#or maybe it’s just fixed in place like the second image but the heart is still visible if you look behind it

[imnotherelmao]

plushie dreadfuls are kinda fun but i don’t like their npd one a whole lot :/ not super egregious but not my favourite especially since the floppy eared ones are a lot cuter

so i decided to redesign it as one of the lop eared plushes to see how that would come out! and added some little changes of my own

original:

[mintmatcha]

tiktok reader universe

contains mentions of sexual assault. cisfem reader.

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There's still times when Bakugo can tell your mind wanders during sex. The focus drains from your eyes, your grip goes limp, and your smile slips just a bit. You always come back to him if he says something, but... sometimes he lets it happen, lets you drift away. Maybe the distance is needed.

Even after all this time, you still never sleep over after sex. Tonight, you're a bit more impatient than usual, fixing your hair and wiping your brow right after he pulls away.

"I was offered a job today," you say casually.

"Yeah?" Bakugo loops an arm around the empty pillow that could be yours, if only you'd lean back into it. "With who?"

Instead, he's left to study the curve of your spine as you throw your legs over the side of the bed. He loves the story your body tells, with its scars and marks. Even the acne pocks are a reminder you were once just a teenager, just like he was. His own scars have puckered with age, still the same raging pink they were when they first healed.

"Someone with way too much money-" you say. -"who likes what I've done for your image and thinks I can fix theirs."

"And can you?"

You shoot him a grin from over your shoulder. "Is that even a question?"

Truthfully, Bakugo thinks you could do anything if you wanted to. You could lean over and rip his heart from his chest with just your fucking teeth-- and you'd make it look easy. He'd maybe even thank you. He'd definitely let it happen again.

Bakugo gives up on luring you back. "Well, when do you start?"

Your head tilts.

"I don't," you say."I didn't take the job."

Bakugo sits up straighter.

"I didn't want to leave you."

The statement sits warm in his chest, then quickly cools.

"Well, maybe you should have."

That makes you turn. You cock your head the other way, expression neutral, but still gracing him with a closed lip grin. The stare lasts for a long while before you crawl back under the covers and return to his side. Your lips find the side of his neck and your hands grip back to him, hot, heavy, breathless in that way you think he likes. A hum builds in your throat, a rolling, performative sound.

"Pull your cock out," you demand, right into the shell of his ear. "If this is the last time, I want another round."

"What?"

He doesn't have time to react before you're gripping his half hard cock, jerking it up gently. It's still wet with you and buzzing with sensitivity, so much so that he can't help but enjoy it, enjoy you-

"If you're about to break up with me, I want to at least cum one more time."

He loses the remnants of his erection.

"That's not what I fucking meant." Bakugo tries to meet your eye, but you just keep kissing at him, gripping at him. "Just-- stop stroking my cock for a second and be fucking serious."

You freeze, but keep your hand on him.

"I don't wanna work together," Bakugo reaches for your hand. The free one. "I just want to date."

You don't respond.

"I want to take you places and have you meet my parents and-"

God. this is so unlike him. When did he lose his teeth? Did you pull them straight from his skull and hang them from your neck like jewels?

"I want you to sleep over." He means it. "Like a real fucking couple."

The ceiling fan hums with an uneven hitch, catching in the same spot each time. It's an easy fix, but he's been ignoring it for so long that it's almost blended into the tapestry of his home. Click-click-click-click-click: now it's deafening, overwhelming the silence you're choosing to sit in. Just as he's about to open his mouth, you look away from his body and meet his eye. There's no sharp edge to your eyes.

"'tsuki."

You say it like a mother about to comfort a child, with a rounded curve to your tone that he's never heard before. You're trying to dull the blow, but it does nothing. It's a fucking knife to the gut.

"I'm serious. I'm really serious." He points with his whole arm towards the bathroom. "I've had a fucking toothbrush ready for you for weeks now. It's right there, in the fucking package."

You withdraw, smile long gone. The air between you two, trapped under the covers, goes cold.

"The girlfriend thing." You are unrecognizable without your Mona Lisa grin and he's obsessed with it. He wants to consume these rare moments, chew on them until he's full of you and only you, despite how it makes his stomach turn. "It was never real. You know that."

You cover your bare tits with one arm, but leave your pussy exposed. It feels like a reflex more than an actual concern.

"I'm not meant to be a girlfriend. You don't want me as a girlfriend."

Bakugo's quick to close the distance between you, but he pauses when you full body flinch. Your quirk activates for a moment - you glitter out of existence and then immediately back in- like it's unwittingly done. It's another incredibly un-you moment, but one that he doesn't want to drink in.

"I do." He keeps his voice as delicate as he can. "I do. I fucking do."

"I don't know how to do the things you need. I don't know how to be a girlfriend," you say. The corners of your smile return and he can see the wall coming back up. The arch of your back, the way your hand suddenly cups your tit: you turn yourself into someone else, someone's who's happy to be here, in an instant. "I can make myself girlfriend shaped. I can open my mouth and let you fuck it. I can pose for a picture. I can make your friends jealous."

Oh, and that distant look comes back to your face. The dilation of your eye is just... wrong, even as you smile.

"But I'm just something that's girlfriend shaped," you say. "I'm an illusion, a creature, a tool, a hole-"

"Don't ever say that shit again."

It rips out of him too roughly. "A hole? That's-- why would you say that?"

It all seems to hit you slowly, as if you're processing your own words. Like it never occured to you that you were saying something foul.

"Because-" you try to explain yourself.

"You're just a girl," Bakugo doesn't let you finish the thought. He can't. Not when you're above him like that, so guarded and yet so vulnerable, neither predator nor prey. "I hate to break your fucking illusion or whatever, but you aren't this fucking lumbering beast or huntress or, or, or, I dunno, whatever the commission has tricked you into believing."

He tries to meet your eye, but you're ducking away from it.

"You're just a girl." He lets his hands fall back to his lap. The pinky that doesn't work twitches, kicking with it's old muscle memory. The scar tissue itches under it's own tautness. "Underneath it all. You're just a girl."

The mattress creaks under your weight as you shift back. Now, your eyes are incredibly focused, almost pinpricks. You watch him with an unreadable expression, one slowly inching more towards horror with every moment.

"You think I can't see you, but I can." Bakugo stays where he is. "And I think you want to be seen."

Everything moves slowly. You blink a couple times, with this meek nod, swallowing thickly as you listen. Then, you get off of the bed and head towards the door. All of your clothes are still scattered on the bedroom floor, your panties at the foot of the bed.

"Wait." Bakugo scrambles to get to his feet. "Don't- fucking wait."

He says your name, once, twice, three times, and gets no response. Panic and regret swirl in his skull, so violent he almost goes lightheaded. By the time he reaches the hall, you're gone, and he thinks you've activated your quirk to escape him. It's the nightmare he's always had around you, the one where you disappear into the night the second he gets too close.

And then the bathroom light flicks on. With a careful trepidation, Bakugo inches down towards the door, afraid the break the illusion. Maybe, if he moves too fast, you'll really scatter off into the night, a deer under his headlights.

But when he slides into the frame, you're just standing there, holding a familiar little tube.

"This it?" You hold the package in your hand. "My toothbrush?"

"Yeah."

With your thumbs, you crack into the packaging and carefully peel the toothbrush out. You run the head under the faucet, then turn it off.

"Toothpaste?"

