#like sure it would be good to reflect on it a bit to see if there are particular reasons for it that are a problem

[starrihan]

Higher Than Heaven (Yeonjun Fic)

→ Pairing: Yeonjun x afab! Reader

→ Plot: a group project is the last thing you want for your midterm, but working with the student who smokes makes it 10x worse

→ Genre: smut, tiny tiny bit of angst, protection (yes!!), kissing, hickeys, piv sex, reader is judgmental + hates smoking, swearing (Imk if i missed any!!)

→ Warnings: smoking, mentions of food, joke about dead grandparents

→ Word Count: 7,746

→ Notes: hey guys! This is the first fic of my Sanctuary Series! For more information about the series I would recommend going to this post here!I just want to clarify that I do not share the same views as the reader does in this fic, it was purely for plot purposes! Hope you enjoy pt 1 of the series 😚

༄ ༄ ༄

You were always a goodie two-shoes. Perfect attendance, good grades, class president, the story writes itself. You grew up playing different instruments and were always enrolled in a sport or after-school club to keep yourself busy and your portfolio reflecting nothing less than perfection. So how did you go from valedictorian and class president of your high school to a college student who is on the verge or dropping out? 

The amount of work you’d allowed to accumulate over the past few weeks was enough to scare even the professors, making them question whether they actually assigned that much work. You could feel your grays coming in at the sight of all your work, exhaling as you decide to tackle the easy assignments first. 

It’s the middle of the day on a Thursday. You had a couple of assignments due tomorrow night that you absolutely could not afford to push off any longer. You had already asked for extensions on most of your assignments so far and you didn’t know how many more dead grandparents you could have before your professors questioned the validity of your failed punctuality when it came to turning in your assignments on time. You had class at 3 p.m, giving you a good two and half hours to get some work done. 

༄ ༄ ༄

You pack up your belongings as the clock strikes 2:30 p.m. You had gotten a couple of your easy assignments done, though it was very taxing to say the least. You make your way to your class, bundling up as the cold was brutal enough to warrant a cancelation, though, your university would never do that (speaking from experience because wdym its 2℉ out and i have to walk to class when theres black ice on the ground??).

You make it to your class about 15 minutes later, shivering from being cold yet sweating due to the many layers you had on. You take a seat next to your best friend, who had gotten there before you and saved your seat. 

“Can we go get food after class? I’ve had back to back classes and meetings all day and I’m starving.”

She drones on. You nod as you take out your laptop, waiting for the professor to start class. You’re prepared to mindlessly take notes for the next hour and half during lecture, but are pleasantly surprised when the professor doesn’t pull up the lecture slides. 

“Good afternoon class. I can all tell you guys are doing great so far.”

Her joke lands for some people, getting little chuckles and giggles from different corners of the lecture hall.

“Your midterms are a month away. I would normally give an exam for this class, but this year I have decided to switch it up. I have you all in pairs and you will be submitting a group assignment as your midterm. You will not be required to present but I will give you free reign on the design, layout and mode of presentation on the project meaning you can use any platform or software you would like to get the information across. I have sent you all emails with the name of the person you will be paired up with.”

You and friend look at each other and groan, knowing that the chance of you two being in a group is slim to none. Surely enough, you check your emails for your project partners.

“Who is Choi Yeonjun?” 

You ask, looking to your friend to see if she has any answers. She scans the room, presumably to see if he’s in class to point him out to you. 

“You see that kid in the middle row to the left? The one with the red hair? That’s him.

You look at the back of his head, sighing as you realize you don’t know this person and that this project is going to take a lot more time out of your busy schedule. 

“At least you’re not working with Choi Beomgyu. I heard he can be a handful.” 

Your friend rolls her eyes, burning holes in the back of the blonde boy's head, who happens to be sitting next to Yeonjun. You follow your eyes to see the boy, laughing at the irony of your partners sitting next to each other, just like their partners were. 

The rest of the class is drag, the growling of your stomach making it seem longer than it was as hunger consumes you. 

“Let’s go to the dining hall. I can’t afford to spend any more money on that overpriced cafe.”

Your friend says as you follow her out. It’s gotten pretty dark outside and there weren’t many students walking around in the cold. There were a couple of people here and there, probably walking back to their dorms after class. You two find yourself walking behind a person with their hood up, paying no mind to him until a cloud of smoke hits your face. Your audible groan at the smell of weed alerts his attention as he turns around and apologizes for smoking right in front of you. As he pulls his hood down, you recognize the tuft of bright red hair sitting on the top of his head. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you guys were behind me. I didn’t mean for the smoke to hit you.” 

‘Great,’ you thought. Not only did you have to work with a random stranger, but he also smokes publically on campus. You didn’t like smoking or people who smoked. You couldn’t understand why people do it or what joy butchering your throat and lungs could bring you. Your friend knew that about you and sensing your irritation, she speaks up for you, dismissing the incident on your behalf while you both walk ahead of him. 

As soon as you know that you’re far enough away from Yeonjun, you ask,

“Can we switch partners?”

Your friend snickers.

“If he smokes, I can almost assure you that his friend does too, so switching partners wouldn’t help.” 

You finally enter the dining hall, taking in the heated building before putting your stuff down in search of mediocre food. 

༄ ༄ ༄

You spend the next few days catching up on any missing work, putting the project aside since you still have a month left to do it. You decide to use Sunday as your rest day, drained from the assignments you were able to get done. You still had many assignments left to do, but you could only do so much work and you were already feeling burnt out. Doing more work wouldn’t be eventful in any way. 

You prepare for your day as normal, showering and throwing on a cute, weather appropriate, outfit as you make your way to the cafe on campus. You needed something better than the dining hall coffee for a change. You went there quite often, as you were high school friends with one of the baristas there. You smile as you spot him, walking up to the counter. 

“Taehyun! How’ve you been?”

The boy beams brightly at you, loving your cheerful spirit upon seeing him.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you for a couple days! I’m good, how are you? And, do you want your usual?”

“I know, I’ve been busy and broke. But I’m doing alright, just catching up on all of my assignments. And yes please.”

“Oh, that’s good at least! Also we have a new employee that I’m training so it might take a minute to get your order. Is that okay?”

“Yeah of course! Take your time. Thank you!” 

You say, paying the balance of your meal and waiting at the end of the counter to get your food. You see a tall boy with red hair come out from the kitchen. You scoff to yourself as you recognize Yeonjun. ‘Of course he works here,’ you think. It takes him a couple of minutes to make your drink, still new to all the syrups and flavors that are available. As he finishes he calls out your name. 

“Y/N!” 

You walk up to him, remaining polite as you thank him for your order.

“Thank you.”

“Sorry if it took a while, it’s only my third day here.” 

“It’s okay, thank you for the food!” 

He stares at you and you’re about to grab your stuff and walk out, but he stops you.

“Wait, Y/N? Are you taking history 2204? With Professor X?” 

“Yeah?”

You feign ignorance, pretending not to know who he is. 

“Ah, I see. I’m Yeonjun. I think we’re partners for this project. It was nice to meet you.” 

He says as he smiles. You felt a little guilty about your prejudiced dislike towards him. He seemed nice enough, so what if he smokes? And you couldn’t lie to yourself, finding his smile and crinkled eyes cute.

“Oh yeah! It’s nice to meet you too!” 

“Can I give you my number? So we can discuss what days work for us to meet up and work on the project?” 

You nod as you hand him your phone. You watch as he types away his number, smiling as he hands it back to you.

“Thank you, Yeonjun. I’ll text you my schedule and we can figure out what works then.” 

He wished you a good day and you smile, finding his manners charming. 

༄ ༄ ༄

A week had passed since you met Yeonjun at the cafe. You were officially back on track as you submitted the last of your missing assignments the night before, finally being able to focus your time and energy on this project. You had yet to message Yeonjun and you didn’t know why you were nervous to text him. You didn’t want to start off the messages awkwardly so you went with a simple yet forward message to start the conversation.

“Hey! This is Y/N from history class. You gave me your number last week at the cafe.”

You release the breath you were subconsciously holding, hitting ‘send’ and waiting for a response. You didn’t want it to seem like you were glued to your phone, waiting for him to message you back so you bide your time by doing other things around your space. Cleaning up your desk, putting away your clothes, etc. 

You hear your phone go off, waiting a couple minutes to check who the message is from. You groan when it’s just one of your friends asking if you wanted to hang out later. You replied ‘sure,’ and went back to doing anything you could occupy yourself. 

It had been a couple of hours since you messaged him and still no response. Now pissed that he hadn’t yet gotten back to you, you decided to get ready to go out with your friends. There was a party at a bar on campus and you allowed yourself to go out as a reward for completing all your assignments. Putting on some light makeup, you chose a rather revealing outfit despite the winter weather, assuming that it was probably going to be hot in the bar. 

You met your friends there and all started with some drinks. You were talking about your days, just checking up on them. You had all been so busy with midterms coming up that you barely had time to hang out. After having about two more drinks, your friends dragged you onto the floor, dancing to whatever music the band was playing. 

“Y/N!!” 

You hear your name being called and turned around to find the source of the noise. You spot Taehyun and instantly your mood brightens up. 

“Taehyun! I didn’t know you’d be here!” 

“I wasn’t planning on coming but my friend asked me to come with him. I think you’ve met him before, Yeonjun? He’s the one that made your order a week ago.” 

You grimace upon hearing his name. At first, you cut him some slack because he seemed nice enough. You felt guilty about judging him because he smoked. But after not messaging you all day and then hearing that he was at this party, you went back on your word, the idea of disliking him appealing to you again. 

“Oh yeah, I know him. I remember meeting him last week.” 

You say, emotionless. 

“I want you to meet him again. And my other friends too, they’re all cool so I think you’ll like them.” 

You trusted Taehyun so maybe you had to hold off on your hatred a little longer. Though you were good at using your words, your expression and body language always failed you, never being able to hide your negative emotions. 

“These are my friends, Yeonjun, Soobin, Beomgyu and Kai.” 

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you guys, I’m Y/N!” 

“Ah yes, we’ve heard a lot about you. Taehyun told us how you guys were best friends in high school.” 

Soobin said, his tall frame and black hair are easy on the eyes. 

“Yeah, me and Terry go way back! It feels like we met just a year ago but it’s already been 7 years”

You say, laughing. Yeonjun chuckles at your comment, sipping at his beer. 

“It’s nice to formally meet you Y/N. And I like your outfit, it suits you.” 

You stare towards him is cold but your cheeks betray you, heating up at his compliment towards your outfit. 

“Thank you…” 

Your night goes on, hopping between your friend group and Taehyun and his friends. One by one, they all start to leave as you’re left with one of your friends, Taehyun and Yeonjun. You introduce them all to each other and stay at the party for a little longer before deciding to leave. 

“I think I’m going to head back, Y/N. I’m tired and I have classes back to back tomorrow,” 

Your friend says, gathering her things.

“Alright but you can’t walk back by yourself? It’s too dark and you know how dangerous it can be.” 

You look around, trying to find a solution so that your friend doesn’t go back by herself. 

“Taehyun! You live on this side of campus right? Can you walk back with her?”

Taehyun looks to your friend, who’s blushing a little as you try to help her out. 

“Yeah sure but, what about you? You live on the opposite side so what are you gonna do?” 

“I can walk her back. I live around there anyways. It would be no trouble, really.” 

Yeonjun says, smiling as his eyes disappear. You mentally curse yourself for being left with Yeonjun, even though there was nothing else you can do about it. You all nod and go your separate ways, Taehyun with your friend and you with Yeonjun. 

On your walk back to your dorm, Yeonjun fishes a lighter out of his pocket, using it to light the joint that was in his other hand. Taking a drag, you immediately smell the inebriating plant and walk faster. He can sense something off between the two of you, the tension weighing down the atmosphere. 

“Did I do something to upset you? It just… seems like you don’t like me or don’t want me around?” 

You stop in your tracks, having been walking in front of him this entire time and turn around to face him. You exhale loudly before starting:

“First of all, I was not in the best state when the professor announced we were working in random pairs for this project. Not really your fault but then I’m walking behind you as we leave class and you’re smoking! Let alone, the smoke blows into my face and I hate smoking, let alone people who smoke. Then I met you at the cafe and you seemed really nice so I gave you the benefit of the doubt and thought that maybe I judged you too quickly and then I felt guilty. But then this morning, I text you and you left me on delivered all day and then I find you here, at this party and now you’re walking me back to my dorm. So yeah, you can say I’m not really fond of you.” 

You huff, the feeling of letting all of that off your chest almost euphoric. He puts his hand with the joint down next to him, taking his phone and checking his messages, and found that you did in fact text him and he didn’t read it. 

“I’m sorry for not reading your message, I was busy all day and I’m not allowed to use my phone during work. And I do apologize for smoking in front of you, even though it blowing in your face isn’t my fault. But that’s it? I didn’t actually do anything to you, so what’s the judgment for? Why do you hate people who smoke?” 

You didn’t want to stand in the cold any longer, and you didn’t want to have this conversation either. Really, you were avoiding his gaze because you really did have no valid reason to hate him. He never actually did anything to you. But you couldn’t back down now, otherwise you’d be embarrassed. You just huff as you turn on your heel, walking in the direction of your door, the rest of the walk back remaining silent. 

He walks you up to your building. You feel your phone ding, grabbing it from your pocket to check the notification. 

“I sent you my schedule. Let’s get this project done as quickly as we can so we don’t have to see each other again.” 

You hang your head low, guilt hitting you like a truck at the sight of an upset and hurt Yeonjun waiting for you to walk in. Even though you told him that you didn’t like him straight to his face, he still had the courtesy of waiting for you to enter your building so he can say he waited until you were safe to leave. You look back at him one last time, feeling worse than before as you run in and take the stairs up to your room. 

༄ ༄ ༄

You stare at Yeonjun’s schedule that sits in your messages, debating on whether or not you should ask your professor if you could work alone. You’re seriously contemplating it but ultimately decide that you should at least fix whatever you started, as it would be unfair to Yeonjun to leave him to do the project alone, though after your encounter last night, you’re sure he would appreciate not being your partner anymore. 

“Hey. I’m free this weekend if you are to work on the project.”

His reply is almost immediate, like he had been waiting for you to text him back. 

“Yeah, I’m free this weekend as well. Time and place?”

“Would you be comfortable coming over to my dorm at like 12 o’clock tomorrow? I want to apologize for the things I said and the way I acted…”

You bite your lip as you send the message, waiting for the rejection message to pop up.

“Sounds cool. I’ll see you at 12 tmr.”

No rejection? You were utterly surprised at this chance of redemption though, a little taken aback at how nonchalant he sounded. You lived in a single dorm so cleaning up wasn't that bad. You made sure to have plenty of snacks and drinks stocked in your mini fridge and made a little cozy corner for him to work in, while you would sit at your desk. You even made sure to text Taehyun and to ask what Yeonjun’s favorite drink was so you could have it ready for him when he arrived. 

༄ ༄ ༄

You woke up early in the morning, getting ready for the day as you make your way to the cafe to pick up the drinks you had ordered for both yourself and Yeonjun. 

“Hey Taehyun! Do you have those drinks ready for me?”

“Hey! Yeah I do. I have your usual and an iced americano for Yeonjun!”

The boy says, big eyes gleaming as he hands you the drinks. 

“Thank you! I’ll see you later!”

You didn’t tell him about the events that transpired after the party, and from the looks of it Yeonjun hadn't told him anything either. You say your goodbyes and make your way to a little pop-up event on your campus. They were selling cookies and cupcakes to support their club, so you thought it would be a nice gesture to buy you and Yeonjun both a cookie and a cupcake each. 

