of resolve, some way to pull yourself back from him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to break free of him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still tangled in his hair. It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

You could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was suffocating in the best way, and you hated yourself for how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, your breath hitching when his mouth moved down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was rough, low in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “But I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and whatever you were going to say was swallowed by the heat rushing through you. You hated that he still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—” Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body. You clutched at his shirt.

“This what?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes intense. “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath. You hated that he was right. Again.

Always.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart was racing, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving. Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. You knew that. 

“Last chance,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again—harder this time, angrier, like you needed to prove something to yourself. And maybe you did.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one rough motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were everywhere—on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same reckless urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing you down on the bench, his body heavy against yours.

Everything was messy, and rushed, like neither of you could get enough. Like you were trying to erase the months of distance, of frustration, in the way you kissed him back, bit his lip, tugged at his hair.

 You hated how much you needed this. 

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathless and wild.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

Rafe’s mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. And body, traitorous and weak, responded like it always had.

You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made it all hotter, more intense.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, teasing, barely touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched. 

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch. Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, deep and slow.

You gasped, your head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the right way. Your body responded immediately, hips jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed slow circles over your clit, making your legs tremble beneath him.

He sped up, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, his fingers driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. The tension inside you was coiled so tightly, so close to snapping. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, until your body gave in completely. You hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months. Nothing could get you off properly. Your walls clenched around his fingers the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your nails leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you trembled beneath him, lost in the sensation.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed down just enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you—hard, hot, and ready—and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment. He lined himself up, teasing you just enough to drive you crazy.

Before you could respond, he pushed into you in one hard, deliberate thrust. Your gasp turned into a low, breathless moan as your back arched, your hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, was overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless, gasping for air. 

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you who you belonged to.

And you hated how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body was betraying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night since we ended.”

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but instead, a moan escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched against his, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, every nerve in your body on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe growled, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, the way his body pressed into yours so perfectly, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you. 

“I fucking hate you,” you managed to gasp out between breaths.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn, sworn, you were done with him.

You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him. That was the part that pissed you off the most.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast your knees hit the bench before you could react.

“Rafe—mmh,” you gasped, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood of the bench. You barely had a second to brace yourself before his hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He was already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, hating how desperate you felt, hating how your body responded to him like this. “Fuck, Rafe, stop teasing—”

“You want more?” he cut you off, voice dark and dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, just enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “You’re gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

 “You can act tough all you want, but I know how much you want this,” he gritted out, his cock sliding against your folds again, torturously slow. “I know how much you need it.”

Before you could snap back, he thrust into you hard, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench, and Rafe didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, faster this time, deeper.

The angle had you seeing stars. The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter, more intense. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips moving back to meet his thrusts even though your mind was screaming at you to get a grip.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, his voice low and rough as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your legs tremble. “So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you on the edge in seconds. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep some control, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt the pleasure rising fast, threatening to consume you.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, and Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, relentless, brutal, until your entire body was trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in. 

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.” 

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you." 

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in. 

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

[sysig]

A very normal scientist doing very normal gene splicing experiments (Patreon)

[w1tchybusiness]

i could write a 100 page essay about what a fucking masterpiece warframe is. i will write many words in the tags. please readem if you want my 'tism.

[fisherrprince]

Although - let me premise. I like Lyse. I don’t think Conrad choosing her to lead the resistance was earned, it felt very fast and a bit out of nowhere because she’s not a leaderly type and the traits she gained were in Doma (he didn’t see that happen), but you actually don’t have to change anything major to fix or at least better it in my brain, you just need to swap around some dialogue. Don’t have him talk to you about choosing her, have her take the reins herself or with encouragement when he dies. thassit I think itd give her some je ne sais quoi

[famewolf]

once I complete this mission, it's immediate end game, but I'm not ready to leave this world yet! it's been so much fun to play Dragon's Dogma 2 and experience the newness of it all

this is the first game in a long while that just felt good to spend hours exploring every facet of the map. there are so many surprises and treasures that I've yet to find and I'm 70 hours deep

there will be more adventuring in the future NG+, but damn if I'm not mourning the end already