Bakugo pulls out the top drawer. With a sullen nod, you take the toothpaste and unscrew the top. Bakugo watches you, both of you completely naked, both of you completely silent. It surprises him how unsexual it feels to be here, postcoital, still sweaty, watching you brush your teeth. After the moment settles, he steps over and grabs his own brush.

You're just a girl, he thinks as he brushes his teeth next to you. He likes that you're just a girl next to him.

The both of you finish up, then you silently pad back to the room. Bakugo follows, a healthy distance, but close enough the he watches you shrug on his sweatshirt before dipping under the covers. Your head rests on your pillow.

Bakugo finds his space on the other side of the bed and you lay there, in the dim overhead lighting.

"It's hard for me," you say.

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah."

Bakugo turns on to his side and almost reaches out. Almost. Instead, he goes back and turns off the light. When he returns, you're nothing but a dark lump beside him.

"That's okay," he says, "You can sleep however the hell you want."

Your silhouette stays still.

"Sometimes I wake up crying," you say. "Or kicking, or just remembering something I shouldn't."

"Remembering what?"

The click of the fan overtakes everything again as you lay there, pulling in even breaths. A moment passes, then another and another. You're silent for too long, long enough that he thinks you've fallen asleep. Just as he's about to give up, you sigh out a winding breath.

"He was a hero," you whisper. "I felt special when he paid attention to me."

A chill he can't place creeps up his spine. He wants to ask what that means, why you're telling him this, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. He has to swallow, then cleae his throat.

"Did-?" His voice crackles. "Did someone hurt you?"

Again, you're silent.

"Who?" This time, when you don't respond, he presses. "Fucking who?"

"Someone who retired a long, long time ago."

"Give me a name and I'll fucking-"

"Katsuki."

"Someone raped you."

He had to say it out loud and dispel the mystery behind it. It's selfish, brash, but he needed it- just as he needs this hand around you, holding, cradling-

"That's what happens when you're just a girl." You clutch at his forearm with a want that isn't present in your voice. "People hurt you."

The bite of your nails surprises him.

"It's safer to be something else."

It's his turn to be quiet.

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (06)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 5.3k

Aliyah's Notes: after the calamity of ch5 i present u ch6.... enjoy it. or not. AND IM SORRY FOR THE ENDING 🔥😩😅😨

It's been days. Or weeks? You didn’t even know anymore. The calendar on your phone kept reminding you, but you stopped counting. Maybe if you ignored the world long enough, it’ll forget you existed. Maybe if you stayed in this apartment, you could disappear into these four walls like you were never here in the first place.

Numbers. You used to count them, obsess over them, keep track of every passing hour. But now, time feels... irrelevant. What’s the point of knowing how long you’ve been sinking when no one’s coming to pull you out?

The silence feels... safe. No one to judge you. No one to see the mess you’ve become. It’s funny, though—people always see what they want to see. The headlines called you a goddess, an untouchable force of beauty and success. But what would they say if they knew the truth? That the girl in their glossy magazines could barely stand to look at herself anymore.

You hated this. The lying, the pretending. Nina thought you were just going through a rough patch, but she didn’t know how deep the cracks went. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be this anymore—broken, fragile, teetering on the edge again. You swore you’d never come back to this place. But it’s funny how easy it is to fall back into old habits, how fast the darkness creeps in when no one’s watching.

No one’s watching.

Maybe that’s for the best. Let them keep seeing the version of you they wanted to see—the confident supermodel, the girl who had it all. Let them believe the lie, because the truth? The truth was ugly. The truth was you’ve been staring at your phone for days, hoping—no, needing—for a message, for something from him.

But nothing.

He was in Missouri. Working, you guessed. You didn’t even know when he was coming back. He didn’t say. 

You hated him for that. But you hated yourself more for caring. For letting him in, even when you knew better. For thinking, for just one second, that maybe—just maybe—there was something real between you, beneath all the lies you told the world.

But none of it was real. Not the dating, not the smiles, not the person they thought you were. You were a fraud. A perfect, golden fraud wrapped up in designer clothes and empty promises. And the worst part was, you were too tired to fight it anymore. Maybe this was who you were now. A girl who hid in her apartment, waiting for the world to forget she existed.

Or maybe it already happened.

The sound of the door creaking open started you, pulling you out of the spiral you’ve been sinking into. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. No one else had the key to your apartment beside her.

“Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Nina’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife. “This is the third time this week. How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

You didn’t respond.

Nina stromed in, slamming the door behind her, and you heard her heels clacking on the floor as she made her way to the living room. “You’re not answering your phone. You’re not responding to emails. You missed three shoots! People are asking questions, Y/N. What do you think I’m supposed to tell them?”

You stayed silent, curling deeper into the couch. Maybe if you didn’t look at her, she’ll go away. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint that you didn’t want to be saved.

But Nina wasn’t the type to back off. “No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to ignore me, not today. You need to get up. You need to fix this, Y/N. You think you can just hide away forever? Is that the plan? Because let me tell you, honey, the world won’t wait for you to get your shit together.”

She stood in front of you now, hands on her hips, glaring down at you like a disappointed mother. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and you could tell by the tension in her jaw that she’s been worrying. 

“Talk to me, honey,” she said, her voice lower now. “This isn’t you. You don’t just disappear like this. What happened? Is it Rafe? Is it work? Are you back to…” her voice trailed off, but the question hanged in the air, heavy and unspoken. 

You couldn’t look at her. The shame curled in your chest, making in hard to breathe. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how badly you’ve relapsed, how badly everything felt like it was slipping out of control again. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“When’s the last time you even showered? Eaten something decent? Your career’s on the line. Everything we’ve worked for is on the line. You can’t just… give up like this.”

Her words hit like slaps, each one stinging, but you still didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Nina huffed, pacing now, her frustration spilling over. “I don’t know what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, I don’t care. But whatever it is, you don’t get to throw your life away because of it. You’re stronger than this, Y/N. I know you are. So why the hell are you letting this break you?”

You flinched at the word “break.” Because that’s what it feels like. Like you’re already broken, shattered into a million pieces, and you didn’t even know how to start putting yourself back together.

Nina crouched down in front of you, her voice softening, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me, honey. Please. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

For a moment, you almost did. You almost told her everything—the text, the relapse, the endless void you’ve been sinking into. But the words caught in your throat, choking you. What’s the point in talking when nothing will change?

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not fine. You’re far from it. You think I haven’t seen you like this before? You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

She stood, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. “You need to snap out of it. Because in five days, you’re getting engaged to Rafe Cameron, whether you like it or not. And a week after that, you’re walking down the aisle. You can’t afford to fall apart now.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a lead blanket. The engagement. The wedding. The lies. It all felt so suffocating, so inevitable.

Nina crossed her arms, her voice firm. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up, you’re going to shower, and you’re going to pull yourself together. Because tomorrow, you’ve got a charity event with Rafe, and you’re going to smile for the cameras and make everyone believe that you’re still that perfect, golden girl they love.”

You wanted to scream at her, tell her you couldn't do it, that you didn't even know how to pretend anymore. But instead, you nodded numbly, sinking deeper into the fog that had settled over your mind.