Struggling to open your door with all the treats in your hands, you manage to get inside of your room and put all your stuff down. You check the time to see that it’s only 11:30 a.m, relieved to see that you still had some time to yourself. 

You hear a knock on your door a little bit later. You had sent Yeonjun the details of your dorm room before he got there but were still startled by the knock. You compose yourself, nervously opening the door to see a blank-faced Yeonjun staring back at you, this time wearing a loose sweater that hangs off his shoulder on one side, gray sweats and black, thick framed glasses. 

“Hey Yeonjun. Come in, I have some things prepared.” 

He nods as he walks in, slipping off his shoes at the little welcome mat you have placed in front of the door. The dorm itself is pretty small, enough for one person but it could still comfortably afford a guest. 

“First of all, I want to start with a verbal apology. I’m sorry for being prejudiced against you based on your smoking habits. And I’m sorry for lashing out on you last night when you asked a valid question. I know it wasn’t your fault that the smoke blew into my face and I guess I was just anxious about this project and texting you that I didn’t even stop to think and consider the fact that you could’ve been busy and didn’t have time to check your phone. Secondly, I asked Taehyun what your favorite drink at the cafe was so I got you an iced americano, and a cookie and cupcake from the fundraiser one of the clubs on campus is having.” 

You shyly hand over the cup with his drink and the snacks that were packed into a little plastic box. He takes the snacks out of your hand and for the first time all week, you relax your shoulders as Yeonjun smiles, accepting your apology and finding it cute in the process. 

“Thank you Y/N. I know you don’t know me and I don’t know what your deal with hating smoking is, but I accept and appreciate the apology nonetheless. Shall we get started?” 

You nod as you instruct him to put his stuff down in the little workspace you created for him, a small throw pillow and fox blanket resting on the inflatable chair you had blown up for him to make use of. He chuckles at the cute setup, settling his stuff down and getting comfy to start working.

༄ ༄ ༄

Throughout your working session, you had some conversation here and there when things got boring or you ran into a particularly difficult part of the project. A couple hours into working you both decide to tap out, noticing the time and finding that you had been working for 6 hours straight. 

“Oh my god, it’s been 6 hours!” 

You say, surprised that you were able to focus on the same assignment for so long though, to your credit, it felt like many different assignments bundled into one. 

“Damn, I didn’t even notice how late it was. That wasn’t so bad actually.” 

Yeonjun says, getting up to stretch his legs, americano and snack box empty as you both refused to leave the room to eat lunch. He picked up his trash, throwing it in the garbage before returning to his corner, looking at you before asking you a question you didn’t think he’d ask:

“Would you ever try it? Smoking I mean?

You stare at him blankly. Your immediate answer was no. Smoking is bad for you, it can cause illness or death. But when you opened your mouth to answer, you didn’t expect this to come out: 

“Maybe one day?” 

You’re speechless yourself at your answer. You were so adamant on hating smoking and never wanting to try it. What about Yeonjun asking you made you change your answer? Was it the way he so confidently stood up to you last night? Or the way he walked you to your dorm despite learning about your true feelings for him at the time? Or the way you wanted him to find you different from the character you first gave off, the one that judged him for smoking in the first place? As if he could see the inner struggle etched onto your face he remarks,

“I thought you hated smoking? What makes you want to try it?” 

Your face heats up at your own silence, but you respond anyway.

“I do hate it. And I actually don’t want to try it. I don't know why I said that. But why do you smoke in the first place?” 

You ask, trying to change the subject to be towards him. Catching onto your little trick, he humors you. 

“It’s a relaxing way to unwind after a stressful day. Sit back, throw on a movie and take a couple hits and you’re there. Relaxed as can be with no other care in the world. You should try it, maybe then you won’t be as tightly wound.” 

You scoff at his little jab at you towards the end of his explanation. You couldn’t lie, with the way he was explaining it to you, the idea of smoking did sound very enticing. But nonetheless, you were willing to stand your ground on this topic, after all, this whole situation you were in with Yeonjun stemmed from your hatred towards smoking and you weren’t going to back down now. 

“As if. And I am not tightly wound, thank you very much. Maybe you can’t tell because you’re brain fried from all the weed you smoke.” 

Thinking your remark has granted you victory in this argument, Yeonjun smirks, offering you a challenge. 

“Try it. Prove me wrong that you won’t feel relaxed. That it won’t make you feel like a weight has been temporarily lifted off of you.” 

He reached down into his bag, pulling out a metal box and setting it on your desk. Upon clicking it open, the smell of weed immediately wafts through the room, filling your nose and causing you to cough slightly. 

“Do you mind not opening that up in my room? We’re not supposed to smoke in the dorms anyways!” 

You said, grabbing air freshener to dilute the smell of the weed. 

“Relax, it's fine. Plus the hall directors on this floor all do it too, so they won’t care.” 

You scoff as he takes a seat, carefully grinding the bud so as not to get any on your desk. He then fiddles with the contraption used to pack the weed into the paper, sealing it off after having packed it fully. 

“I’ll demonstrate how to do it and then you take a hit, okay?” 

You gulp nervously, teetering between the idea of kicking him out or waiting to see how this all plays out. Were you really going to get high because a cute boy challenged you? You’re quickly broken out of your thoughts as you see him flick open the lighter, the smell of burning paper replacing the smell of weed in your nose. He lets it burn for a while, opening your window in the process. 

“When you take a hit, blow out of the window otherwise you’ll set off the fire alarm.” 

You mock a smile as he laughs, bringing the joint up to his lips as he takes a small inhale. You watch as the fibers of the paper burn, the weed contents turning gray. You analyze the way he takes the hit and hold it in his throat for a second before slowly blowing the cloud of smoke out of the window. 

“Your turn.” 

He passes you the joint, as your clammy hands impatiently reach for it. You look at him one more time nervously, bringing the joint up to your mouth and inhaling. You don’t know how fast you ripped it, throat burning and violently coughing as Yeonjun scrambles in your fridge to bring you a bottle of water. You chug the water to stop your coughs, handing the joint back to him as you catch your breath. 

“Nothing about that was relaxing in any way.” 

“That’s because you did it too fast. Look, watch me. You slowly inhale, don’t let the feeling of it in your throat bother you otherwise you’ll start to cough.” 

You hold a little grudge in your stare, cursing at the fact that you were so easily convinced to try the one thing you spited and how your resolve crumbles so easily before your very eyes. You watch him bring the joint up to his lips again, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before taking another hit. This time you watch how he holds it in his mouth, counting the seconds before he blows it out. 

“Think you got it this time?”

You take the joint from his hand, silently reassuring him that you’d be fine. You try again, this time slowly inhaling. Remember his words from just a few moments ago, you let the particles settle in your throat for a moment, slightly inhaling before releasing the breath, successfully blowing the smoke out of the window. You look up at Yeonjun with big eyes and a proud smile. 

“I still don’t feel relaxed.” 

“You will in about 3 more hits and 15 minutes.” 

You continue to pass the joint to each other, careful not to rip it too fast or inhale too much. You can feel your eyes start to get a little droopy, a constant smile appearing on your face as you feel your body loosen. You feel slower but not heavy as you turn to Yeonjun and start giggling. 

“I can tell that you’re starting to feel it now. Gonna tell me you don’t feel relaxed?” 

You nod, giggling at his smile. The longer you stare at him, the cuter you think he is. Even in your high state, you couldn’t blame the weed for the attraction you felt for the red-haired man. Maybe you were starting to form a little crush. You think about the sweater he’s wearing, how his neck and collarbone are so perfectly on display, longing to be nipped at. Or the way the glasses make him look more sophisticated and smart, you did like nerdy looking boys. And the way his thick lips wrapped around the joint, eyes following his every move as he takes another drag. You couldn’t help the way you were rubbing your thighs together, the idea of his lips on yours creating a need to form within you. He looks at you, dumbfounded as he himself is now high as well. 

“How are you feeling Y/N? Do you feel good? Do you feel relaxed?” 

This time, you could blame the weed for what you say next:

“I feel great. I would feel even better if you kissed me.”

You laugh at your own comment, finding Yeonjun’s shocked expression priceless and thus further causing you to laugh. You allowed yourself to be bold, not knowing when again you’d have this opportunity. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Y/N. You’re high right now and so am I. Neither of our judgments can be trusted right now.” 

He tries to play the mature, responsible role. He was the one that got you high so he felt responsible for any and all actions made by you or towards you by himself. But the slight, ever-growing tent in his pants was giving him away, revealing that he was not as grounded in his resolve as he wanted to be.

“What? You don’t believe me? Should I prove it to you?”

You take his previous words of challenge and use it against him, playing him at his own game. You walk up to him slowly, eyes red and droopy as you stare into his. You place your hand on his chest, tippy toeing to try to reach up to his lips. 

“Help me out a little?” 

As if all rhyme and reason was thrown out the window, Yeonjun doesn’t hesitate to lean down, capturing your lips with his own. He throws one arm around your waist, the other carefully holding the joint so as not to get any ash over your floor. Your hands remain on his chest as your lips move slowly in sync, breaths heavy from the temporarily shortened capacity of your lungs. You still feel a burn every time you inhale, but it’s worth it for the way Yeonjun has you feeling right now; completely relaxed and carefree. 

He pulls away for a second, grabbing your hand with his free one and placing the joint in between your lips, guiding you to take a hit before he puts it in the metal box with his other weed essentials. His eyes watch you in awe as you close your eyes to take the hit. He pulls you onto his lap as he takes a seat on your desk chair and you happily follow, hands around the nape of his neck as you play with the hairs there. You take your time holding the smoke in and he kisses you again, running his hands along your sides, squeezing as you gasp, letting the smoke out from your mouth into his. He takes the opportunity to gently slip his tongue into your mouth, causing you to moan at the contact, grinding down a bit into his thigh. Your mouth is dry, partly due to the cotton mouth you're experiencing, and partly due to the nerves that had worked their way into your body when you decided to be bold and admit to wanting to kiss him. 

He licks the inside of your mouth before pulling away a little to suck on your tongue, teeth grazing it as he pulls away to trails kisses down your jaw and neck. You’re panting out of breath at his actions, the wetness between your legs only growing as you feel his hard-on press against the side of your thigh. You giggle as he nips a particularly ticklish spot on your neck, the effects of the weed present and causing him to giggle as well. 

“Can I kiss your neck?” 

“Well when you ask so nicely…”

He laughs, pulling away from your neck and tilting his head to the side, granting you permission to mark him up. You lean down, lightly nipping at his milky skin, biting around the area of his collarbones and he rests his hands on your hips, rocking you back and forth on his thigh. Your little whimpers at the contact only turn him on more, hard cock throbbing against his sweats as you eye the clear outline of them. Pulling back to look at your little marks, you’re satisfied as you pull him into your lips once again, this time more hungry. His hands that were settled on your hips move to grab your ass, squeezing as he presses you down harder on his thigh. Your moans are drowned out by his lips as the makeout becomes heavier and messier, saliva escaping from the corner of your lips and dripping down your chin. He pulls away first, admiring your red and puffy lips with a dazed smile. He stands you up, grabbing the joint and taking a big hit, holding it as his hands sweetly caress your face and he gives you another kiss, letting the smoke cascade into your mouth as you try your best to inhale and not choke. He smirks watching the excess smoke slip between your mouths, putting down the remainder of the joint and feeling you up underneath your shirt. 

“No bra?”

“I was in here all day. There was no need for it.”

You respond simply, taking a step back to fully take your shirt off, giggling as you watch his eyes open dramatically at the sight of your bare tits, nipples hardened as a result of the cold air. He pushes you against your desk, leaning you back over it as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, not even bothering to get you both on the bed. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud. You moan at the contact, harshly gripping his hair as he grazed his teeth against them. He takes the chance to slide his hands down the waistband of your pants, settling just above your pussy. 

“Yeonjun…” 

Your whimpers turn him on further as he begins rubbing circles on your clit through your panties and you throw your head back at the sheer amount of pleasure you’re feeling at the moment. He switches his attention from one nipple to the other, trading his fingers up and down your slit, feeling the wetness collect on the fabric separating his fingers from your heat. You don’t realize your grip has gotten impossibly tighter, accidentally pushing his head further into your chest, not that he minded. 

“You’re rough, I like it.” 

He pulls his head away from your chest and you whine at the loss of contact, the warmth his hold brought you being replaced by the cooling of his saliva all over your boobs. He pulls you close enough to him to help you take off your pants and underwear, sitting you back down on your desk as he admires your glistening lips, sliding down both his sweats and his boxers. 

He goes over to his bag and pulls out a condom before rolling it on to his painfully hard erection. 

“You just carry condoms on you at all times?”

“It came in handy, didn’t it?” 

He smirks at your failed attempt at being snarky, grabbing your waist as he slides the head between your folds. Your arms rest on his shoulders, one hand playing with his hair as the other twiddles with the necklace he has on.  

“You tease too much…” 

Yeonjun guides you back and forth on his dick, relishing in the little yet satisfying pleasure he’s giving himself right now. One hand rests on your pelvis, thumb reaching down to circle your clit as you hiss, biting your lip to suppress the moan you desperately want to let out. 

“Please Yeonjun…” 

Your begging only made it harder for him to resist you, slowly bringing the head down to your sopping entrance, groaning as he pushes it past your walls.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Gotta stretch you out on my cock.”

You wince as he pushes himself in deeper, releasing a sigh of content as he fully sheathes himself inside you. He keeps his thumb on your clit, the speed of his actions constant. 

“Y-you can move now…” 

He moves slowly, still letting you adjust before moving at a more constant pace. You’re mindful of the moans pushing past your open lips, finding it hard to contain them as he sets a firm rhythm. You look down beside you and pick up what’s left of the joint. Yeonjun takes note of your actions, holding you steady with both of his hands as you grab the lighter to reignite the substance. You bring it to your lips once again, letting the effect of the weed wash over you, reveling in the heightened effect of the drug. 

You hold the joint up to Yeonjun’s mouth, smiling lazily as he takes a hit, his hips never stopping their relentless pounding into your pussy. He attaches his lips to your neck once again allowing the smoke to escape and you to stabilize yourself while his thumb goes back to circling your clit, this time much faster than before. He also speeds up thrusts, the volume of your moans increasing as his harsh thrusts knock the desk back into the wall over and over again. You’re afraid of the amount of noise you’re making, worried about whether or not your neighbors can hear the scandalous sounds coming from your room, but all worry flies out the window when Yeonjun leans you back, bringing your hips up to a whole new angle for him. 

“Yeonjun!!” 

You scream as his tip hits your spot so deliciously, legs wrapping around him, pulling him that much closer. He chuckles as your face scrunches up, indicative of your close release. He can’t help but to move faster, pistoning his hips at an incredible speed, one that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as a gush of liquid comes rushing out of you. 

“Yeah that’s it, squirt all over my cock for me. Let it all out…” 

You’re so high that you barely even register the fact that you just squirted all over him, creating a mess on your floor. Your feelings only seem to intensify as the overstimulation kicks in, sensitive walls clenching down on him as your second orgasm approaches you quickly, his fingers still working your clit. 

“I’m… I’m gonna cum again… Y-yeonjun please…” 

Your whines come out broken and sporadic, not sure how much more you can take. 

“Hold on for me a little longer baby, I’m almost there.” 

You nod as you pull his head back down to you, kissing him one last time as he nails his final thrust, hips stilling in you as he feels himself fill the condom. Your pants and sighs fill the now smokey room. 

“I didn’t know you could squirt like that baby girl. You’re so fucking hot”

He carefully pulls out of you, making sure not to let any cum seep out of the condom. You wince as he pulls out, legs feeling like jelly as you release him from your hold. After discarding the condom, he quickly reaches for the napkins you have sitting on top of the fridge, cleaning you up before kneeling on the cold floor to wipe up any remnants of your release. 

“You look good when you’re on your knees,”

You say playfully, biting your lip as you watch him clean your floor. 

“I was right.” 

Your head feels empty and you’re slightly tingly. The high you were having definitely intensified the feeling you were having during sex but it did nothing to help jog your memory. 

“What are you talking about” 

“Have you already forgotten”

You shrug as you jump off the desk, using his shoulder to help ground yourself as your legs recover from their jelly-like state and proceed to put your clothes back on. 

“I told you that smoking would help you feel more relaxed. I guess in your case it also helped you be more bold.” 

Your usual eye roll was replaced by a giggle. 

“Did I really say that? I guess I had no idea what I was talking about?” 

He laughs with you as he finishes cleaning the floor, pulling his pants back on before putting his weed materials away, shirtless. 

You keep staring at him, realizing that you were too high and too needy to notice his toned abs before. 

“I can send you a picture of them if you want? You don’t have to keep staring at me like that.” 

He pulls his sweater over his head to which you pout, upset that your view was now covered. 

“Relax, you’ll see them again the next time we do this.” 

“Next time?” 

You couldn’t say that you hated the feeling of being high, but maybe you weren’t in the right mind to be making decisions like that. 

“Yeah? Next time we work on the project we can get high and do this again. It was fun.” 

He puts his stuff away in his bag, leaving it on your inflatable chair. He wasn’t just gonna leave you after fucking you whilst you were still high. 

“We got a pretty good portion of the project done today. We don’t even have to meet up to finish out individual parts.” 

You say, reminding him about your 6 hour grind to finish as much of the project as you could. 

“What are you trying to say?” 

He says while fixing his glasses and hair in your mirror.

“I’m saying the next time we meet we don’t have to do work.”

He makes eye contact with you through the mirror, his smirk hard to hide at your insinuation.

“You dirty girl. So bold when you’re high, only want me over to have sex.” 

“Well… to have sex and get high! I do enjoy your presence but I’ve never felt so good before. That was like heaven.” 

Even though he didn’t know you that well, he could tell the effects of the weed were still strong on you, watching you yap away, knowing you probably won’t remember this conversation in the morning. He just laughs at your comment as you put your stuff away. 

You watch as he goes back to his seat, moving his bag back to the floor. You walk up to him, sitting down on his lap. You tangle your fingers in his hair, staring at his lips again, which are also swollen. His eyes follow your gaze and he throws his head back in laughter, scaring you a little as you flinch at unexpected sound. 

“You’re still horny?” 

“What makes you say that?”

You play dumb as if you weren’t just drooling over his lips. 

“But we just put our clothes back on!” 

He whines, fixing your position so that you’re properly straddling him. 

“Yeah but, you aren’t gonna reject me right? Not when I’m high and needy because of you?” 

You feign your best soft voice and puppy eyes, trying your best to hold back from laughing in his face at your own antics. Yeonjun takes your face in his hand, giving you a sweet smile.

“No of course not, that would make me a monster.”

He says, pulling you back in for another kiss as you settle in. Maybe smoking a little bit of weed wasn’t so bad after all. 

[admirationandromantics]

Fast Paced Introduction

Here you go, another one!! Jesus Christ, the last two days in my inbox have been crazy, so please DON'T expect your stuff too soon, alright? Anyways, enjoy some more Chris, I think that's mainly what's in there, lol. Love him <3

Word count: 1,2k (Unedited)

im gonna be annoying af in ur inbox too since u wanna BLAST MINE HAHA Chris with a reader who's like insanely into him at first sight and is like almost Mike levels of flirting after talking for 5 mins i feel like his brain would fry so fast ( its me i have autism and tell people things within an hour of meeting and have no issue being flat with people HA ) -@nerd-space

“And this is Chris, who I’ve told you about” Emily introduces, and I look curiously up at the big blonde. His hair is messy, definitely not styled after he came out of the shower. A pretty smile spreads on his lips, as he lifts his arm, waiting for me to grab it. 

“Nice to meet you” he says, a little dimple on his right chin. Oh god, this man is gorgeous, and Emily didn’t lie about him being my type. His arms are big, probably really muscular under that sweater he’s wearing. I take his hand, making sure not to shake it too hard. His grip is firm, holding just a second too long for my conscience to pick up on it. His watch reflects a little light as he shifts, my eyes going straight to it. A decent one, silver. 

“Nice to meet you too, Emily didn’t mention you wore glasses” I say, immediately beating myself up. Glasses? What’s the point of that? 

“Oh, um, yeah I do” he gets kinda nervous, and I rush to save myself. 

“No, I mean, they look good, like really sexy and all of that. I mean to say that they look good on you, and she mentioned you, just not that and yeah” I babble, and Emily drags me away before I can continue. 

“Girl, I’ve never seen you like that” she smiles, an arm around my shoulders.  

“That’s because we party together, you only see the sexy and flirtatious me”

“Then get some alcohol into your blood, because if you talk like that again, I might have to leave you”

I gasp dramatically, hand going to my heart. 

“You wouldn’t” 

“Oh, but I would” 

The rest of the night goes better, Mike flirting with absolutely anyone, Matt and Ashley talking, and Sam hanging out with someone I’ve never seen before. My confidence is on top again, finally able to put that awkward episode behind me. It was just a small mistake, nothing wrong at all. Considering how hot he is, anyone could’ve made that mistake. It probably happens to him daily. 

He’s standing in a corner with Josh, who I’ve luckily met before, so starting a conversation wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. I walk over, keeping myself steady and lifting my boobs. Just a little. 

“Hey, Joshy!” I greet, and his arms immediately go around me. 

“Eyy, you came! Got a ride with Em, huh?” 

“That’s right” 

He turns to Chris, who has a small smile plastered on his lips. Oh, and he’s cute too. How many things were going to make me like him even more? Josh looks back and forth from us, and I turn my gaze to him. 

“Have you met?” 

“Yeah, Emily took the introduction” I explain, taking another sip of my drink. 

“She did pretty fine by herself as well” Chris laughs, meeting my eyes. Oh, and he is playful too? He’s got no idea what he’s gotten himself into. 

“Well, can’t help myself when he’s exactly my type” I comment, his cheeks reddening. Josh takes a small step back, looking over the blonde. 

“You know what, I hadn’t realised it before, but he is your type” 

“I know, right?” 

“So why aren’t you two in this corner alone, making something happen?” 

“Um, guys, I’m standing right here” Chris interrupts, hand behind his neck as he tries to form the words. 

“Oh, we’re aware” Josh laughs, nudging my arm and taking a few steps away. 

“Can I get you two anything to drink? A glass for the lady, a beer for my bro?” 

“Yes, please!” 

“I’ll be back in a bit!” 

I turn to Chris again, seeing that he’s put down the previous beer. It’s probably empty. I can’t help my stare, eyes going over his arms and fingers. 

“So” I begin, ripping myself from my trance. “How’s the night going?” 

“Well, pretty good so far, it’s a bit hot here though” he says, finger going to the hem of the neck, letting some air in. 

“You know, you could just take it off” I propose, making sure to add a slight suggestive tone. 

“Oh, I wish, but I don’t have anything underneath” 

“Even better” 

His eyes widen, and I realise the gravity of my words again. Wow, how this man makes me fail, I’m usually quite good with words. I give him my glass, which he holds, and start working on his arms. I drag his sweater up, noticing the muscles and veins popping as I do. He’s right, he’s very warm. His skin is burning up, making me want to take off my clothes and snuggle up to him. I do the same with his other arm, all whilst he holds my drink. 

“There you go, a bit better?” 

“Very much, yeah” he smiles, cheeks still bright pink. I think about the way I’ve been behaving, getting to touch and talk to him the way I have. I need to ask the essential question. 

“So, I should probably ask, do you have a girlfriend?” 

“I would have to say no” 

My eyes widen. He doesn’t? How hasn't this gorgeous man been caught yet? 

“What, how come?” 

“I guess it’s just not in the cards” 

“You’ve got to be kidding, right? You’re a hot piece of meat, I’m struggling keeping my clothes on where I stand right now” 

He laughs a little, hand coming up to cover his flushed face. I reach up, taking it away. 

“No, stop, don’t cover yourself. I love you looking like this” 

He stops laughing, our faces closing in as his eyes flutter. Oh gosh, he actually is the cutest man I’ve ever seen in my life. His mouth slightly opens as he’s closing in. 

“In the middle of all of this, I forgot to tell you how beautiful you are” he whispers, thumb caressing my cheek as we draw nearer. 

“Well, judging by how I see you, it bodies me well that you find me attractive” 

He takes hold of my waist, quickly turning us around and making my back slam into the wall. Before I can catch my breath, his lips are on mine, roughly caressing and eating. He knows how to kiss too? This man is a fidget of my imagination, I just know it. 

His hands wander to my waist, resting on my upper hips. I take hold of the back of his neck, nails carefully scratching, making him moan into the kiss. My other hand goes to his sweater, pulling him closer into me. 

“If you’re gonna go for it, get a room, don’t make everyone watch” Josh suddenly says. And we both turn our attention to him. He’s standing there like a lost dog, a couple of drinks in each hand. I take a breath, fixing my hair quickly and reaching over to grab mine. 

“Don’t worry Joshua, and thank you for the drink” 

“Um, yeah, we were just trying something” 

Josh smirks, eyebrows lowered in a sly manner as he leans back. 

“Yeah man, that’s why her lipstick is smeared across your lips and neck” Oh shit, I went for his neck and I didn’t even notice? Maybe I’ve had a couple too many of these. I look down on the red drink, some different liquids mixed. Oh, fuck it. I drink the whole thing in one go, before grabbing Chris’s hand and walking further down the hallway. He turns a little to give Josh a wave. 

“As I said, just trying something!”

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway. 

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you. 

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it. 

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw. 

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously. 

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. 

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface. 

 He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you. 

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away. 

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away. 

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows 

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little. 

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever. 

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before. 

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are. 

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out. 

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too. 

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone. 

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you. 

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve. 

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk. 

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances. 

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words. 

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry. 

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel. 

 “Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,” 

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to. 

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you. 

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else. 

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind. 

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head. 

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse. 

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you. 

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur. 

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. 

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home. 

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw. 

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be. 

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.” 

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

[hex6rcist]

10 Questions to ask a Mutual

Instructions: prev asks ten questions and you answer them, then ask ten new ones and tag ten people to keep the chain going!

New post because I am a YAPPER.

Tagged by: @we-keep-odd-hours 🖤

So stoked to answer your insightful questions about my fav movie. 😭

1. Thoughts on Eric Red's idea for a Near Dark sequel? (Mae and Caleb's adult, human, daughter has a run in with "kin" of the Hookers.)

Oof okay soooo tbh I hate it lmfao. Partially because I don’t think Mae and Caleb would stay together as humans to be so honest. I think if anything after the end of the movie they tried to make it work but ultimately returning to a human life for Mae wouldn’t just be difficult it’d be traumatic. She went from a young human woman, to a creature of the night who had to learn to kill, back to a young human woman who hadn’t physically changed in YEARS. She likely would have eventually split from Caleb because let’s be real he isn’t equipped to help that emotional baggage but I do think they’d keep in touch because I mean, they have this insane shared experience. Also not huge in the idea of a sequel of Near Dark. I’d much rather see a remake believe it or not. Still 80’s, include the juicy missing scrips bits (I’ll go on about this later lol), lean more into the family dynamic.

2. Top five movies with vampires?

In no order (please don’t make me lol)

Near Dark (duh), What we do in the Shadows, Lost Boys, Salem’s Lot, and I really adored Last Voyage of the Demeter. Honorable mention to 30 Days of Night.

3. If YOU were going to pitch a sequel (time machine back to 1987, or else a book/comic/etc) what would you say?

Oof okay so low I said I’m not keen on a sequel. Buuuut if I had to pitch one. I do love the idea of Severen coming back for revenge against Mae and Caleb. Maybe their relationship kind of imploding in on itself as they deal with this (very drama). I could see Mae now with this new context of her and Caleb’s relationship either having to double down on her choice to go with Caleb and picking the human world or doubling back and reuniting with Severen and wishing to go back to the night. In the end I think if she chose to go back, just for the drama. When Sev tries to turn her it ends up not working because surely you can’t just go back and forth on that right? And he accidentally kills her. Very bitter sweet.

Alternatively! Because now the gears are turning now! Mae after leaving Caleb and on her journey of figuring out who or what she is now as a human. Did going back have side effects on her physically? Probably!

4. Favorite scene that isn't the bar scene

Now THIS is a hard question. 😭 I want to say the shoot out because it is so so fucking good or even when they first get to the motel and they’re starting to warm up to and accept Caleb. But my true to the bone answer has got to be when Homer brings Sarah back to the motel. It’s just a priceless situation lol. All of their reactions are so telling. Sev grinning and kinda chuckling like “ah shit, this is gonna be good” and joking around. Jesse’s just absolute “you’ve gotta be kidding me right now” look. Diamondback’s annoyance and just being like “well obviously I’m the one who’s gonna have to deal with this”. It’s pure gold to me. It just cracks me up so hard.

5. We know (canon) that Mae was turned around 1982, Jesse around the Civil War, and (kiiiiiinda canon?) Severen in Tombstone in the late 19th century. When/where do you think Diamondback and Homer were from?

Ooh okay I’ve done this before! My answer that’s stayed the same is I LOVE the idea of Diamondback having been a prohibition era rum runner who met Jesse on a run. Also a clue in on how she got her name. It just simply speaks to me.

As for Homer… I’ve changed my mind. Initially I was under the impression that Diamondback turned him (hence the need she felt to step in with the Sarah situation) but after reflecting on it. I can’t get the way Jesse called him “old man” out of my mind. So I asked myself. Well what if Homer is older than Jesse and wasn’t turned by anyone in the clan? What’s his connection to them?

My current HC is that Homer and Jesse were turned by the same vampire, they’re brothers. In an interview Lance Henriksen shares his idea for how Jesse was turned. Which was by a mysterious creature at sea. Which I sort of love! It gives a more fantastical element to this vampire story that feels very rooted in a gritty reality. I like to think that Jesse was turned by a vampire who was ancient (a la Queen Akasha from Queen of the Damned). A vampire who’s so old they’re barely human and would have no qualms with turning a child.

6. Do you think if Caleb got over his selectively applied human moral code that he would have made an okay vampire, eventually?

Okay is a low bar and I think he’d clear it! Eventually he would have just had to suck it up (lol) and deal with it. That would be his life. I’ve mentioned in other things I’ve written I think he’d be a very picky feeder but I don’t think he’d continue to be a “weak link” so to say. Maybe! Even as the centuries passed he’d come to enjoy it. Maybe…

7. Severen: ace/aro spec, or no?

I can see how this idea came about as he is the only one in the clan not romantically linked or seeking that connection however I don’t think it’s from a lack of sexual or romantic interest on a large scale. I think it just wasn’t important to him at that time. There was a lot going on! He had to deal with this new dude and try to get his dick wet? He’s busy damn it! I could see him being like demiromantic but like dtf. Like he’s gonna bang but you have to earn his love. Def has past lovers who hate him lmfao.

8. Any scenes that were changed from script to film, or otherwise cut that you wish made it into the movie/were done differently?

The fact that we didn’t get to see Severen jump out of the back of the van in the scene following the shootout and lay down some serious high speed carnage on those cops is a crime against me personally. I NEED THAT SCENE. GIVE IT TO ME. PLEASE. LET THE FERAL MAN DO FEEAL ACTS.