Nina sighed, her voice softening again as she headed toward the door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. And I swear, Y/N, if you're still in this state when I get here, I will personally drag you to that charity event."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving you alone with the weight of everything she'd just said.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how you were supposed to pretend like everything was fine when every part of you was falling apart. You could still hear Nina’s voice in your head, telling you to pull yourself together, to be the golden girl everyone expected you to be. 

You dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy. Your legs felt weak, and your mind feltl worse. Everything was numb, but somehow you still felt the pain. You stumbled into the bathroom, turning the water on without thinking. The cold spray hit your skin like tiny needes, and you stood there for a while, trying to let the string wake you up. But it didn’t work—you were still in that fog.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. It didn’t matter. You grabbed the first thing you saw—a plain black sweater, loose and oversized, and a pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit right anymore. You didn’t even try with your hair, just pulled it back into a bun. No makeup. What was the point? It wasn’t like anyone cared what you looked like today.

When you got to the office, the tension hit you the moment you walked through the door. Your stomach twisted as you made your way down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your chest tightening with every breath. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t. But as you pushed open the door to the conference room and saw him sitting there—Rafe, looking like he hadn’t been bothered by a single thing—you felt the anger bubbling up, hot and sharp.

It started as a familiar ache that had been building ever since the night he walked out of your apartment without a word. Two weeks. Fourteen days of silence. Fourteen nights spent waiting for a text that never came, hoping for even the smallest explanation, something to make sense of the hollow space he’d left behind.

Day 1. Monday, 2:42 AM

You: “Hey. Are you home? LMK, just to be safe.”

Day 2. Tuesday, 8:18 AM

You: “I’m still so confused about what happened last night, but let’s talk when you have a minute.”

Day 3. Wednesday, 5.32 PM

You: “Look, if you’re mad at me, just say it! I thought we were good, what the hell?”

Day 4. Friday, 11:04 PM

You: “It’s been days and I still don’t understand why you left like this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 3:27 PM

You: “Fuck you. I don't know why I keep texting. I know you’re seeing my texts, even though I’m on delivered. Just tell me if you’re done with this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 10:41 PM

You: “Why am I acting like I’m the one who fucked up? I didn’t do anything wrong. You left me like I was nothing, and your only explanation was a shitty rom-com excuse. I thought we were friends, Rafe.”

Day 5: Sunday, 11:36 PM

You: “I hope you rot in your shit ass apartment, but trust that I will show up to one of your stupid games with a sign that says “Small Dick Ghoster” in big, glittery letters. And I hope Chiara will hug you so hard that she’ll end up strangling you to death. Fuck you, again!”

And there he was, sitting there like none of it had happened, like you were still just strangers playing a game. His posture relaxed, that effortless confidence radiating from him, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him, completely indifferent.

It infuriated you—the ease with which he moved on, the way he could look so composed, so completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t abandoned you in that moment when you were raw and vulnerable. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

Every part of you screamed to confront him, to demand an explanation for the silence, the absence, the complete disregard. You could feel the hurt clawing up from your chest, tangling with the anger that burned hotter with each passing second. He was so close, but somehow, he felt miles away.

So instead, you steeled yourself, locking down the hurt, burying it beneath the anger that simmered just beneath the surface. You wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on you, wouldn’t give him the power to know just how much his absence had shattered you. No—he would get nothing from you. Not a word, not a glance, not a single sign of the turmoil raging inside you.

You walked past him without a word, each step heavy with the weight of the anger you swallowed down. Let him sit there, pretending like nothing was wrong. Let him think he could ignore you, dismiss you, erase you from his life without consequence. Because you would make sure he felt every bit of the coldness he had left you with, every ounce of the hurt he’d carved into you.

Ignoring him was the only power you had left, the only way to keep the anger from spilling over, from breaking you down entirely. And if he thought he could continue on as if the past two weeks hadn’t happened, then he was going to learn just how wrong he was.

Nicolas cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “Hi, you two—we’ve got a lot to go over, and the timeline is tight. The engagement is in five days, and the wedding is scheduled for a week after that. So we need to finalize the details today—food, decorations, dresses, the guest list…”

You couldn’t focus. The words blurred together a dull hum in the background as you stared down at the table. Rafe said something, his voice casual, but you tuned it out. You didn’t want to hear him.

Sabrina spoke next, her tone brighter, more enthusiastic. “The audience is really enjoying you together, by the way. Ever since your date, and especially after the pictures from Kelce’s party where you two were cuddled up? People are in love with the idea of you and Rafe together. So, good job, guys.”

Your stomach churned at her words. Cuddled up. Like you were some happy couple.

“And tomorrow,” she continued. “You’ll need to make another public appearance together. It’s a charity event for cancer awareness. A perfect opportunity for more good press. The public is expecting you two to show up as the perfect couple—affectionate, in love, all of that.”

In love.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. This was the part where you were supposed to smile and nod, agree to hold his hand and play the role of the devoted future fiancée. But all you felt was the tension building, the weight of the lie pressing down on you until it was suffocating.

Rafe shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you still didn’t look at him. Rafe felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. You looked… different. Disheveled, almost. Your sweater hung losely over your shoulders, practically swallowing your frame, and he could see dark shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You seemed smaller somehow, your usual energy muted, replaced by something tense and fragile.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your hands, noticing how your fingers fidgeted restlessly, twisting and tugging at your sleeves. Your leg was bouncing under the table, tapping out an anxious rhythm that only he seemed to notice. Every small movement, every nervous habit—you looked like you were holding yourself back, like there was something simmering beneath the surface, ready to break free.

You still hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t given him a single glance, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You’d been messaging him, and he’d been… well, avoiding it, convincing himself it was for the best. But seeing you now, seeing the wear and tear he’d left behind, he couldn’t shake the guilt.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He’d expected you to be angry, maybe annoyed. But this? You looked worn down, frayed at the edges, like you've been carrying a weight no one else could see.

You didn’t remember most of the details they were talking about. Your mind drifted in and out of focus as they went on about the guest list, the food, the decorations. All you heard were words—dresses, flowers, venues. None of it felt real. It was as if you were watching someone else’s life unfold in front of you, just sitting there, an outsider in your own story.

“The wedding will be televised, of course,” Sabrina says, flipping through her notes, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of it all. “And with a full press presence. We want every detail to reflect both of your public personas. Elegant, grand, but also with an intimate, personal feel—something that tells a story about who you both are.”

Who we were. I almost laughed at the irony. I didn't even know who I was right now, much less who we were.

“We were thinking of something grand but elegant. A modern luxury wedding. White roses, lots of gold accents. Maybe something at the estate in the Hamptons?”

You glanced at the board, at all the glossy, pristine images of weddings that could belong to anyone. None of them felt like you.

“Do you have any preferences?” Sabrina asked, smiling like this is the most exciting conversation in the world. “Colors, themes, anything that’s important to you?”

"Actually," you finally broke your silence, your voice coming out quietly, but the words landing heavily in the room. "I’d like the ceremony to reflect... my background." You could feel Rafe's eyes on you again, but for once, you didn’t care. This wasn’t about him.

Sabrina blinked, taken aback, but she quickly nodded, jotting down notes as if she were open to whatever you had in mind. "Of course, that could be beautiful. Were you thinking about specific details?"