9. What would have happened if Loy and Sarah were at literally any other motel that night?

Well I suppose Sarah and Homer wouldn’t have met! Therefore Caleb would have stayed with the clan, Homer would eventually move on from the Mae situation and maybe find a new target later down the line, Loy and Sarah would eventually just lose the trail and have to go home perhaps even accepting Caleb was gone.

This gives me another good idea though! Loy returns home without his son and isn’t quite the same. Eventually a local from town sees him (idk at church or something like that) and explains that he saw Caleb at the sables the night he went missing! And he was with a girl. They explain to Loy about how the horses seemed spooked by her. Come to think of it not long after that night 4 dead bodies showed up, drained of blood.

LOY BECOMES A VAMPIRE HUNTER.

What do we think?

10. Aside from her god-awful taste in boys, what's your opinion on Mae?

I actually love Mae. She’s so weird girl coded. Cryptic, hopeful, adventurous, curious, even a touch stubborn. She’s almost a little awkward but knows how to turn on the charm and use her perceived innocence to her advantage. She oozes this deep sense of knowing and understanding. And yes awful taste in boys lmao.

This was so much fun! Thank you for tagging me!!!! 😭🖤

My questions and tagees will be below the cut for space! Because I rambled!

1. How are you!? I hope your day is going well.

2. What are you currently working on? Any little projects of any kind you’re excited to share?

3. What have you been watching lately? I just finished Righteous Gemstones and I need a new show lol.

4. (A Near Dark one because how can I not) what’s your favorite small detail in the movie that other people might overlook?

5. What blog should I follow right now?

6. Best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

7. If you could add one fantastical element to the real world and have it be a commonly accepted and known about thing what would it be? (Ie make Santa real)

8. What’s the last book you didn’t just read, you DEVOURED?

9. What are you most passionate about?

10. What do you think is your best quality?

I tag: @we-keep-odd-hours (again lmfaoooo, you don’t need to ask more questions) @babieswrld (heyyy!) @turquoisebolotie (I miss you 🥺)

[puppppppppy]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

[bythehearts]

not to bring tiktok drama on tumblr but like every time a ‘scandal’ comes out with one of these ‘production companies’ that make fan films i always hope we’re finally gonna discuss how they professionalize something that should be an hobbyist endeavor… and yet every single time i’m disappointed.

[crtastrophic]

of course you have white hyphae and pronouns

[spamtoon]

(Out of nowhere, you are approached by a familiar lightbulb-headed Cog.)

Ah, it's you, cat. Thinking you're oh-so-slick. Muttering and whispering under those raggedy whiskers of yours... Thinking I am unable to hear it all...

Well, you've simply underestimated my fantastic hearing. You probably want to know the reason why I'm here, taking a 'break' from my incredibly important scientific breakthroughs? It's quite simple, really!

(She gets close, and squints her eyes.)

I know what you are.

Farewell, now!

(She then leaves the way she came from.)

(Spam giggles immensely, covering her face... it always seems like she's giggling, isn't she? This lasts... at least thirty seconds. Longer than usual.)

And I know what I am too, Sparky! You broke through something, that's for sure. Really, broke through...

(She looks down, continuing to laugh nervously.)

You know, I find it odd you Havent tried to bulb blast me into the stratosphere by now. I mean knowing how you acted with Frostbite. Is there something peculiar about me that you perhaps can't quite track? Something about me that you... don't know what I am?

I know, I know, I'm talking to nobody again. But you were there when I had a moment today with the one the only Frostbite The Bravecog. You may be remaining. Lurking in the shadows. Knowing about these thoughts that I'm thinking.

(The giggling resumes, lasting far shorter this time.)

Your brother's a piece of fucking barp, by the way

(She braces for impact for a few seconds, wincing while smiling, before comically looking around to realize nobody's there. She sighs.)

Wow, okay maybe toony superhero show logic doesn't apply in this situation. Cool.

WAIT I JUST FUCKING REALIZED WHAT SHE MEANT but like. Dude if she meant that then what's the point I mean the whole ahh sellbot department barping knows unless you're Really low on the ladder. Heheh... maybe she did mean what I thought she meant.

Oh i'm so fucking screwed. What kind of bitch gets filament fever

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions figuring winston shouldn't just also still be there in the end with the guys we accept so he needs to be sent out, which, it's also remarkable to recall like "okay does he still technically, partially work at/for axe global then? it's a 'maybe' but what matters is that he's not There even if so"....the way that even if we infer he did get to finally be sick of waiting on better, we weren't even given so much of an arc of a couple episode's leadup showing him markedly being more frustrated / fed up with The Usual bullshit or anything like that, the way it went with one ep to spare "oh right winston's catchphrases! we all know & loathe them" like don't strain yourselves....that even in giving up on things, winston still has to be further let down by everyone even after quitting, like well that's probably ultimately helpful for him but it was (a) forced on him and (b) not sure i'd give billions the credit for anything sympathetic towards winston versus "well the only thing to be done with winston material is have fun while epic winners shit on him however they want," the wags plotline had no point just like the later one that could've been scrapped & transformed into "how about taylor gets any dialogue this episode"....the way that billions may imagine like hmm what to do with winston? all that can Ultimately happen with him is he has to go away and die, for him it's [out of sight out of mind out of Existence], just as has been the show's approach for the consequences of him being shitted on all th time for years before this: there are none, b/c we're not looking at them, and winston is never not completely [othered] including right now, and if it helps for some reason we'll talk about how we might be fine if he literally dies. and so we're graced with a "who knows or cares, he's just gone, finally. after being kept around b/c it's so fun seeing winners torment him" ending as the only one they find imaginable for winston

[harbingerofwhump]

Do people realize that you can. Not enjoy rap music because you just don't generally enjoy it? Y'all know you don't have to try to construct some Progressive Leftist Justification (that really just ends up being racist) for not enjoying it right? The style can just generally... not appeal to you? And that's fine?

[seelestia]

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

★ 〜 masterlist.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

[itneverendshere]

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion; health risks; insecurities. chapter one┆chapter two┆ chapter three

You were curled up next to Rafe, head on his shirtless chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breath.

You could hear the crash of the waves. His fingers were tangled in your hair, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you ever think about the future?” You asked, not even sure why you said it. 

Maybe it was the mood, the quiet.

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your cheek.

“Future? Baby, we’re in the future right now.” He tilted his head to look down at you, his blue eyes catching the last bits of sunlight, making them almost glow. “What more do we need?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious. What’s next for us?”

He was quiet for a second, and you held your breath, waiting. Sometimes Rafe had this way of avoiding real talk. He’d joke, or deflect, or turn the conversation back to something easy.

“You,” he said, his voice low like he was confiding you a secret. “You’re what’s next. What’s always next.” His arm tightened around you, pulling you into his lap. 

You smiled, that stupid, giddy smile that probably made you look ridiculous, but you didn’t care. His breath tickled your forehead as he kissed you there slowly.

He was so sure in that moment, like nothing could touch you two.

You lifted your head, just enough to look at him.

His face was so clear, each detail spot on, you could reach out and touch it. His messy beach hair, the way it fell into his eyes, his crooked smile, that scar on his chin from when he’d wiped out on his bike in high school.

All of him was yours.

“Promise?” You asked, like a part of you needed to hear it again, needed the reassurance.

Rafe leaned in, his lips grazing yours before he whispered against them, “Promise.”

He had this way of making all feel so simple, like the future wasn’t some big, scary thing.

“I’m never letting you go,” it sounded more like a prayer coming from his lips, fingers tracing small circles on your arm, sending these tiny electric shocks through you. “You’re stuck with me, Thornton.”

“Good.”

But then something changed.

His grip loosened. His warmth started to fade, and you blinked, confused. You lifted your head, trying to find his eyes, but his face was different.

Blurred. Distant.

“Rafe?” You whispered, reaching for him, but he wasn’t there.

The warmth was completely gone, replaced with cold, empty air. You turned, searching for him, but all you saw were shadows where he used to be.

The waves crashed louder, and you realized you were alone. Just like that, everything was gone, everything he promised, was gone.

You sat up in bed, gasping, hands instinctively going to your stomach in the darkness of your bedroom.

He wasn’t here. He was with her. You were alone. 

Pregnant.

You tried to stabilize your breathing, wiping away the tears that had slipped out during your sleep. The bed felt too big, empty without him. And the memory of his touch, his words, felt cruel now. 

You stared up at the ceiling wondering how a memory could feel so real, so vivid, but that was all it was. Just a memory. Just another piece of the past you kept chasing.

You looked down at your stomach, your hand still resting on the bump, if you could call it that. You weren’t showing at all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. You knew it was.

Your very first appointment was in a few hours, and the thought of it made you want to throw up.

You needed to know how far along you were. It would be easier to stay in bed and let the what ifs spiral in your head than to face them, but you didn’t hold that privilege anymore.

You dragged yourself out of queen-sized bed, avoiding the mirror as you moved around the room.

You didn’t want to see your reflection right now, you dreaded facing the girl who had let herself get into this mess.

You threw on a pair of loose, old sweats and a hoodie, one that swallowed you whole, hiding everything.

The kind of outfit that made you feel invisible, and right now, that’s exactly what you wanted. It’s not like anyone around here cared much anyway, rich girl or not, kooks were experts at pretending. 

You grabbed your keys, your phone, and the one thing you couldn’t forget today —courage.

One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time.

The appointment was soon, and you needed to get there. You kept reminding yourself that you’d figure it out once you knew how far along you were, everything would make sense after that.

The drive there was a mess, the anxiety and anger, you didn’t want to acknowledge today were taking turns messing with your head.

You didn’t want to think about how you’d once imagined a future with Rafe, how he’d promised you a lifetime under the sun.

You could never feel guilty about keeping this from him. He’d made his choices, and now you had to make yours.

You rolled up in your car and had to park in the visitor lot, trying to sneak in like you weren’t a whole mess of nerves behind the wheel of a brand-new Range Rover.

It was practically empty, which was fine by you, less people to run into, less eyes on you, since every second you spent there was a second someone could recognize you.

Someone could see, that was the last thing you needed — for this to become some juicy little rumor for the Kildare gossip mill to chew up and spit out. 

You pulled your oversized sunglasses lower on your face, hoping they’d hide the fact that you were shaking.

You hated the fact that you were even in this position as you sat there, tapping your foot impatiently, checking the clock every five minutes like it was some kind of countdown to freedom.

Every noise from the hallway made you flinch, like any second someone familiar would burst through the door, see you there.

You winced in horror when your name was called out, following the nurse leading you down a sterile hallway that smelled of antiseptic. You tried to keep your mind off the fact that this was the first step toward the most life-altering decision you’d ever have to make. 

"The doctor will be in soon."

Times like these you wished you’d chosen a private clinic, but you had to avoid as many kooks as possible, even if it meant slumming it in this hospital. 

This was real.

Sitting down on the exam table, the paper crinkled under you, the sound making you cringe. You felt so small in that room, so alone. You’d always had someone—Rafe, even Topper. But right now, it was just you.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the table as you waited.

It felt like forever before there was a knock on the door, and the doctor entered.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Madison," she greeted you, offering you a smile as she sat down on the stool beside you. "How are you feeling today?"

What the fuck were you supposed to say? That your life was falling apart? That you didn’t know what to do? 

So you settled for a, “"I’ve been better," looking anywhere but at her.

She nodded like she understood, she’d most likely heard it all before. 

"Alrigh’, we’re just going to take a look and see how far along you are, okay? I’ll need you to lay back."

You did as she said, leaning back against the stiff pillow, trying to relax. 

"This is going to be a little cold," she warned as she reached for the ultrasound gel.

A little? You nearly jumped off the table as the gel hit your stomach, cold and slimy, like ice against your skin. You winced but tried to keep still as she spread it over your lower abdomen.

The machine whirred to life, and she placed the probe on your stomach. You sucked in a breath, trying not to cry as the screen lit up with grainy images.

She moved the probe slowly, methodically, her eyes glued to the monitor, and you couldn’t breathe. 

You forced your eyes to the ceiling, refusing to look at the monito, refusing to see. You couldn’t let yourself get attached, not like that.

If you saw what was on that screen—if you saw the shape of something, anything—it would kill you. Your breaths were shallow, and your fingers clenched the sides of the exam table, gripping the paper until it tore under your hands.

Dr. Madison was quiet as she moved the probe over your skin, you knew she was seeing something. You could hear the beeping of the machine, the faint hum of the monitor.

"Okay. Looks like you’re about thirteen weeks along."

"How long is that?"

"Almost 3 months, give or take."

No, that couldn’t be right, you’d barely felt any different.

You were at thirteen weeks. Just over the line.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

 "Thirteen?" you repeated, like maybe if you said it out loud, it would make more sense. But it didn’t.

"Alright," you told her, voice even, like that number wasn’t echoing in your head, smashing through the calm you’d been faking this whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Madison eyes scanned your face, probably trying to gauge how much of this you were even absorbing. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

A lot? That didn’t even begin to cover it.

The doctor cleared her throat gently. “In North Carolina, after twelve weeks, the options for termination become much more limited unless it falls under specific conditions like rape, incest, or a fetal anomaly. I know this might be overwhelming, but I’m here to walk you through what’s possible.”

You nodded, but it was a lie. You weren’t hearing any of it, you were already listing other possibilities, another place.

Your mind was a step ahead, planning out the details, flights, or maybe driving. Somewhere where no one would ask questions, where you could walk in and get this over with.

Just slip away for a couple days.

She kept talking, saying something about other options, but you weren’t hearing it. It sent your heart into a stampede.

"Thanks, Doctor," you said when you realized she was done speaking, your voice perfectly polite, perfectly controlled. 

It felt like you were watching someone else speak.

You were nodding like you understood like you had a plan. Inside? You were screaming. Your thoughts were a mess, colliding into each other—Oh my God, what now, what the fuck are you going to do? So much more work just because you were stupid enough to wait.

Dr. Madison gave you this list—appointments to schedule, things you should and shouldn’t do, prenatal vitamins to pick up. She might as well have been speaking a different language for all you heard. 

You mumbled something that sounded like “thanks” as she handed you the prescription, barely glancing at the paper. 

“Is there really nothing I can do?”

You couldn't confide your plans to her, for obvious reasons.

“I can’t advocate for any illegal options, but I understand your concern. If you were just a week earlier, we could have discussed a simple outpatient procedure. However, now you’re facing a more complex situation.”

You never felt so frustrated in your life, “But I’m—I can get you anything. You don’t understand, I can pay—”

“Miss Thornton,” she interrupted, her voice firm yet sympathetic, “I know you’re not trying to bribe me right now. I need you to understand that legality and ethics come into play here. What you’re suggesting isn’t something I can support or even discuss further. We have to work within the framework of the law.”

You bit your tongue, resisting the temptation to lash out at her.

“So that’s it, then? I’m just supposed to accept that I’m stuck with this?”

“There are still options we can explore together. We can discuss what’s next in terms of prenatal care, adoption, or even resources that might help you if you choose to carry the pregnancy to term. But I can’t ignore the fact that you’re beyond the legal limit for a straightforward abortion.”

You blinked rapidly, “Adoption?”

The idea of keeping the baby made your stomach bend into a different shape, but that alternative felt just as wrong.

She looked at you with genuine empathy.

“I understand that this is overwhelming. The decision is ultimately yours, but I need to emphasize that time is of the essence, and the choices you make today will have lasting implications.”

Then she was gone, leaving you alone in that sterile room with your head spinning.

You couldn’t even fucking remember the last time you felt normal. Now, you were staring down the barrel of a pregnancy you didn’t even know was this far along. The doctor’s speech about vitamins, checkups, and avoiding alcohol bounced off around in your head.

You swallowed down the nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness, grabbed your purse, and walked out like nothing had just changed. 

You shoved the papers into your purse without a second thought, your mind already screaming to get out, to run, to go somewhere.

Anywhere but here.

As you walked out into the waiting area, you spotted a mother with her toddler, the kid giggling and playing with his toys. Would your baby be that happy? Would they giggle like that?

No, no, you couldn’t go there.

Your fingers were numb as they fumbled for your keys, and you somehow managed to get into the Rover.

The second the door slammed shut, the tears you’d been restraining started to fall.

All you could think about was getting far, far away from here, somewhere no one would recognize you, where people didn’t know your last name or expect you to show up to some debutante ball with a well-behaved husband, a kid on each arm, perfectly polished.

"Fuck..." you whispered through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut like maybe that could make it stop. But it didn’t. Your whole body was trembling, hands shaking so hard you couldn't hold the wheel right.

You leaned your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to catch your breath.

Thirteen weeks.

You couldn’t stay here, in this parking lot. You needed to go somewhere safe, somewhere that made sense. You needed them.

Without really thinking, you turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the lot. 

You didn’t even know where you were going at first, your body knew, the same familiar route you’d taken too many times. You didn’t realize where you were going at first, but once you passed the last stoplight before the cemetery, it hit you.

You parked haphazardly, not caring if your car was straight or if anyone saw. This was the only place you could think of. The only place that wasn’t ruined by all the mess in your life. 

Your parents. Your sister.

Their graves were tucked away in the back corner, under the big oak tree that had been there for as long as you could remember. You parked the car and got out, the ground crunching under your feet as you made your way to them. 

You sank to your knees in front of their headstones, your fingers brushing against the cool marble as if touching them could somehow make them feel closer. They’d been gone for five years, and no matter how many times you came here, that fact never got easier to swallow.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, stopping to bite down on your bottom lip hard to keep from completely breaking down. “I’m so... I’m so fucking lost.”

The wind rustled the leaves above you, and for a second, you wished it would just take you away too. Make everything disappear.

“I’m pregnant.” You spit the words out, voice cracking, like admitting it was burning your throat. “Thirteen weeks,” you added, saying it out loud for the first time. Your hands curled into fists, fingers digging into the grass.

The tears came back, harder this time, and you bent forward, clutching your stomach, forehead pressing into the ground as if you could just bury yourself there. 

“I can’t—I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your voice broke completely, turning into a sob that you couldn’t stop. You were crying so hard you couldn’t even breathe, gasping, like you were drowning in it. 

“Why aren’t you here?” you cried, “Why did you leave me? Why did you—” but the words caught in your throat, turning into another round of weeping.

You stayed for a long time, curled up on the ground, crying so hard it hurt, until the tears finally slowed, until you felt empty, drained.

Afterwards, you sat back, wiping at your swollen eyes with the back of your hand.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, this time softer, “And I can’t... I can’t tell him. He’s with her, and I—I just can’t.”

You sniffed, cleaning your nose with your sleeve, feeling ridiculous and broken all at once.

Your breath hitched again as you forced yourself to stand up, even though every part of you wanted to collapse back onto the ground. 

They were gone, it was just you. Alone. You think that’s why there was this tiny persistent voice in the back of your brain whispering things you weren’t ready to hear.

This was a chance, wasn’t it? To finally have someone again, someone you didn’t have to say goodbye to.

The second the thought crossed your mind, you felt a gush of panic, a nauseating conviction that you were nowhere near capable of raising a child. You barely remembered to take care of yourself, so how could you possibly take care of a baby?

It felt so fucked up to you, to think this could be a “fresh start” or something like it—no, you weren’t naïve enough to believe that. Not when you’d barely coped to get through the last five years.

You remembered the doctor’s voice, factual, mentioning adoption.

Carrying this baby only to hand it over to someone else—someone who might be better equipped—Could you do that? Carry a piece of your family’s future, only to give it away? It felt wrong.

You were halfway to your car, still wiping the tears from your face, when you heard someone call your name.

“Hey... Is that you?”

You froze. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone, especially now. Not here, not like this.

Turning slowly, you saw her — Sarah Cameron, Rafe’s sister — standing by her mom’s grave.

She was holding a bouquet of wildflowers, brown eyes narrowing as she took you in. She looked like she'd been here a while, but the moment she saw your state, she dropped what she came here to do.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked, her voice rising with worry.

Her eyes, so different from Rafe’s, scanned over you, taking in your bloodshot eyes, the messy hair, the way your clothes were dirty from sitting on the ground too long. 

You hadn’t taken sides when her and Topper split up; you’d just known, deep down, that they weren’t right for each other. He had this stubborn, idealized version of her that she could never live up to, and that had been the beginning of the end.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tell her you were fine, that you didn’t need her sympathy right now. Instead, you just stood there like a fucking idiot, eyes wide, as Sarah dropped the flowers and rushed to your side.

“Hey, hey,” she panicked, as if she was talking to a wounded animal. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Sarah touched your arm gently, and that’s when it hit you, the fear, the panic, the loneliness — it overwhelmed you.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding on tight.

You didn’t even care how desperate it looked, how messed up you were right now. You just needed someone.

She froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then she softened, her arms wrapping around you tightly. She was warm, solid, and so there, and the moment she hugged you back, the floodgates opened for the millionth time that week.

You started crying again, silent but hard, your face buried in her shoulder as your whole body shook.

Sarah didn’t say anything; didn’t ask questions, just focused on holding you tighter, her hand smoothing over your back like she was trying to calm you down. The kindness of it, the warmth,you hadn’t grasped how much you needed it until right now.

“Shh, it’s okay,” her voice was soothing. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You hadn’t seen her in months — not since everything went down with her and Rafe after Ward died.

The whole family had fallen apart after that.

Sarah had cut ties again, another fallout with Rafe. Things between them were always like a ticking time bomb, and Ward’s death had blown everything wide open. You knew they hadn’t been on speaking terms since.

It made this moment even weirder, seeing her here, of all places. She looked different, too, she was carrying her grief, her pain, that wild spark in her eyes a little more dim than you remembered.

As you pulled away from the hug, you blinked through the tears, and her face came back into focus. She was still looking at you, her brows knitted with worry, the wildflowers she’d brought for her mom now forgotten on the ground behind her. 

She looked like she was about to ask a million questions, but she was waiting for you to speak first.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you finally said something, trying to wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. It was a lame thing to say, but you couldn’t find any better words.

Sarah gave a small, sad smile, shrugging a little. 

“Yeah, I just… I come here sometimes. To see my mom.” Her voice was quieter than usual, and you could hear the strain behind it, “I guess I needed it today.”

You understood the feeling all too well.

You both stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and you could tell she was dying to ask why you were here. Why you looked like you’d just been rolling around in the dirt. 

Instead, she said, “You okay? I mean, really?”

In some weird way, you’d always thought you’d be able to keep this part of yourself locked away, hidden and safe where no one could see it

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, the lie slipping out too easily. “Just… rough day, you know?” Your voice was hoarse, still shaky from the crying.

Sarah frowned, not convinced. She stepped closer, her hand hovering near your arm like she wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if you’d let her.

"You sure? You don’t look fine."

You forced a smile, “Yeah, I’m good. Just needed some air. It’s been a lot.” You didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to unload everything. 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping just a little. 

“Okay. But… you know if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here, right?”

You blinked, not really sure how to answer to that, nodding away, hoping she’d drop it.

“I know I was just Rafe’s little sister,” she continued with pursed lips, “but you’ve always been like a big sister to me. Okay? Him being an asshole to both of us doesn’t change that. Ever.”

You could see she meant it. This wasn’t just some passing offer out of pity, Sarah was genuinely worried, wanting to be there for you.

You just nodded dumbly.

Sarah smiled softly with that same old Cameron determination. “Seriously. Whatever’s going on, I’m here.”

You stepped back, breaking the small bubble of comfort, you didn’t even realize you’d let her create.

“I should probably go,” you awkwardly muttered, brushing your hair out of your face and trying to straighten out your hoodie like that could somehow make you seem more put together. “But thanks, Sarah. Really.”

She just watched you with that worried look still across her face, but then she nodded. “Anytime.”

You turned to leave, feeling her eyes on your back as you walked away, your steps slow on the grass.

The loneliness had been suffocating, and even though you didn’t tell her anything, just hearing Sarah say she was there, that she still saw you as family—it meant more than you wanted to admit.

It wasn’t like anything was magically better.

You used to think this island would keep you safe forever, that it was big enough to hold your problems. 

Now, it felt like it was shrinking around you.

You were curled up on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees.

You’d googled “abortion options United States,” expecting answers, but all you found were long lists of restrictions, rules, states drawing hard lines.

You already knew that in North Carolina, you were already past the point of no return. So you kept digging, checking every single state until you found one, a random thread on some forum, that talked about New Mexico.

No restrictions on timing.

You scrolled, following link after link, getting deep into some Reddit threads, reading accounts from women who’d done it, who’d had to pack up their whole lives, fly out, handle everything on their own.

No one to tell, just a flight, a few days’ stay in a place that looked nothing like home, just to try and get back to normal. The whole time you were reading, this weird sense of relief and fear entwined in your gut. 

So you can get out of this.

By the time you shut your laptop, your head was pounding but at least you had something that felt like a plan.

The next morning, you woke up before the sun, tossing on yesterday’s clothes and brushing your hair as best you could with one hand. You scrolled through the numbers you’d scribbled down last night and dialed the first one.

You had to it straight away, without a chance of backing out. So you closed your eyes with all your might and hit call.

A woman’s voice picked up on the fourth ring.

“Women’s Health Center, this is Amanda. How can I help you?”

You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal. Like you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“Hi. Um, I’m calling to see about scheduling… an appointment. I’m about thirteen weeks.”

“We do have availability. Our next spot is ten days from now.”

Ten days. Shit. Could you wait that long, or was that too soon? Shouldn't you think about it some more?

Maybe you needed more time.

Or maybe you shouldn’t be doing this at all.

You were already running through a hundred different what-ifs, a panicked mental list of everything you hadn’t thought through.

“Is that… is that the soonest?” You surprised yourself by asking.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could hear the kindness in Amanda’s voice.

“Yes, it’s our first available spot for a procedure beyond twelve weeks,” she informed you, “We’d also want to complete a few assessments with you, along with some necessary paperwork and counseling. I can walk you through everything if that helps.”

You nodded automatically, realizing a second too late she couldn’t see you. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I’ll go over a few things with you, so you’re prepared. Do you have a pen handy?”

You grabbed a random envelope and pen from the countertop, jotting down every detail.

“You’ll need a form of ID, proof of residency—we’re required to check for that. Some basic insurance information if you have it. You’ll also have some health assessments here when you arrive, mostly standard but including a psychological evaluation just to ensure everything’s covered from a health perspective.”

It was all just words, logistics. You weren't exactly processing the information, just robotically writing it down.

“There’s also a mandatory counseling session we’ll need to go through. In case you have questions, or concerns. This will all be confidential, but it’s for your safety, both physically and emotionally.”

“Right,” you said, just to say something. You didn’t know if you even wanted to talk about it, not with her or anyone. You just wanted this to be over with.

“The procedure itself is straightforward, but it’s still a surgery. It’ll last anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes, with a little more time afterward for recovery. We’ll go over any complications with you once you’re here—risk of infection, bleeding, discomfort. We make sure you’re clear on what to expect before anything happens.”

You forced yourself to nod, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “Got it. I’ll—yeah, I’ll get the paperwork together.”

"Just one last thing," Amanda added, "Given the nature of the procedure, we ask that you bring a companion along, someone to stay with you. They don’t have to be in the room, of course, but they’ll need to be present to help you get back safely after."

Your hand stopped. A companion?

"What?"

The small sense of peace was gone in a heartbeat.

You wanted to tell her that it would be fine, you’d figure it out, because, rationally speaking, who could you ask or who would you even trust with this?

"It's a requirement,” Amanda clarified, “For your safety. You’ll need someone there with you. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Right. So, like… a friend? Or…” You trailed off, trying to hide the fear overcoming your senses.

“Exactly,” she said. “A friend, a family member—just someone you’re comfortable with. It’s standard procedure for anything this involved.”

A friend. Family. Someone who could sit in that waiting room and just… know everything. You didn’t even have anyone who could know you were pregnant, let alone be with you for this. 

“The total will be around $3,500, which we typically split into a down payment and a final balance due at the time of the procedure. We can take payment in cash, card, or even a wire transfer if you need that flexibility. We’ll also require a 20% deposit to hold your spot, which you can pay over the phone now or through our secure online portal.”

You glanced at the envelope where you’d jotted down notes, biting your lip as you stared at the numbers. “Right, um, yeah, I can do the deposit now.”

“That’s perfect. One moment, please.” There was a click as she transferred you, and while you waited, you blinked down at the deposit amount. 

Seven hundred, you thought. Seven hundred dollars just to hold a place. It was nothing to you and yet it felt monumental.

A robotic voice greeted you, and you keyed in the card information, watching the screen as it processed. The payment cleared, and you felt the strangest sense of finality.

It was real, stamped and sealed.

Amanda returned to the line, “Thank you for taking care of that. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

“No, that's all. Thank you."

“Of course. We’ll see you in ten days.”

Now you were at this god for saken country club brunch. Why you even came, you had no idea.

Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to feel normal. 

You were trying so hard to look casual, like you hadn’t just been on the phone with a stranger, scheduling the most personal appointment of your life.

Thankfully, Ruthie had canceled last minute — some emergency with your cousin, no doubt. Small miracles. The last thing you needed was her crazy ass analyzing everything you did.

The spread of food on the table looked like a minefield of smells.

Just the sight of the eggs benedict made you want to hurl on your seat, and the fruity smell of the mimosas wafting through the air was…torture.

You’d kill for a sip, maybe even two. 

You were watching the sunlight catch on the bubbles, sparkling like they were tauting you. The craving was there, whispering thoughts that felt equal parts impossible and unavoidable. The idea hovered, tempting you with a cruel promise.

A few mimosas could maybe make this go away, couldn't it? Maybe you’d get lucky and this nightmare would just end on its own.

But the thought made you sick.

You could almost feel it, this new life clinging to you, sticking around no matter how much you wished it’d leave. There was some echo of a moral sense—some annoying, reasonable, voice within your head that wouldn’t let you grab the damn mimosa even though your fingers were twitching for it.

What was the problem if you were getting rid of it anyway?

You forced yourself to look away from the mimosas, knowing that just one glass might make you feel something—anything—other than this sick dread.

With an effort, you forced yourself to say, “Water, please.”

Of course, the universe just had to have its laugh, because the one bringing it wasn’t just any waiter.

It was Sofia. 

How come everyone got a break from shitty things happening to them, and you didn’t?

You must’ve been really awful in your past life.

Perhaps you were one of those medieval villains who ordered people to be drawn and quartered, or some spoiled empress tossing servants into dungeons for looking at you wrong.

How else could you explain it? Life kept pilling more shit on top of you. Or maybe it was less about karma and more about some fucked up endurance test. You were still here.

Rafe’s latest… girlfriend? Hookup? Whatever the hell they were, she had that title, and now she was in front of you, all fresh-faced, her apron hugging her like she’d just walked out of some pinterest brunch board.

Her hair was pulled back in this cute little bun, and her face held that perfectly innocent smile that made you want to scream.

She was practically glowing. 