You hesitated for a moment, uncertain if they’d take you seriously, but you pressed on. "Yes. The colors… the decorations. I want there to be vibrant colors—not just whites and pastels, but deep greens, maroons, and gold. The way we’d have them back home. And for the flowers… jasmine and roses. That’s what we use for weddings where I’m from. I want it to feel like... like part of my heritage."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to care about any of this. But he just nodded, his pen moving across his notepad. "We can definitely arrange that. A traditional, multicultural theme would add a unique touch to the event, I think. It’ll definitely resonate with the press and the viewers."

You didn’t care if it resonated. It wasn’t for them—it was for you, a sliver of authenticity in this whole farce.

Then Sabrina’s voice broke into your thoughts. "And of course, the dress. Have you given any thought to what you want? Or would you like us to arrange for a stylist to go over options with you?"

Your heart twisted at the mention of the dress. The one thing you’d always imagined as a girl—the dress you’d wear at your own wedding. Only, you’d never thought it would be for this.

"I’d like to include some of my culture there too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... a fusion. Something elegant and modern but with hints of traditional South Asian bridal elements. Like embroidery or... beadwork. Maybe even henna if it wouldn’t look out of place."

Sabrina seemed to light up at the idea. "That would be stunning. We can definitely work with that! I know several designers who specialize in fusing traditional and contemporary styles."

She was still talking, but the air around you felt thicker, as though the room was closing in. You could sense Rafe’s gaze without even looking at him, the weight of his silence pressing into you.

You zoned out again, your mind wandering back to the last wedding you attended. The colors, the music, the way the bride’s lehenga shimmered under the sun as she walked down the aisle. You’d always thought your wedding would be like that—full of life and celebration, surrounded by people who loved you.

Instead, you were planning a wedding for the cameras, for people who didn’t know you.

The sudden, sharp knock on the door cut through the stillness like a jolt of cold water. Your head shot up from the pillow, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, the world felt like it was still. The quiet of your apartment, the thick fog still clouding your thoughts. You didn’t want to get up. You didn’t want to face the world outside of this bed, this cocoon of emptiness you’d wrapped yourself in for days.

Another knock, this one louder, more demanding.

“Y/N!” Nina’s voice came through the door, sharp and impatient. “You better not still be in bed, because I swear—”

The door swung open before you could even make a sound, Nina storming in, wearing the same determined, unbothered expression she always had when she was on a mission. You tried to bury your face back into the pillow, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand reached down, grabbing the covers and yanking them off with force. You shivered as the cold air hit your skin, the warmth of the blankets yanked away along with any shred of comfort you’d been clinging to.

“Get up.” Nina wasn’t asking. She was commanding. “You’ve got a charity event today, and Rafe is already at the venue. We don’t have time for your pity party.”

You squinted at her, still half-wrapped in your sheets like a burrito, and mumbled from underneath the pillow, “Can’t you just… I don’t know… handle it for me? Go in my place. You’d look great in a gown.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’d look amazing, but you and I both know I don’t have that kind of charisma.”

“True,” you admitted, peeking out from under the pillow. 

Nina raised her hands in mock surrender. “Exactly. Now, up. I’m not playing with you today.”

Before you could even protest, she yanked the covers off you with a dramatic flourish, leaving you to shiver in nothing but your oversized T-shirt. It was a miracle you didn’t roll off the bed in the process.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” Nina didn’t wait for you to even get a grip on reality before heading straight for your closet, rummaging through your clothes like she was on a mission. “You’re going to look so good today that Rafe might just start thinking you actually like him.”

You shot her a glare that could’ve frozen water, but she just smirked, tossing a black dress onto the bed like she was some fashion fairy sent to save you from yourself.

“I’m not going,” you said flatly.

“Oh, yes, you are.” Nina threw a matching pair of heels onto the bed with the same casual flick of the wrist she used to dismiss your protests. “Because you will look stunning, and you will show up.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face. “What is it with you people? Why does everyone keep trying to drag me out of bed? It’s like I’m the world’s most reluctant celebrity.”

“Because you are.” Nina grinned, holding up your dress like she was presenting the Holy Grail. “But, hey, guess what? You’re really good at it. So stop sulking and get your glam on. You’re the star of the show today.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, joy.”

Nina didn’t even flinch. “I’m not asking for a performance. Just put on the damn dress and show up. You can pretend to be miserable, and I’ll pretend I’m not a miracle worker for getting you out of here.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then dragged yourself out of bed with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Oh, by the way, Aisha’s going to be there. She practically begged me to make sure you show.”

Your eyes snapped open. Aisha Patel. Your best friend and, quite honestly, the only person in your life who could drag you out of bed with a single text. She’s been your best friend since you’d arrived in the States. She’d been away for five months—longer than ever before—working on some high-profile project in Switzerland. You hadn’t seen her in ages.

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Aisha’s coming?”

Nina smiled smugly. “Yep. She’s flown back for the event. Can you imagine the drama if you don’t show up? She’ll never let you live it down.”

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. “God, I missed her.”

“Me too,” Nina said, her voice softening for just a second. “But you still have to get up. Like now.”

You looked at the dress Nina had already picked out, a sleek white gown that somehow made you feel both glamorous and like you were about to attend a royal gala. “Fine. I’m up. I’m dressed.”

Nina, who was already rummaging through your closet like a pro, grinned. “You look absolutely beautiful, honey,” she noticed your weight loss but decided to not speak on it, in fear it’ll make you relapse… if only she knew. “Chiara’s also going to be there...”

You froze, the mention of Chiara Romano sending a cold shiver down your spine. You’d told Nina everything about the Chiara encounter—her subtle digs, the way she made you feel like you were just another passing phase in Rafe’s life. She’d made things uncomfortable enough at Kelce’s party, and now you had to face her again?

“What? Fucking why?”

“Her father’s the one running the whole damn event,” she explained. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her or her family because they’re pretty famous, especially in the entertainment and events world. So, get ready for a day full of small talk, fake smiles, and people who will pry into your private life.”

You sighed. “How perfect is that?”

You stood in front of the mirror, trying to shake off the heavy weight of everything swirling in your head. You glanced at the clock. You were running out of time.

You reached for your hair tie, pulling it through your tangled locks. Your hair had grown longer than you remembered, and you decided to tie it up in a messy, yet elegant bun—one that would allow a few soft, curly strands to escape and frame your face. It was casual but chic—classic you. You let a few strands fall loosely, giving the bun a less formal, more effortless vibe. After a moment of satisfaction, you moved on to the makeup.

A soft, dewy glow covered your skin, nothing too dramatic. You didn’t want to feel caked in layers today, just enough to enhance your features. You applied a touch of blush to your cheeks, just a hint, to keep the look fresh. A thin line of mascara lengthened your lashes, and your signature lip combo was the finishing touch. Simple. Comfortable.

As you turned to check yourself one last time, you heard Nina's voice from the other room.

“Y/N! We need to go now. Rafe's texting me and he’s getting antsy. He’s apparently already at the event!”

You sighed, feeling the familiar rush of anxiety settle into your stomach. The mirror reflected a version of you that was ready for the world, but the world, especially tonight, wasn’t ready for this version of you. But as the pressure of the event built up, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty gnawing at you.

When you made your way into the living room, Nina was pacing, her phone glued to her ear. She shot you a quick, approving glance. “Looking good. Let’s go.”

As you grabbed your clutch, ready to face whatever tonight had in store, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped a beat. Was it Aisha? Maybe she’d arrived early, wanting to meet up before the event?

But when you opened the door, your breath caught.

Standing in the doorway wasn’t Aisha.

It was Rafe.

He was in a suit—sharp, looking like he belonged in a magazine ad for high-end fashion—but his eyes, dark and intense, held something more than just a desire to impress. He had the look of a man who knew he had messed up.

His words hit you before you could even process them. “You look stunning. I wanted to make sure you’re okay... before all this.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart thump a little faster, and you hated yourself for it.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking at him. You hadn’t expected him to show up—especially not with that kind of intensity in his eyes.

You exhaled slowly, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, your posture defensive. The audacity of this guy.

“Really?” You scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping up your spine with sharp sarcasm. “Now you care?”

Rafe seemed to falter at that, but he quickly recovered, taking a small step closer, but not enough to make you feel cornered. “I’ve always cared, Y/N. You know that.” His voice was quieter this time, and the sincerity in his eyes almost made your resolve crack.

“Do I?” you shot back, stepping out of the doorway and giving him a once-over, your gaze icy. “Because you sure had a funny way of showing it.”

Rafe winced, a flash of guilt flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I messed up, okay? I should’ve reached out. I didn’t know what to say, but I should’ve just... shown up.”

You rolled your eyes, the anger simmering beneath your skin rising again. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, not from the sight of him, but from the frustration that had been building over the past two weeks. “You didn’t know what to say? You think showing up fixes two weeks of silence? Just like that?”

He took a step forward, his face tightening, as though he was bracing himself for a confrontation. "I wasn’t sure what to do," he said, his voice lowering. "I thought... maybe you needed space. I thought if I gave you time, it would be better." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his expression. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the audacity of his words settling like a lump in your throat. “Space?” you asked, your voice low, incredulous. “You thought ghosting me for two weeks would give me space?” 

Rafe’s face twisted in guilt, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to let him off the hook.

“Did you at least see my texts?” you demanded, anger rising in your throat.

"Y/N, you’re needed at the car right now!" Nina called, stopping Rafe in his tracks of answering. Before you could walk away, Rafe reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back gently.

"Wait," he murmured, his thumb brushing your skin.

You stared up at Rafe, your breath caught in your throat, uncertainty swirling in your chest. The air between you two felt charged, a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the balance. Your pulse was racing, but before you could voice any of them, Nina practically shoved you both into the elevator. Her hand pressed the button for the ground floor as she threw your heels at you, the sharp click of the stilettos punctuating the tension.

You caught them on instinct. The elevator descended, and your mind was still spiraling, trying to piece together what the hell was happening. What the fuck—this distance between you and Rafe? 

But just as the elevator doors opened, the sound of a familiar car door slamming outside caught your attention. A quiet thud, followed by the sound of heels clicking against pavement. Your instincts were on alert, an uneasy feeling crawling under your skin.

And when you turned to look, you saw someone stepping out of the car.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

“I was wondering when we’d get the chance to catch up.”

chapter seven

[rustedhearts]

i want your things in my room (fratboy!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve harrington: resident frat boy heartbreaker. handsome, charming, good in bed—what's not to love? if only he loved you. based on this sexy thought of mine

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ rolly’s roller wheels blurbs commissions! ✶ blurbs! ✶ somebody told me (part two)

tags: frat boy!steve, situationship, asshole-ish!steve, pining, kind of feral reader because i was feral writing this, smut.

"i want your things in my room, i miss you all of the time. i stalk myself on the internet just to see what you'll find...you look so cool, I wanna die. is it too soon to say what's on my mind?"

— in my room, julia wolf

for the lovely 🫧

wc: 2,095 (oops)

delta phi. saturday april 12th, 2009

Cords of muscle suffocated under the tight sleeve of a red cutoff—ripped while weight-lifting on the porch, you imagined. Knowing Steve, it was intentionally and meticulously cut in the bathroom mirror for a blurry cellphone image sent to another fling.

You never received texts like that. The only texts you received were late in the evening or at the crest of midnight:

you up?

coming over. unlock the back door.

The one trip-up in this eight month routine came two weekends ago at nine p.m.

coming over, brought you a surprise. want you to wear it saturday.

It was a tight white t-shirt promoting Steve for Delta Phi Senior President. You wore it like he asked, lingering in the basement corner of another Saturday party with a lukewarm beer you wanted to throw up when you saw hordes of other girls wearing the exact same thing.

He didn't even look at you that night.

But he messaged, an hour after you skulked home with a hoodie zipped over his face printed on your left tit.

didn't see you leave. can i swing by later?

He did. And you let him crawl over your naked body under a pink duvet and place his mouth wherever he liked. He didn't apologize, and you swallowed down the sharp sting of tears every time he told you how pretty you were—knowing every girl wearing his face that night received the very same treatment at one point.

You weren't special. You knew that. But he had such a way of making you feel like you were. Catching your eye through passing bodies, lifting his mouth in a sideways grin, wiggling his fingers in a tiny wave when he knew no one was looking. Cupping the back of your head in the checkout line at the coffeeshop when he passed by, because somehow he always knew when you were there. He never said a thing, but he had your heart stuttering every single time.

So, here you were. Another Saturday night in a dark Delta Phi corner, sipping a Twisted Tea and struggling to swallow past the lump of hurt in your throat when Steve's head turned to follow the path of a pretty and petite blonde. Watching his biceps flex under his sleeve, his hips turn in a pair of Levis often rumpled on your floor. You washed them once, when he came and got sick in your bathroom after a particularly intense recruitment night.

Steve lifted a wide hand and swept it through the front of his hair. You could almost smell it, the Old Spice soaked in those chestnut tresses. You used his bathroom on the second floor one time, found the red shampoo bottle resting on the edge of the tub.

And maybe you popped the cap and smelled it, closed your eyes and imagined Steve was right in front of you, pressing his cheek on your chest the way he did post-coital: panting wordlessly, letting you feel the warmth of his flesh clinging to yours, running your fingers through his hair to bring him back down.

Steve's eyes cutting your way yanked you from your warm, gut-wrenching thoughts of him. Over the swell of his own bicep: a pair of hazels fixing on your figure across the room. Your heart lurched to your throat when you locked gazes, fingers twitching to wave. He wouldn't wave back. You knew without a doubt.

But those lips quirked up in acknowledgement, and that was enough. Enough to have heat lapping at your face and coiling in your stomach. Enough to know he'd message after the party, when most of the crowd dispersed and his buddies wandered off to bed. Enough to know you'd feel his breath on your face tonight, feel his mouth over your body.

That was more than enough.

✶ ✶

You waited.

Waited—fully dressed on your bed, lamp clicked on in the darkness of the night—with the skin of your thumb between your teeth. Gnawing between glances at your phone, waiting for it to buzz with his name. The deeper the night grew, the hungrier you became. Hungry for his tongue sliding around your mouth, his fingers digging into your ribs with every pull back against his body. His palm cupped around your throat the way it often did when he took you from behind, keeping you braced against his chest so he could feel you struggle to catch your breath.

You waited. You bid your roommate goodnight through a closed door and waited. You peeled your outfit off layer by layer, checked your messages for his name, and waited. You laid back on your bed holding your phone to your faded-t-shirt-clad chest, and waited.

The hunger nestled between your legs, aching and pulsing with soreness. It was terrible how conditioned you were for Steve's attention. How horribly you craved it.