Her skin had that effortless, sun-kissed warmth like she’d just gotten back from the Maldives or something. Not a shadow under her eyes, not a single stray hair — just this easy, perfect beauty that looked even more surreal under the soft morning sunlight.

It was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, you felt like a mess. Dark circles, a slight breakout on your chin, and an overall look of someone who hadn’t slept in… weeks? or was it months?

The last good night before nausea became a part of your daily life, and the constant anxiety kept you up at all hours, staring at the ceiling and wishing it’d all just disappear.

And here she was, gliding around like she was untouched by anything so messy, so…human.

You glanced down at your outfit, the pristine, tailored Miu Miu set from the new collection —the cropped blazer was light and airy, perfectly cinched at the waist, with sleeves just long enough to make it feel sophisticated but breezy, paired with a sleek, high-waisted mini skirt, the whole ensemble skimmed your frame effortlessly, made just for you.

You knew you looked expensive, the kind of look people envied, even if they’d never admit it. 

Every stitch, every button on this outfit screamed privilege and class, and yet here you were feeling like some tragic, half-dead version of the old you.

Why the fuck were you even comparing yourself to her? She was still a pogue, for god’s sake.

Rafe’s latest toy or project or whatever, you had no business even wasting brain cells on her. So what if she looked a little too chipper, too perfect? 

She wasn’t worth the mental energy.

Just as you forced yourself to refocus, Sofia reappeared, setting a glass of water in front of you with that same innocent, syrupy smile.

“Here’s your water,” she chirped.

You hated that sound. 

She didn't look or sound in-your-face or territorial, more salt on an open wound.

Just hours ago, you were piecing together plans to get rid of the very thing that tied you to Rafe, and now here she was. 

You gave the glass a pointed look and then raised your eyes to meet hers. “I asked with ice.”

No, you didn’t.

You were supposed to be above this kind of petty bullshit, weren’t you? But the bitterness rooted in your gut like the mimosas you wanted so desperately.

“Oh?” Her face froze, that little smile twitching just a bit. “You did? I must’ve heard wrong. I’ll be right back with it.” She looked genuinely flustered as she turned to head back to the bar, her apron fluttering behind her. 

You caught yourself feeling the tiniest bit pathetic.

An unspoken vendetta against the girl serving water? Really? You almost felt a little ridiculous… almost.

“Oh, beautiful girl!”

It was Mrs. Aldridge, an old friend of your mother’s, all pearls and Chanel, her wrinkled hands wrapped around her mimosa.

“How’s your darling Rafe? I haven’t seen you two in ages!”

Instead of thinking better about it, your eyes slid over to Sofia.

She was setting the glass down, her face draining of color, frozen mid-action like a deer caught in headlights. It was almost too perfect.

You were gonna have fun with this, putting on your best sympathetic casually as if you’d had this conversation a hundred times. 

“Oh, we’re not together anymore,” you said, tone dripping with faux sweetness as you nodded in Sofia’s direction. “She is.”

Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes widened, almost bulging out of her head as she followed your gaze, putting two and two together with the slow, scandalized horror that only old-money kooks could manage.

You could hear her brain struggling to comprehend the fact that Rafe Cameron was now involved with the server.

The other women at the table leaned in, whispering behind manicured hands and designer sunglasses, eyebrows shooting up as they stole obvious glances at Sofia.

She was still standing there, stunned, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something. You half-expected her to look annoyed, maybe give you the scathing glare you’d be giving her all morning.

Instead she looked like she wanted to disappear into the woodwork.

“Oh dear…” Mrs. Aldridge’s voice trailed off, her eyes scanning her from head to toe with the kind of judgmental precision only years of country club experience could bring.

She cleared her throat as if she could somehow undo the fact that the help had captured Rafe Cameron’s attention.

“I suppose he’s… rebelling, then?” Another old lady muttered, eyebrows raised in suspicion, already delighted by the gossip forming on her tongue.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Who knows? That’s Rafe for you.” 

You took a sip of your water, feeling satisfied as murmurs spread across the table, surprise and judgment all directed squarely at Rafe and Sofia, who looked like she might faint on the spot.

You couldn’t lie — it was the most fun you’d had in weeks.

“Such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Aldridge mused, her gaze fixed on Sofia, who was now engaging another table with her bubbly personality. “But bless her heart, she doesn’t quite belong here.”

“Definitely not,” you clicked your tongue, allowing the disdain to seep into your voice, even as a small part of you felt like a spineless bitch for feeding her to the sharks.

“New money, if you ask me. I can’t take them seriously. Remember when Ward was just a pogue with big dreams, trying to make a name for himself.”

You saw her again, just a gimplse of her still taking orders with that big grin, still doing her job.

This was exactly what you’d wanted, right?

To see her squirm in her hand-me-down shoes, to show her the world she’d trespassed on wasn’t as welcoming as she might have believed.

But your conscience decided to make an apperance, one more time, slipping in with a knowing sigh. You wanted to hurt Rafe, not her.

This was cruelty, plain and simple, the girl was only trying to survive.

She was dealing with these judgmental eyes and assumptions, probably used to being reminded that she didn’t belong, that she didn’t measure up, and you were sinking to that same level of entitlement and superiority.

The satisfaction wasn’t as sweet as you’d thought it would be. Dragging her into it was cheap, easy, like pushing someone off balance simply because they happened to be standing there.

You forced a giggle to match the others, playing the charade, but inside, something started to feel uncomfortable. You knew what it was like to be scrutinized, to have them pick you apart, to whisper behind your back.

You remembered how much it hurt.

To these people, you were only steps away from that same old judgment. If they knew about the appointment...their conservatives asses would ruin your reputation.

They’d tear into you in the same way, a scandal spread in manicured lawns and private golf courses.

Mrs. Aldridge leaned in conspiratorially, her aged perfume filling the air. “If he truly cared for her, he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself like this.” She sighed, looking at you like she expected you to agree.

You took a breath, one that felt painful, because were you really about to do this shit?

“It’s Rafe’s life,” you replied, shrugging. “Maybe she makes him happy. Who knows?”

The table quieted, a few eyebrows raised, flabbergasted that you hadn’t indulged in more snide remarks. At the end of the day, the life you wanted — it wasn’t this.

Maybe it was time to let some of it go.

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[cybersunnie]

rock-a-bye baby

RAFE CAMERON helps his drunk stepsister get ready for bed.

includes 18+ MDNI / DUBCON / STEPCEST / fem!drunk!reader / unprotected sex (pull out method) / rafe being an unreliable narrator / emotional manipulation / misogynistic undertones / wc 1.9k this is a work of fiction. the behaviors depicted do not reflect my personal beliefs, nor do i endorse or condone such behavior in real life.

Rafe hated that you were his stepsister. 

A little over two years ago, you and your mom moved into his home, and because you all lived under the same roof, that made you family. Bullshit. What you were was an extra mouth to feed. A new problem he didn’t want.

And now, with your arm thrown over his shoulders, Rafe was forced to help you up the stairs. 

A party was thrown at the Boneyard, and you clearly had too much to drink. He wasn’t exactly sober either, but you were slurring your words and couldn’t walk straight to save your life. A part of him wondered if you were playing it up. While he was tempted to leave you behind as not to deal with you, he knew his dad would be pissed if he had, and his dad already disliked him enough.

Eventually, the two of you made it to your room, and you fell face-first to your bed, nuzzling into your warm sheets. Rafe scoffed, a hand running down his face as he turned to leave, but you stopped him.

“Rafe,” your muffled voice called out.

He looked at you and saw you hadn’t moved a muscle. “What?”

You raised an arm. “Clothes.”

“What fucking clothes?”

When he failed to read your mind, a groan left your lips, and you rolled onto your back, a frown tugging your features. 

Oh, he would do anything to wipe that off your face. 

You squinted and then pointed at the clothes dresser behind him. “Nightgown. Top left drawer,” you ordered, the words strung together. Rafe couldn’t believe you were bossing him around. When he didn’t move, you pouted, “Please?”

Spoiled brat. 

But because he was a good stepbrother, he bit back his snippy comments and went to retrieve your nightgown. As he opened the designated drawer, his eyes were immediately drawn to your lace panties. You must have forgotten that those were with your collection of nightgowns. He cocked a brow and picked one up, the fabric soft between his fingers. Who the fuck were you wearing these for? A little boyfriend he didn’t know about? 

Rafe looked over his shoulder, and while you were preoccupied counting how many fingers you had on each hand, he slid it into his pocket. He didn’t know why he did it. An act on pure impulse, he supposed. You wouldn’t notice if one went missing, right? 

He cleared his throat and grabbed a nightgown, tossing it to you. 

“Nice panties,” he commented, maybe a little too casually.

Once you processed his words, a smirk tugged on his lips. You wore a scowl, but he knew you were embarrassed. 

You huffed. “Shut up. You’re so weird.”

Before he could say anything more, you started taking off your shirt. 

Everything within Rafe told him that that was his cue to leave, but his feet were glued to the ground. You didn’t ask him to go. Maybe you still needed him there. Maybe you wanted him to watch. That must be it. You wanted him to see what you were hiding under those clothes. 

After some struggle, you pulled your shirt over your head, movements sluggish. His eyes traced the length of your shoulders, then lingered on your tits for a second too long. Even if he was your stepbrother, he was still a man. And a man had the right to admire the female body. Surely, you would understand.

“You can go now, y’know?” 

His gaze snapped to your face. You looked confused, wary. Fuck, what was he doing? He should leave like you said. No, he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Rafe found himself closing your bedroom door. He turned the lock. Click. “Nah, I’m gonna help you get ready for bed.” 

There was a long pause. “I don’t need help.”

“Cut the shit. You can’t even walk without tripping over yourself.” Rafe walked towards your bed, crouching once he was in front of you. He placed a hand on your knee. “C’mon, just let your big brother help, hm?”

He could see the gears in your mind starting to turn, but you must have ignored it because you said, “You’re barely a year older than me.”

Rafe hummed, unfazed. 

The hand on your knee lifted to the button of your shorts. “Let’s take this shit off,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your face. You were just watching. 

When he unbuttoned and unzipped it, you moved, putting on your nightgown. Poor thing. Were you getting shy? Did you not want him to see you in just your lingerie? His fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts and gave a light tug. Not needing further instruction, you stood up, and he pulled it down your legs, fighting back a grin.

Too fucking easy.

As you stepped out of your shorts, a hand on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, Rafe stared up at you. The nightgown you wore was white and silky and stopped above your knees. He itched to push them up. Luckily, he didn’t have to do a thing. You raised the silk fabric just enough to allow you to remove your bra, and his gaze dropped to where your breasts were, your nipples hardening underneath. His lips parted, and he sank to his knees.

“Rafe, what’re you doing?” you asked, your eyes still hazy from the alcohol you drank.

Only then did he realize that his hands snuck up your nightgown, fingers gripping your thighs. He was mortified. Not because of what he was doing but rather at the thought you would reject him completely.

He loosened his hold on you. “I’m just, uh, testing the waters.” 

A crease formed between your brows. “What?”

“I’m testing—” his hands slid further up, “—the waters.”

And then Rafe paused. He waited for a reaction from you. For you to slap him. Curse him out. Anything. But it never came. 

Instead, you reached down to pry his hands off you. “Stop, what—? I don’t understand.”

“I do.” He held you tighter, closer, his chin hitting your abdomen as he stared at you, eyes wide and frantic. You pushed his head, though your attempt was weak. “You want this. You want me.”

You stilled. There was a look that loomed over your eyes. Fear. Fear because he was right. No matter how forbidden it was. How fucked it was. You wanted him. You wouldn’t admit that to yourself, but he knew that to be true. He just needed to find proof to help you realize. So, Rafe pushed up your nightgown and worked to spread your legs apart. And there it was, your cotton panties clinging to your already weeping cunt. 

“I fucking knew it,” he whispered, and his thumb hovered over your clothed pussy. “Shit, you’re so wet.” 

You shoved his hand away and squeezed your thighs shut. He watched your gaze dart around your room as if the walls were closing in. You looked overwhelmed—ashamed that you had been caught wanting him the same way he wanted you. No, he couldn’t have that. 

He stood up, hands reaching for your face. “Hey, hey, you’re good,” he soothed, searching for your eyes, your cheeks hot under his palms. 

Finally, you looked at him. “Rafe, I—”

“You trust me, right?” He gestured to himself, fingers tapping his chest. “Right?”

You shook your head. “Yes, but we can’t—”

He shushed you, your name a whisper. “We can. We just gotta be lowkey ‘bout it, yeah?”

You looked torn, your morals pulling you one way and your desires another. But Rafe had you stretched thin, and you caved in like he knew you would. “Right, yeah.”

A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, your cheeks smushed between his hands, “gonna make you feel so good.”

Then he leaned in, his nose nudging yours. You didn’t pull away. He took that as an invitation and kissed you. The first was fleeting, lips brushing, barely there. You still didn’t pull away. After that, he didn’t hold back. He licked into your mouth, hungry. You tasted like the beer you got drunk on, and now he was getting drunk on you. For something considered so vile, he never felt more alive. If this sin were his doom, he would die a happy man.

Rafe was the first to part. “Turn ‘round.” You did as you were told. He placed a hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back. “Bend over for me. That’s it, fuck, look at you.”

He had envisioned you like this before, but seeing it with his own eyes made his cock stir. With a suppressed groan, he folded over you, his chest pressed against your back, trapping you between him and your mattress. “Gonna make this quick, don’t worry.” His hand slid between the two bodies, working to get his shorts off. “Wouldn’t want us getting caught.”

He felt you nod. You didn’t resist. 

Everything after that blurred together. Movements rushed and jittery and fueled by unadulterated lust.

Rafe had your nightgown flipped over your ass and your panties down at your ankles, his hips rutting into you. He had to clamp his hand over your mouth to mute your whines, one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself, but he wasn’t. Not one bit. He was right where he wanted to be, buried deep in your warm, wet pussy. And you wanted this, too. He knew you did, despite the glazed look in your eyes. You were just lost in the pleasure of it all. 

“Takin’ this dick so well,” he breathed into your ear, his thrusts growing desperate. “Shit, gonna make sure you don’t need anyone else. Just me. That sounds nice, huh?” 

His mindless murmurs went unanswered. 

You blinked once. Twice. You whimpered into his palm. 

That was enough for him.

It was better you stayed quiet, anyway. You wouldn’t want everyone in Tannyhill to know how much of a slut you were, letting your stepbrother fuck you like this. Rafe would hate for that to happen to you. 

When your cunt fluttered around his cock, he stifled a moan and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. He wasn’t going to last much longer. But he was keeping his word—he would make this quick. His hips stuttered against your ass, chasing his release, wishing he could just cum in your tight pussy with no risk of you getting pregnant. 

With one last thrust, he pulled out, stroking his cock until he came, painting your ass with his cum. 

He panted, his chest rising and falling. Satisfied, he stuffed his softening dick back into his boxers and put on his shorts, making sure the lace panty he took was still in his pocket. Slowly, you lifted your head off your bed and tried to push yourself up, your arms trembling. 

“Don’t, alright?” Rafe leaned over you, his hand brushing back the strands of hair stuck to your face. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you.”

There wasn’t much fight left in you. Not when you were drunk and all fucked out. So when your eyes found him, you dropped back to the mattress, nodding. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek then kissed your temple. And Rafe did as promised. He cleaned you up, helped you brush your teeth, and tucked you into bed. 