Somehow, his air of coolness made you want it more. When he avoided your eye, when your texts went unanswered, when he brushed by at a party and looped your pinkies together—you wanted him something awful.

But you wanted him most when you had him. When he was running his nose through the sweat on your neck, big hands sweeping over your stomach under the t-shirt he guided over your head. His t-shirt, always asked for in a groggy, early morning exchange before he left. When he was whispering—unwilling to wake your roommates—and promising that you were the only one he'd ever felt this close to.

"Swear nobody's made me feel so fuckin' high before," he'd say. "Love your body, baby, you're so pretty."

Tears squeezed at your lash line, burning as they spilled over. You swiped at them irritatedly, setting your phone on the nightstand and turning away from it.

And then it buzzed.

You flung your hands toward the vibration, snatching the scratched device eagerly.

coming.

missed you.

Falling back against your pillows, you let out a long, blissful sigh. He missed you. That was new.

Your phone buzzed with the long-awaited "here" text, and you had to catch yourself on the stair railing to avoid running toward the door. But the way you swung the door open and tugged him in did little to hide your excitement, and it had Steve grinning wide as you hurried back toward your room.

"Wait," he chuckled, stumbling over his sneakered feet. "Christ, you're quick to the belt tonight."

You clamped your bedroom door shut carefully, spinning around to find Steve toeing his shoes off at the end of your bed. His tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek when he turned to face you again. The smirk on his mouth was delicious.

Suddenly, all that hunger coursing through you fizzled to coyness. But Steve liked when you were shy. He thought it was cute.

"C'mere."

The way he called to you—softly, a sweeter version of his usual tone—always had your nerves tingling.

You stepped in front of him, giggling when he plucked at the faded, stained material of your bed shirt near your chest.

"Sexy 'jamas," he chuckled, swooping down to press your mouths together.

"Thought...you weren't...coming," you mumbled between detachments and quiet, wet smacks.

He said nothing this time, letting his hands drop to your hips to steer you around. He guided you onto the bed, and the pair of you moved like a well-oiled carnival ride until you reached the pillows. Two heavy palms pressed into the feathers on either side of your head, and Steve's mouth continued lapping at yours vigorously.

One thing about Steve was that he was always pleased to incorporate foreplay. He loved the art of kissing, and he knew it well.

Steve pulled away far too early, moving his lips to your cheek. Down your jaw, under the junction where nerves tingled for his attention under your ear. You fisted the thin fabric of his shirt as he dragged his nose across your jaw.

"Did ya miss me, honey?" His voice took on a low gravel that brought your hairs to their ends.

Your eyes fluttered between opened and closed, hips shifting on the bed. Your breath already shallowed.

"Mhm."

"Mhm? Tell me," he cooed, nose rubbing a small circle into your cheek, breath hot on your skin. "Tell me you missed me, pretty girl."

You blinked your eyes open, glazing over the length of his lashes and flecks of honey and emerald in his gaze. You could barely feel your own body, could barely form a sentence on your own.

"I missed you," you whispered dazedly.

Steve moved his eyes down to your stomach as he dragged the t-shirt toward your collarbones. His hand glided over your navel and between your breasts.

"Missed you, too. Take your shirt off f' me, sweetheart."

He knelt at the end of the bed and watched you undress intently, eyes tracing the curves of your body as he pressed to his knees and fumbled with the buckle of his belt. When the pair of you were bare, he returned to his place hovering above you, and you took your chance to roam your hands over his chest. Firm, warm, smooth-skinned. Lifting your back off the bed, you buried your nose in his throat and inhaled deeply. Steve's chuckle rumbled through you, but you couldn't find it in yourself to feel ashamed.

"Smell good," you remarked quietly.

Steve tipped his head away from your face until you settled back into the pillows. He grinned down at you there, hair curling over his forehead and toward his brow.

"Yeah? That's new."

You shook your head, tongue fat and dumb in your mouth. Your fingers traced down his arms bracing your head. "No...always smell good."

A swallow bobbed in his throat. The back of his finger nudged your cheek from the pillow beside you. "Yeah?"

You nodded this time, meeting his eye with what he could only call a lovestruck stare—all rounded and doe-like. "Yeah."

He wished you'd shut your eyes. He wished you'd stop looking at him like he was some sort of saint. He wished you'd stop letting him get away with all the shit he put you through.

Steve was quick to switch gears, pecking a short, painful kiss to your mouth before flipping you by the hips onto your stomach. You gasped at the quick and irritated pull of your hips upward until your ass was arched in the air. He pressed on the dip in your back and you let your stomach drop toward the mattress.

"Good," he sniffed. "Look good like this."

Because he couldn't see your eyes.

And you let him fuck you like that, pummeling so deep that you were buried in the mattress by the time he was done. You didn't cum and he knew it, and the pair of you settled flat with quiet gasps. He didn't press his cheek to your chest this time, didn't tangle your fingers together between sticky bedsheets. He laid there only a few silent moments before reaching for his pants.

"Hey," you called softly, propped up on your elbows. "You're not gonna stay?"

The broad muscles of Steve's back flexed and rolled as he hoisted his jeans over his hips and secured his belt. He pulled his shirt on without turning around, feet shoved into his sneakers before you could even sit all the way up.

"Nah," he said, turning only as he headed for the door. "Gotta...um, study."

Brows furrowing, a small giggle slipped from your mouth. "Study? You don't study."

Another swallow, noisy and paired with two eyes fixed on the floor. His voice neared a whisper when he spoke again. "Trying something new."

You watched him open the door just enough for him to fit through. You hugged your soiled sheets around your bare body and felt the hunger dim to hurt again.

Steve stepped into the doorway and turned his head an inch, but not enough to see those pretty features again. "Later."

You wanted him to miss you again. You wanted to press your nose back into his neck and breathe him in. You wanted him to bring his words down low where they belonged when he spoke to you. You wanted to be his girl for a few moments more, to feel his affection through every drag of his mouth and hands.

But the door closed, and you were left to watch him jog across the street through a sliver in the drapes instead.

Just another t-shirt. Just another girl in love with Steve Harrington.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙 – 𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕔

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚞𝚣𝚣𝙲𝚞𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warning: SMUT, language, drinking, name calling, choking, pet names, sharing kink, ownership kink, fingering (from the twins at the same time), unprotected p in v, choking, public sex, rough sex, shower sex

📖 After meeting Rafe's (CurtainBangs!) twin brother Cam (BuzzCut!) for the first time, Rafe gives you a proposal you can't help but accept: sharing you.

Reader's POV:

“Touchdown, Bulldogs!”

The stadium erupts with applause as Rafe gets swallowed up in a team hug. The school fight song blares through the open arena as a massive homecoming crowd clamors to storm the field in celebration. You hang back slightly with the other players’ girlfriends, watching as Rafe shuffles over to an equally massive #2; Cameron scrolled across his back as well. The two of you have only been dating for a few weeks, but you could tell, like quintessential twins, those two were close.

Cam was always Rafe’s second call after you, no matter what, good or bad, and it almost seemed like Cam was two steps ahead. He knew how to calm him down; he always seemed to know what to say. But, then there was the rivalry; Cam knew how to push Rafe’s buttons. What to say to trigger a classic Cameron bitch fit.

Rafe wanted nothing more than to win this game. You could see his chest puffed out a little more than usual, his shit-eating grin a little more sly. Rafe tugs off his helmet, skimming his fingers through his sweaty fringe as his brother removes his helmet as well.