Like a good stepbrother would.

sunnie speaks! stepbro!rafe lacks sooo much self-awareness its crazy. also literally the filthiest thing i ever wrote. but i hope you freaks found how fucked up he is interesting to read?? i guess??? — remember, this is a work of fiction! let's chat about stepbro!rafe

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

coming home

synopsis : you sleep over at katsuki’s place after a night out with your friends. it’s more convenient that way.

an. wrote something rq after seeing the epilogue chapter and pheeewieeeee,,my boyfriend..sigh my boyfriend oh my boyfriend ouggh

cw. nothin really, just a lil casual domesticity w katsu :3, katsuki is fine ASL, reader n katsuki shower together so nakedness they nakey, lmk if there's anything else !!

you’ve noticed katsuki looks very good when he’s the designated driver.

he looks so natural behind the wheel, arms slightly flexed and gripping the steering wheel. his face serene but slightly tensed in concentration, occasionally scoffing to himself whenever someone in front of him drives too slow or cuts him off.

the lamp posts outside reflect nicely on his jaw, his nose and sharp eyes. his whole face really, you can’t stop sneaking glances at him.

he takes the opportunity to place his hand on your thigh once you get to a stop light, giving it a light squeeze. it feels heavy, relaxed, like your thigh just conveniently happens to be there for him to use as an armrest.

another squeeze and katsuki speaks, eyes never leaving the road, the stop light shines the same color as them.

“what’re ya peekin’ at me for, huh ?”

you’ve clearly not been sneaky enough, but you hum anyway. “whaddya mean ?” you ask innocently, your boyfriend scoffs.

a pinch to your thigh and he laughs when you whine. “know you’re not dumb, so quiet actin’ like you are. you got somethin’ on your mind, say it.”

you pout at him, he catches it when he glances at you briefly and smirks, katsuki pats your thigh.

“i was jus’ lookin at you, you look nice.”

he hums at that, smirk growing wider, he nods lightly “nice, huh ?”

“mhm,” you nod “really nice..” you clarify, making a point to look him up and down. he snorts, but his grip on your thigh does a bad job at making him look unbothered.

“know you’re obsessed with me, but you could at least try to act like you’re not.” he teases, hands going back to the steering wheel when the lights on his face shine green. the slight furrow in his brows immediately returns when the car in front of him doesn’t immediately pick up the pace. his fingers drum against the wheel impatiently.

“you got somewhere you need to be or something ?” you giggle.

“yeah, home. in bed.” he quips, always as easily irritable when he was sleepy and not to mention just a bit tipsy. kaminari had managed to get him to drink a little bit more than he usually would but the electric blond got too drunk to notice you’re boyfriend babysitting his drink the entire night. he always insisted on being the driver when it came to his precious baby.

you know he’s never liked to drink much, but you also think katsuki doesn’t so as to not demolish his so called 'reputation'. you and a handful of friends know how needy and emotional he gets when he gets drunk. he acts like everyone is after him when he’s reminded of the fact.

when things had started to die down and everyone slowly but surely started heading home, katsuki leant in near you to ask if you were ready to head out. he was the one that insisted on picking you up from your place since you were on the way to the restaurant, it was more convenient that way he'd said.

but suddenly, he’d suggested you just sleep over at his house for the night. his was closer if he took a shortcut, and it was already getting late. besides, you had left plenty of your stuff at his house. it was just “less of a pain” that way, he’d claimed, and you agreed.

katsuki places his arms behinds your chair to carefully back up into a parking spot. a lucky find, since it was so late at night. but that was hardly something you could focus on when he leant in so close, jaw tight in concentration. he smells just a bit like alcohol mixed with his usual scent.

you’d been together for years now, and yet this still makes your heart hammer, you’d blame it on the slight buzz of alcohol in your system if it wasn’t for the fact that this has always been how you’d reacted before—from the day he’d gotten his license and took you for a test drive to show off.

as the car slows to stop and the engine dies down with a low growl, katsuki turns on the lights and sighs, plopping down onto his seat with a groan, you have to laugh at how he acts like he’d just driven through a desert. he runs a hand through his hair and you notice katsuki looks extremely good when he’s the designated driver.

conveniently, you still have some sleepwear laying around at his house, neatly folded would be a better way to say it, katsuki was always a clean freak, not that it mattered much though since you knew you could just grab one of his shirts and call it a day and he wouldn’t mind at all. you think it shouldn't feel so natural to fish out a pair of your clothes from the drawer, like you'd been living here your entire life.

conveniently, katsuki has a spare toothbrush. he denies that he’d gotten it for you and tries to convince you that his specific toothbrush was sold in a pack of two and he was planning on keeping it for himself.

right, of course.

katsuki’s apartment has always had a cozy feel to you. probably because it was his and not just any old apartment. he just had this warmth to him that made it a home, one you could see yourself sharing with him. it’d be simple, natural. like breathing just to be with him.

you don’t particularly enjoy smelling like alcohol and outside, so you’re happy to sneak off to get to the bathroom first while your boyfriend gets himself a glass of water. until he catches you, of course. he almost chokes with how fast he zooms towards you, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“the fuck you think yer doin’ ?”

“katsuki, m’stinky and gross.”

“m’not gonna let you hog the bathroom in my house, get your own.” he stalks closer to you. he’s grown a lot since high school—in height, muscle, confidence and the list could go on, you stand your ground.

“you’re the one who brought me here, mister.” you shove an accusatory finger into his firm chest. he doesn’t budge, but he scowls down at your finger like you’d shot him and digs his finger into your side before you can stop him. you’re ready to cuss him out and fight if you have to, but to your surprise he sighs. looking off to the side.

“fine, we’ll just both go then.” he huffs, ears slightly tinted pink in the light of his living room.

oh.

“w—oh.” you breathe, immediately his eyes zip to you. his eyebrows furrow harder and his lip pulls up to hide the embarrassment growing on his face. “what ? s’that a problem or something ?”

“no, no !” you try to tone down the surprise in your voice, leaning against the wall to try and act casual. “i mean, no it’s not but—like, are you sure ?” and you feel like you’re sixteen again asking him if it was okay to kiss him.

“it’s more convenient that way. uses up less hot water so, it works out for me.”

“ah, right. bills.” you try to jest, managing to only huff awkwardly. your eyes flit to him and the floor and he scoffs after a minute. slowly, gently, he grabs your wrist. slowly, gently going towards your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“stop being dumb and weird.” he scolds, before pulling you inside the bathroom with him.

you realise, really realise, with your back against his chest, how warm your boyfriend is.

he's always run hot and it came in especially handy during the harsher winter months. but now it's not cold, it can't possibly be when it feels like he's damn near running a fever behind you.

hot water be damned, he'd be able to heat up an ice cold bath all by himself you think. perhaps he'd always been this scorching, but it's the extra proximity that's making you realise it.

despite scolding you earlier for making it weird, katsuki is incredibly stiff. he'd been stiff when he swiftly turned around the moment he decide the water was an alright temperature, mumbling something about telling him when you got in. he'd kept his eyes aimed diligently at the ceiling of his bathroom and almost slipped when he tried to reach for the corner of his bathtub. you tried to spare him the embarrassment of giggling at his mumbled, butt naked cursing.

he'd scooched in behind you and it took him about a minute to let himself relax enough to let your skin touch. despite it being more convenient for him like he'd claimed, his hands stayed glued to the edge of the bathtub. the grip he has seems a little much, you can see his knuckles almost turning white, but his arms strain and bulge that way and you won't say that's not nice to look at.

you decide to make the move. you sigh, feigning relaxation despite your heart pounding, only intensifying when katsuki holds his breath for a second behind you. you make yourself more comfortable, leaning against him more and woah, he's scalding. you almost want to pull back, but you feel yourself leaning a bit further as you realise he's moved back too. his back now touching the edge of the tub. he hisses when the undoubtebly cold edge hits his skin.

slowly, slowly, the grip on the tub relaxes, and he lets himself dip around. fingertips slowly floating around in the water until they came to run up your arms. your shoulders, and he sighs then, really sighs like he's comfortable. and then all is good in the world again.

he's somewhat used to it now, and it's normal, almost second nature how he leans his head forward to land in the crook of your shoulder. he nuzzles into it more when you lean to the side to give him more space. he shoves his head in deeper, nudging his head to yours harder because he knows the tips of his hair tickle. and of course, ever the nuiscance, does it again and again until it has you giggling softly in the quiet of his bathroom.

and you think you could honestly get used to it.

"'ve been thinkin'.." you hear him mumble against your skin. you let out a hum when he doesn't continue. "'bout what ?" you ask sleepily.

"..bout you moving in, with me." he pauses, you pause. and it's quiet. again.

"o-oh yeah ? where did that come from ?" you try to keep your voice as steady as possible. your heart races and you feel it so hard you think it ripples in the water. you feel katsuki lift his head up lightly in confusion, but his eyes still won't move towards you.

"ya had something else planned 'r somethin' ?"

"no, no ! i'd wanna, i'm super down !" you're a bit louder than you mean to be, voice a bit breathier and higher in pitch and it echoes against the walls of the bathroom. katsuki's fingers twitch where they rest on the edge of the bathtub again and he sighs.

"i just didn't expect you to um-pop the question.." you trail off, you immediately mentally smack yourself for the wordage you used, because now you can't stop thinking about marrying him. you wished you could sink further into the water but now you're a little too aware of the hot skin pressed behind you.

katsuki doesn't look at you, he leans back until he's staring at the ceiling. you can tell he's trying to make himself more comfortable with the way he stiffens in an effort not to move like he usually would when he'd pretend to be unbothered. it tells you that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about the same thing as you.

he sighs, and he finally looks at you then. voice poised and calm, but his eyebrows furrow and there's a slight pink on his cheeks.

"just..more convenient that way. you're already here all the time anyway." his rough voice cracks just slightly, the hints of doubt peeking through him. after letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you hum again.

"y-yeah--yeah.." you manage. katsuki clicks his tongue behind you.

"look, if you don't wanna-" your boyfriend gulps back his next words when you lean back against him once more. stiffening, before finally calming down again.

"i do, i wanna move in with you. truly." you lean your head back enough to comfortably look at him so he can see how serious you are. it seems to stun him a bit, eyes widened. his lips tremble like he wants to speak but can't. and since he can't, he composes himself (tries to at least) and nods, mostly to himself rather than you.

"good..good.." he mutters. you nod as well, turning back and closing your eyes to try and calm your beating heart, to fully relax.

"mhm, good."

and it's quiet again. only the sound of soft breaths and beating hearts remain. you can almost feel his heartbeat pressed against your back.

"how long have you been thinking about it--me moving in and all ?"

he hums from behind you, now that he's calmed down, his shoulders relax and he gets just a bit bolder, rubbing a thumb against the skin of your upper arm.

"does it matter ?"

"yes."

he grumbles, obviously embarrassed. " a while." is what he settles with "figured it was about time."

about time, huh ? you nod, the room overtaken by silence yet again. a comfortable, warm one you could get used to.

"'sides, i know how much you miss me when you leave."

you scoff, rolling your eyes. he's ruined the moment like his big mouth usually does.

"oh please, you're the one that keeps calling me back the moment i do leave." you shoot back, it's katsuki's turn to scoff now.

" yeah, sure. just admit you're obsessed with me, babe." he sasses.

"oh, babe you forgot your sweater at my place so come back and get it. what? no, i can't bring it back you forgot it so you come get iiit !" you put on a nasally deep voice, waving your arms around in the water dramatically.

"s-shut up, moron !" katsuki stutters, his abrupt movements of disbelief causing the water to ripple and spill over from the tub. "i don't sound like that--"

"oh babe, now that you're here i actually just remembered you forgot to gimme my 5th goodbye kiss on the way out--"

"yn.." he warns lowly.

oh yn, if i could, i'd spent my entire life makin' out with you cus i wuv you sooo much, bleh bleh muah muah-- !" your crude little kissy noises are interrupted by your boyfriend furiously flicking water into your face. you squeal loudly, shrieking trying to block the jet stream with your arms. you laugh loudly as he continues attacking you from all sides and you're sure by now half of the water he's used was most definitely on the floor, but you really couldn't care less.

and frankly, you could get used to this.

taglist.

@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

[eufezco]

LOGAN AS A GIRL DAD°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

just pure fluff with pregnant!reader and logan <3

BEFORE PREGNANCY

being a dad at his age was something logan never imagined. starting a family seemed so out of reach, after everything he’d lived, he never thought that dad was a title he deserved. but then laura came into your life, and it was hard for him because you were a natural, effortlessly knowing how to care for her.

bit by bit, he began to follow your lead, picking up your habit of checking on her before bed and tucking her in, keeping an eye on her plate and making sure she finished her veggie, checking on her when she played outside and even sitting through her favorite cartoons.

and as you watched him, you’d catch yourself wondering what it would be like to bring another little life into this family you were building. the idea of getting pregnant crossed your mind more than once, and you could see it flicker in his eyes too, like an unspoken thought that made its way between you.

—you ever thought of having kids? —he asked, quiet but serious.

you took a few seconds to think about his question. not that you needed them, you'd always wanted to have his kids, and having laura had changed things, deepened the bond between you and logan, and brought your maternal instinct back. she wasn’t your biological child, but in every other way, she was yours.

the thought of bringing up the idea of getting pregnant to logan felt selfish, especially when you knew how much he had already given and how tired he was, you knew that, so you kept your hopes to yourself, not wanting to ask for more than the peace you had found with him and laura.

—we have laura —. you answered.

—yeah, we do. but… that’s not what i’m talking about.

there was a few seconds of silence while he waited for your answer.

—yes, i've thought about it but—

—have you thought about it recently?

you nodded to his question, feeling guilty.

he slowly nodded back to you. —i've been thinking about it too.

DURING PREGNANCY

logan started helping caliban in the kitchen, something that surprised you at first because he had never been much of a cook. but the two of them would work together, preparing meals that were good for you and the baby. logan would quietly chop vegetables or stir a pot, taking caliban’s instructions (also surprising because he had not followed anyone's instructions in a long time) as they worked to make sure you had everything you needed to stay healthy.

he’d help you with things like showering when it became difficult for you to balance or reach certain places. his touch was always gentle, his movements careful, making sure you felt safe. it became an intimate routine, his fingers massaged your scalp with care.

every night he'd gently rub lotion on your growing belly, helping to care for the stretch marks that had started to appear. he knew how self-conscious they made you feel. he could see it in the way you’d glance at your reflection, letting out a frustrated huff each time you noticed a new one, how you’d try to hide it from him, or how you’d wrap yourself in a towel quickly after a shower. so he took his time applying the lotion with steady hands, his eyes focused as if making sure he was doing it right.

—another one? —you muttered, feeling the weight of it.

—doesn’t change a thing —. logan just shook his head, kneeling beside you. —it’s just a mark. i'm covered in marks, and you never cared, right?

laura sat close to you, her eyes focused on your belly as logan gently massaged your skin. she was waiting, as she always did, hoping to see her future sister move. each time logan’s hand smoothed over your growing bump, laura’s gaze would sharpen, her small body leaning forward saying come on, little sis, just one kick. sometimes she’d place her hand beside logan’s, her touch gentle but curious.

—is she going to move soon? —she’d ask in a hushed voice.

logan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. —she’s already kickin' when you’re not looking —. he teased lightly as he rubbed the cream over your stretch marks, carefully. laura’s eyes never left your belly, waiting for that one special moment.

and he'd give you foot massages, his calloused hands rubbing away the soreness from carrying extra weight. you’d close your eyes, sighing in relief, and he’d smile.

when your clothes stopped fitting, it was he who offered up his own. he’d hand over his t-shirts and flannels, which hung loose on you and smelled like him, making you feel him close to you even when he was away at work.

logan was a bit reluctant at first but when the doctor told him how important prenatal yoga was to you, he didn't have to think about it twice. he wanted to be there and help you in every way he could even though he felt a bit out of place among the soft music, peaceful atmosphere, and expectant mothers, but he never let it show.

he'd help you find comfort in each of the poses the instructor guided everyone. he was often the only man in the class, which certainly caught the attention of the other moms. perhaps they noticed the age gap between you and logan, but more likely, their attention was drawn to your undeniably handsome partner. some of them whispered to each other, half-jokingly expressing their jealousy at how lucky you were to have such a dedicated partner. you both noticed the glances but you were too focused on each other.

as the weeks went by, the mothers would often smile at him, offering you two the kindest words as they saw how attentive he was to your needs.

at the end of the class, logan leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand resting on your back. —you did great —. he murmured, his voice full of pride. as you started to gather your things, one of the mothers nearby smiled and said, you're a lucky girl.

you couldn’t help but blush a little. he gave a small, almost shy smirk in response but didn’t say anything. instead, he focused on helping you with your bag.

the moment you found out you were pregnant, he quit smoking. it was almost instinctive, he wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, and that included kicking the habit that had stuck with him for years.

and giving up cigarettes was one thing, but quitting drinking was way harder. there were nights he’d sit in the kitchen, staring at the bottle in the cabinet, knowing he could just reach for it. but he remembered you asleep in the other room, a hand resting protectively over your belly, and he’d push the thought away. he didn’t want his daughter growing up with memories of whiskey lingering on her father’s breath.

DURING LABOR

logan was more terrified than he'd ever let you know. he had faced, battles survived unimaginable pain, and lived through horrors but this was different. watching you in pain, knowing that your body was going through something so intense shook him to his core.

he stayed by your side, gripping your hand tightly and leaning in close, his voice encouraging you to push. he'd brush the damp strands of hair that were sticking to your face and press his forehead to yours.

when the baby’s first cry filled the room, logan sighed in relief, his grip on your hand softening as he finally allowed himself to breathe. once the doctors placed her on your chest, logan leaned in by your side, his eyes shining as he looked at you. you did so good, baby, thank you so much he murmured as he kissed your sweaty forehead and one of his fingers brushed across the baby’s little cheek.

AFTER PREGNANCY

at first, he was terrified every time he held her, his usually steady hands suddenly unsure. he was afraid that even his touch might be too much. she was so tiny, so soft and fragile, and her chest rose and fell so peacefully even though her small fingers wrapped around logan's thick ones with such strength. he found himself holding his breath whenever he picked her up.

in those first few days after labor, logan seemed to be everywhere at once. checking on the baby, bringing you food, making sure you were sleeping and laura wasn't trying to sneak into your room to see the baby. she was fascinated by her little sister, how could a human being be so small? laura often asked herself.

logan would catch her on her tiptoes, face with curiosity, and he’d stop her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. laura would pout, glancing past him with wide eyes, eager to get closer, but logan wasn’t having it.

you surprised him when you caught him slipping into a soft, almost comical baby voice whenever he spoke to his daughter. but it was completely unintentional, just something that happened whenever he looked down at her tiny face, her big eyes blinking up at him. oh, what’s that little face all about, huh? you got somethin’ to say, little one? he’d murmur, his voice high and gentle as he rubbed one of her cheeks.

logan never thought he’d find joy in something as simple as dressing up his little girl, but there he was, surrounded by tiny clothes, immersed in a world of pastels and patterns. the laughter that escaped his lips as he put together the outfits was genuine. alright, sweetheart, what do you think of this one? he would ask her, holding the little one in front of the mirror. the baby had no idea what was going on, but logan nodded, approving the outfit. he’d try on multiple outfits, taking photos, and sending them to you for your opinion. how about this for school? he’d text you, proudly. this one’s a bold choice, but i think you can pull it off, he’d tease, pretending to be a fashion critic.

leaving for work each day became one of the hardest things logan had to do. he hated those hours he spent apart from the three of you. and every night when he came home, the baby was already sleeping but he'd tiptoe over to the crib, and he'd place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. then he’d make his way to bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close against his chest. he’d nuzzle his head close, murmuring softly, you okay, darlin’? and though you’d only mumble a half-coherent answer, he’d still give a small, satisfied nod.

and when he gets out of work earlier, he comes home exhausted, and you can see it in his face, the tired lines around his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck, but despite that, he is never too tired to play with his baby girl.

as the baby grew, logan took on new challenges, like driving her to school each morning, packing her tiny backpack with her favorite snacks, and doing her hair. with dark brown locks just like laura's and his own, he gathered them into two little ponytails, a bit clumsy at first, his fingers were used to fighting and rough work, not delicate hairstyles.

laura, after seeing how much fun logan had with the little girl’s hair, wanted no less. she’d approach him, eyes bright with excitement. —can you do my hair too, logan?

—your mom can do it for you. she's much better at it than i am —. he answered, not sure if his hairdressing skills would meet the older girl's expectations.

—but i want you to do it!

logan huffed, ruffling her hair with his free hand. he used the same care gathering laura's long hair as he did for her baby sister and he found it incredibly satisfying to see laura's face light up when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

after all, he was meant to be a girl's dad. every moment with you and your daughters reminded him that all those years of solitude and struggles, had led him here to a life filled with love. he might have thought being a dad was beyond his reach, but now, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[the-kr8tor]

She Chose Me

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Synopsis: Ekko asks you to help him pierce his ear, but it leads to something unexpected.

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), established relationship, childhood friends to lovers (speed run edition), lovestruck! Ekko, spoilers for season 2, CW blood mention, fluff.

@yumeaoka-chan -- I combined your prompt (using z-drive after R confesses) with this one I hope it's okay! If not I can still do your request 🫶

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“Stop moving, Ekko.” Your hands pause on his ear lobe, the needle in between your index and thumb shakes slightly from trepidation.

“I'm not.” He says, brows pinched together, nose scrunched up in front of the cracked hand mirror he's holding.

“Yes, you are. You're fidgeting.” Leaning down, knee pressed on the side of his thigh whilst he's sitting down on a tiny stool. Chin laying atop his shoulder, you stare at him through the mirror. “Just breathe, boss man.” He huffs at the nickname, the small smile on his lips betraying the annoyed huff.

Ekko seems confident in his seat, brown eyes steady, breathing stable and his hands don't tremble despite the looming danger he's about to face. Danger you're about to face.

The tree house is brightly lit with the warm lamp illuminating directly at him and you. But the air around you sits heavy with worry and fear for what's to come. He may seem fine on the outside, but he's frozen with fear inside. His stomach feels like it's about to flip at any moment, breath heavy inside his throat, and heart pounding with every second it ticks by. He's afraid, deadly afraid. But he won't let it show, especially to you. And yet, you know. You can see it in how his eyes dart back and forth from the clock ticking in the corner, then over to the reflection of your face. You've known him for a long time, ever since you grew up with him on the same streets.

Familiarity comes with it, affection dragged alongside the familiarity.

“I'll just do it myself.” Twisting around in his seat, stool squeaking, he tries to grab the clean needle from you. He fails when you move it away from his reach. “C’mon, if you don't want to do it, I'll do it.”

“Too late for that. Besides, I already disinfected it.” You tilt your head with the same look you give him whenever you catch him lying. Surrendering, he drops his hand to his lap.

“Then why are you hesitating?” His eyes narrow at you, trying to ignore how his jacket looks good on you. “Do you still not believe me that it'll look good?”

“No, I believe you.” You click your tongue, pushing the swivel stool so that his back is turned away from you. He rolls his eyes at your indignation. “I know you'll look good with anything, Ekko.” Lifting up the mirror with your hand wrapped gently around his wrist, you can see yourself in the mirror again, and how his eyes avoid your own. He doesn't flinch from the contact, he languishes in it. “It’s just that— your timing is a bit off.”

You've iced his bruises, lovingly painted on his face with the same hourglass shape almost everyday, it's only natural that you'd pierce his ear too. Despite your initial protest.

“No time like the present.” Ekko glances at your reflection, your eyes boring into the side of his head with worry. For a second, he contemplates whether or not he should tell you what happened in the alternate universe. But he thinks it's better off telling you about his feelings for you rather than explain what he experienced. One day he'll tell you, but for now he focuses on winning the war so that day would come. It's easier to explain that he's been in love with you for the past seven or so years. But he won't actually do it now, right?

“I thought about it, Y/N. I'm sure.”

Smiling, you take his chin gently in your hand, making him face the mirror and in turn face you. “I know you don't do anything half assed.” Flicking your eyes at his hair, you smile wider, “I mean, that hair?” You whistle lowly. “You look fucking dapper, more than ready to take on the whole noxian army.”

Ekko swallows thickly, hands clammy, and the mirror in danger of slipping from his grip. “Thanks.” Inhaling, he hides his flustered self effortlessly. He's experienced in that area after years of doing it. He clears his throat. “Can you please just do it?”

“Of course.” You lean away, assuming the previous position of you holding the needle at his earlobe. He can't ignore how warm your hands are, or how your eyes trace the slope of his face with a sneaky look. “When you stop squirming that is.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ekko swiftly twists the seat to face you once again. The sudden momentum has you almost falling backwards, if not for his hands holding and catching you in place, you would've fallen flat on your back. You notice his warm hands on your bare waist, cropped shirt leaving your skin naked and in full display for him.

You thought that he would pull back from the contact and how you look at him with wild eyes, but within a second, he pulls you in, standing you in between his legs. Placing your hand on his shoulders, and the other accidentally on his bare stomach, you're careful not to poke him with the needle. Your eyes never left his, and his own never left the comfort of your stare.

“I don't…” His eyes stare intently, hands squeezing the dip of your hips. “...Squirm.”

Your skin is aflame, goosebumps spreading like wildfire all over you. “N–No, you don't.” You feel like a puddle, and he's ready to soak you right up.

He nods once, taking your wrist and placing the needle to graze at the shell of his ear. “Glad we could finally agree.”

Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you sigh. “I'm worried about you, Ekko.”

“Is that why you're stalling?” He asks, leaning against your hand as he stares up at you with soft eyes.

“That, and I've only pierced ears thrice in my life. Two for me, one for Scar.” Chuckling, you brush your thumb right under his tired eyes. There's a shine on those eyes you love so much, something akin to hope. You know he saw something in those months he was gone. He isn't ready yet to tell you, but you're willing to wait and stick around just for him. He doesn't even need to tell you anything, he's already here back with you and that's enough. “I–I don't know what's gonna happen out there. I know not getting injured is out of the question, but please, I still want to tell you to be careful.”

His vision flashes back to you in the other universe, where your eyes aren't permanently etched with fatigue, lips forever pressed together in a smile. She was you, and her lips were on his own for a moment. But he knows you and her aren't the same person. Both were born and raised in Zaun, but lived in two different circumstances.

And yet, both chose to be with him.

“Ekko?” With your voice calling him, he blinks and your face greets him back, the same face he grew up with, the same face he loved throughout the years. “I won't pierce your ear until you promise me.”

“I love you.” He blurts out, but not lacking sincerity.

You chuckle, needle almost slipping from your fingers. “You do?”

“Yeah, figured, why the hell not?” His nonchalance helps hide his apprehension.

“Is this your way of making me pierce your ears?” You say through the unshed tears.

Ekko raises a brow, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “You're stalling again.”

“This time I'm not.” Sitting down on his lap to level with him, he graciously lets you with his hand pushing on your waist so you could be closer to him. His hands never left your body, holding you in place. Cupping his cheeks, you pull him closer to your waiting lips. “I was just taking the time to simmer in your confession. Scar owes me lunch.”

“You bet on—? Shut up about Scar—” with a soft push against the small of your back, he meets halfway with you. Finally sealing your lips with a much awaited kiss.

Ekko hums against you, the sound reverberating from your lips down to your chest, filling it with warmth. He holds you flush against him. Chest to chest, arms holding you impossibly closer. The sound of your lips in sync with his echoes around the small room. Eyes closed, you memorize how he feels on you, how his breath stutters against you, and how his eyes fluttered closed the second you kissed him back with the same softness and fervent.

His hands slither across your back until he blindly reaches for the back of your neck, pulling you closer, angling your face to better kiss you fully. It's the first kiss out of many, sloppy, smiling in between, teeth still clashing together, and nose knocking against one another, but it still has you breathless in his arms.

“Ekko.” You whisper, leaning slightly away to intake air back into your lungs. “I love you too. Have been since you accidentally knocked me unconscious with a wrench.”

He blinks, hand moving away from you to pull at the rope on his z-drive. The world goes back a few seconds with you locking lips with him, heaving in place, hands balled around his hair.

“I love you too. Have been since you accidentally knocked me unconscious with a wrench.”

He beams at you, pulling and releasing the rope back to reverse time once more to hear the words he has only heard in his dreams.

You pull back away from him, lips obviously kissed. “I love you too. Have been since you accidentally knocked me unconscious with a wrench.”

Ekko chuckles, placing his forehead atop yours to breathe you in. You giggle, releasing his hair to slide your hands down and move towards his chest to feel his beating heart against your palms.

“Sorry, just wanted to hear you say it again. You fell for me because of that?”

Your brows furrow at his peculiar words. Eyes moving at his hand that's still clutching the rope, you laugh. “You could've just asked me to say it again. The wrench probably knocked something loose.” You joke, still panting from the kiss.

Leaning away, his knuckles brush along your jaw then down to your lips where he wipes the sheen with his thumb. “And I wanted to kiss you again.”

“You should've said so.” Your eyes are practically shaped like hearts. “Pucker up, Ekko.”

He smiles, closing the distance once again. The kiss was much more familiar this time, soft and gentle, savouring every second of it. Your nose still nudges his own, but it's intentional this time. He still smiles during the kiss, but it's because you do too. Once he reluctantly moves away to inhale, you grab his face, pecking all over his cheek, chin, nose and forehead, until there's no space that's left unkissed. You pull away, and he does the same, lips smacking carefully against the tip of your nose, in between your eyes, and cheekbones, until you're a giggling mess in his arms.

Ekko looks at you with a lopsided smile, giddiness etched on his ecstatic expression. “Now we're both stalling.”

“At this point we're not getting anything done. Baby blue might bust in here to tell us off.”

“Later then.” He promises, a promise to be careful, a promise that he'll come back to you alive.

You nod, kissing him chastely, eyes tightly closed with a hope that your kiss would single handedly protect him. Pulling away, you grin at him, easing him some more. “Later, I promise.” You vow him the same thing.

“Okay,” he pats your thigh, reluctantly lifting you off his lap. “Come and stab me.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you take a fresh needle and quickly disinfect it since the needle you were holding onto is long gone in between the floorboards. Cleaning your hands, you shake your nerves away, and the trembling in your hands, not from the anxiety but from his breathtaking kiss.

Holding his ear lobe, you're the one holding your breath in once he nods at you to do it. With the needle piercing him, and the new silver hoop earring in, you marvel at the sight of your handiwork.

You hold the mirror up, showing him the back. “You didn't bleed much, thank fuck. What do you think?”

Ekko, rotates on his seat again, grabbing you by your hips with his finger looped around your belt loops and pulling you closer as he looks up at you with endearment.

“I like it, what do you think?” He plops his head on your shoulder, careful not to nudge his new piercing.

“You're right, it suits you. You look very handsome.” You whisper, hand splayed over his back, and lips blowing air into his warm ear, making him flinch away. He looks at you, feigning offense but his mirrored smile says otherwise. “You're welcome, you still need to pay me though.”

“Oh really?” The silver earring sparkles in the light as he tilts his head teasingly. “In what kind?”

You pretend to think. “Hmm, I'll take payment in kisses.”

He shrugs, taking your chin in between his fingers. “Pucker up then. I have too much so I expect some spare change right after.”