You squint your eyes, stomach fluttering as you take in the difference from all the Instagram and Snapchat images you’ve stalked prior: a fresh buzz cut. Jesus Christ. Rafe pulls him in for a big hug, slapping his shoulder pads.

Your nerves creep in fast, a combination of anxieties about meeting Cam for the first time. I want to impress him. I want him to like me. I want him to think I’m good for Rafe. That’s his twin brother, after all. Sure, I met Ward and Rose, Wheezie and Sarah, and that went great, but this is the big leagues. This is his twin; this is make-or-break.

But, on a separate note, should I be this nervous? I mean, in this way? Seeing Cam gave me butterflies… Maybe it’s ‘cause he looks so much like Rafe? I can’t deny that when he took off his helmet, I felt something. Fuck, I’m in trouble.

“There she is," Rafe groans as he pulls you off your feet and into his strong arms. You cup his sweat-glistened cheeks, kissing him deeply.

"Hi, Rafey," you mumble against his sweet lips.

"How’d I do?" He smiles against your pout, nose nuzzling yours playfully.

"So damn good,” you praise as you scratch your nail into his hair, pulling him closer.

“You look so pretty, baby - love seeing you in my jersey.” Rafe sets you down on your feet, kissing you again before pulling you to his side.

“This her?” Cam pipes in, stealing your attention away.

“Sure is. Cam, y/n; y/n, Cam,” Rafe smiles down at you proudly. You turn your attention to Cam, feeling that same flutter from before, a blush creeps in your cheeks as you see the same look in his eyes that Rafe gave you the first night you met.

“Well, shit,” he rasps as he steps a little closer. Cam takes you off Rafe’s hands, drawing you into his embrace, hugging you before pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Fuck, you’re stunning," he praises.

Cam reaches up, fixing the little "R” pendant on your chest, brushing your clothed cleavage as he sets it in place. Your heart races at the contact between you, banging so loudly you swear Cam can hear it. “Thank you,” you breathe. A grin slides across Cam’s lips; Cam’s smile is stunning, just like your boyfriend’s. But there’s a fire behind it that once again gives you the most delicious deja vu. Cam likes what he sees.

“So…” Rafe teases, head cocked slightly, arms raised, holding open your spot at his side.

“Oh shit. Sorry, Rafey,” Cam snickers as he passes you back to his brother. Rafe wraps his arm around your shoulders, tugging you in, pressing a rough kiss on your hair. Cam’s eyes return to his brother, a smirk spreading on his rosy lips. You look up at Rafe, catching the mirror image.

“Well, this one’s gonna help me with my post-game routine; why don’t you come over in like an hour-” Rafe continues to talk; Cam cocks his eyebrow, seemingly stuck on the first part of the plan for the evening. He smiles sinfully, eyes falling down your body, making you blush as you see his wheels turn. These two talk about everything; your little post-match shower session was most likely a topic of discussion already. 

“We drinkin’ tonight?” Cam drawls.

“Literally just said that, dumbass. Maybe if you stop starin’ at my girl’s tits, you could focus. Yeah?” Rafe taunts, shoving his brother away.

“Not gonna apologize,” he bullies as he wets his plump bottom lip.

If Cam was anyone else, he’d gone - erased from this earth for his wandering eye. Rafe, no stranger to roughing up a guy or two on account of you - his brother seemingly the exception. “You’re a fuckin’ dog, buddy.” Cam shrugs and smiles, owning the title as Rafe hooks his finger under your chin. “I don’t blame him. My girl’s perfect,” he whispers before meeting your lips.

“This is my favorite part of Game Day, baby," Rafe hums as he tears his shirt off his athletic body. You pinch the bottom of your top, drawing it over your naval. ”Lemme,“ he smiles, stripping you of his old jersey before tossing it to the side, lifting you off your feet. Rafe pulls away only briefly to turn on the water, walking with you to the countertop. It’s dim, the perfect amount of light thrown from his open bedroom door. Admittedly, it’s your favorite part of Game Day as well: getting this time with Rafe, the two of you unwinding before a night of drinking, the pair of you coming down from his post-game high together.

Rafe sets you down on the cool top, sending chills up your warm body as his hands quickly get to work. One weaves into the nape of your hair while the other grips the plush of your hip. ”You know I love you,“ he whispers as his rough fingers trace over the top of your thigh, disappearing between your legs.

”Of course, Rafe.“

"M'not sayin’ this to start a fight; m'not callin’ you out for anything. Alright?”

“Okay," you giggle nervously. ”Is everything okay?“

"More than okay," he grins. You let out a little gasp as he runs two fingers through your wetness, lifting them to his lips tasting you. "You have a crush on my brother. Don’t you, sweetheart?" He whispers. Your eyes widen in surprise, lashes fluttering as he calls you out.

"I - Umm… Rafe-”

“I said, 'It’s more than okay, honey," he mumbles as his fingers press through your entrance. ”You don’t believe me?“ Your brows knit in confusion as you stare into his beautiful blues. How could Rafe Cameron be okay with this? I mean, he almost got arrested last weekend for a fight after someone bought me a shot. How is he okay with me having a crush on his brother? 'And, it’s more than okay?’ No way.

"No…" You whisper feebly as your gaze falls to his lips.

A smirk stretches wide, Rafe’s breathing increasing with yours. "No, what, princess?”

“I don’t believe you," you reply before returning your eyes to his. Rafe pouts his lip teasingly, pumping and scissoring his long fingers.

"Alright…" He shrugs, continuing to tease you. You grip Rafe’s thick dick in your hand, rubbing his precum into his swollen tip as he quickens the speed of his hand, thrusting his fingers at an insane pace. ”He’s got a crush on you.“ Your pussy tightens around his digits at the sound of his words, making Rafe smile wickedly. "Baby girl…" He mocks as he moves in even closer, wrapping his muscular arm around your waist. Rafe tucks himself into the crook of your neck as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

”M'gonna cum,“ you whine.

”You sure, y/n,“ he whispers against your warm skin. ”I don’t believe you.“ Rafe repeats your words as he slows his pace, edging you; prompting you to grind against his palm, craving a release.

”Rafe…“

”Hmm?“ He chuckles through a throaty laugh. ”S'alright, baby. We share.“ Rafe baffles you with his admittance as he spears his thick cock into your drenched pussy.

”Rafe!“ You wail, mouth hanging open as he circles his hips nice and slow, buried balls deep, letting you adjust to his size. You cling onto his shoulders, nails digging into his tan skin as he stretches you out. Steam swirls all around the two of you, the room burning with vapor and sex as Rafe walks toward the walk-in show, drawing back the glass door. ”This could be a really good night for you,“ he mutters as the stream of water pours from the spout, washing over your naked bodies.

Rafe’s eyes fall down your bare frame, watching as the little rivers of warm water cascade through your dips and curves, glistening over your already dewy skin. His blonde fringe hangs wet on his forehead, framing his beautiful face. You look down as well, eyeing the place where your bodies connect; Rafe’s thick cock sheathed deep. "You share girls?" You whisper. Rafe moans as he presses you back into the icy shower wall, forcing himself as deep as possible, making you exhale a deep breath.

“'Course we do." He starts to pound you into the wall, making you cry out in pleasure.

"And, you want to share me?" You ask, weakly between rough thrusts.

”That not clear?“ He rasps, drawing out of your cunt, whirling you around before bending you over, pounding back into your aching core.

"Fuck!” You sob, feeling him deep in your guts. You take hold of his wrists, his hands steadying your hips, clawing into the fat of your ass. Rafe spreads your cheeks, coaxing his cock in slower as he feels you tighten around him again.

“Bounce for me. Yeah?" He groans, slapping your ass before letting you take control. You throw your bum on his cock; cheeks clapping against Rafe’s wet skin. Your curves recoil with each slap of his tight body against yours, knees buckling, causing Rafe to chuckle darkly as he watches you go weak on his dick. "Please," you whimper, knowing he won’t let you cum until he hears you say it.

”Pretty sure you know what I want to hear, princess,“ he grunts. "Just tell me you want him. Tell me you want us to share you. Tell me you want his cock and mine, y/n. Let me hear it.”

“Rafe.”

He winds up, slapping your thigh harshly, making you scream, voice bouncing off of the shower walls. “I want him. I - I want you to share me. Fuck. I want your cock and his." You squeal Rafe’s name as you gush around his cock; your entire body shaking as he keeps you standing through your climax.

"I want you to beg,” he huffs, tugging your hair, pulling you close, back pressed against his heaving chest, Rafe not letting you come down from your orgasm before he starts working on your next. One arm wraps around your throat in a chokehold, squeezing tightly while the other arm binds around your waist.

“Please.”

“No. Not enough," he sneers, constricting your airway with his biceps. Rafe starts rocking in and out. You can feel every ridge and curve of his cock as he gives it to you, slow and deep, making your eyes roll back. You feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of air, but Rafe doesn’t let up his hold. ”Beg.“

Holy shit.

"Please, Rafe. I fucking need it," you pant wearily. ”I want to please you both… I wanna feel you-“ Your voice trails off as you feel your orgasm building again, vision fuzzy, mind muddled like you could fall to the floor.

"Baby? You got awfully quiet. You a'ight?" He growls; a low tone rumbled against your skin.

”I want you both to ruin me!“ You choke out the words. “I’ll do anything for your dick. Please.”

"Mmm… Atta girl.” Rafe pulls out, taking his time with you as he looks down at you lovingly. He guides your chin, lifting your lips to his. Rafe kisses you soft and slow as you try to catch your breath. You look down at his throbbing dick, the creamy ring of your arousal rinsing off his hardened flesh, ready for more.

“You think your brother wants me, Rafey?" You whisper, biting into your bottom lip as you bat your lashes, playing into his game.

”'Course he does. That bastard always wants what’s mine. Lucky for him, we’re brothers… N'I play nice.“ Rafe loops his bicep under your thigh, plunging his cock back in. He rolls his hips deliciously slow, finding that perfect angle that makes tears leak from your eyes. ”Gonna fuck that tight little ass of yours, baby. Fill you up,“ he groans. ”We haven’t done that yet? You ready, f'me? Think you can handle us both?“

You can’t even form words; all thoughts in your mind run wild at the idea of having them. "You’re squeezing me so tight, baby… Think you could cum for me again?" He whispers against your ear, teeth, tugging at your lobe as he draws out, slamming his cock back into your pussy. You let out a cry of pleasure, your cracked sob reverberating off the walls. "Gonna have you creamin’ on our cocks all night. Just a little whore for Cameron cock, aren'tcha?" Rafe throws his hips again and again as the knot in your stomach starts to twist tighter. You pinch your eyes shut, nodding frantically as you feel your orgasm within reach, completely cock-drunk. "Say. It.”

“M'just - Fuck, daddy-”

“M'just what?" He mocks your fucked-out tone.

"A little whore for your cocks. M'just a hole for you, Rafe.”

“Ugh. Yes! Fuck. That’s my girl. That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Yeah? Cum on my cock.”

“Fuck…”

“Cum." Your walls spasm around his cock; waves of your finish crashing down on you again and again as you call out his name. Rafe yours as he floods you with his seed. You can feel his dick twitching inside you, your body milking every last drop of his cum.

Rafe’s forehead falls to your neck in exhaustion. ”Goddamn. I fuckin’ love you, honey,“ he breathes as he kisses his way up your neck. ”Mmm… We’re gonna take real good care of you tonight, baby,“ Rafe moans. You can hear the excitement in his voice, matching your own, but you can’t help but feel a slight apprehension.

What if this ruins what Rafe and I have?

Your demeanor must have changed because Rafe notices instantly. "Talk to me, princess,” he respires as he holds you tight, lips resting on your shoulder as he rocks the two of you lazily.

“I’m a little worried, Rafe. This doesn’t really feel like something you’d do with a girlfriend… Someone you wanna end up with. This seems like something the two of you would do with some random girl - maybe a fling. I wanna be with you… I don’t see us not being together. I’m crazy about you, Rafe,” your voice cracks with emotion, making him expel a soft pity laugh like you have nothing to worry about.

“I’ve got no doubt in my mind that it’ll be us, Y/n. Rafe and y/n…” He pinches the gold "R” he bought you between his fingers. “I’m crazy about you too, baby. You gotta know that. Yeah? Here.” Rafe tugs off his gold Cameron Family ring, gliding it on your thumb instead. “I want you to have this, Y/n.”

“Really?” You gasp.

“'Course. You’re mine. Alright? Tonight doesn’t mean I think anythin’ less of you, or I’m not serious about our relationship. M'so fuckin’ serious, y/n.” Rafe pulls out of your pussy, making you wince; his large palm quickly soothes the ache. Rafe turns you into his chest, wrapping his towering frame in yours. “How could I not be serious about you, baby?” He mumbles warmly against your lips. You look up at him, matching his gaze. ”S'no question who you belong to, honey. Cam knows you’re mine. I had you first. M'gonna have you when he’s gone. Alright? Just let us take care of you like you take care of me. A'ight?“

"Okay, daddy,” you smile as you rest your hands on Rafe’s muscular chest, trying to contain your excitement as you see his ring adorned on your tiny finger. Rafe glances down as well, chuckling to himself as he sees how happy the gesture made you.

“Looks good on you, baby," he croons. "Let’s have a good night. Yeah?”

“Let’s do it.”

You start moving your hips to the music; the bass bumps in your chest. Your friend quickly grabs you by your hips, turning you away from her; you start grinding on her. Your hands drift up your thighs, working back down as you roll your body nice and slow. “Where’s Rafe?” One of your friends screams over the track. You smile and shrug as you continue to move. “You think you could introduce me to Cam?” She wiggles her eyebrows in your direction. No way.

“Sure," you breathe, brushing her off.

Where are they? Tonight has been fun. Cam is every bit as gentlemanly as Rafe. He asked me about school, my major, and my friends, but it was all very "normal”, almost as if that conversation with Rafe in the shower hadn’t happened.

Was he genuinely interested in me like Rafe said he was? Or did he change his mind? You look out into the packed college bar; a deep sea of students grinding and moving to the beat. Your dance partner gives you a sloppy kiss on the cheeks before getting whisked away by her boyfriend, leaving you solo again.

The void is quickly filled as your body is claimed by Rafe, taking you from behind. He presses his chest against your back, rough hands working up your bare thighs, resting on your hips. “You look good, baby girl,” he groans. “This fuckin’ body." His lips meet your neck, kissing and nipping his way to your ear as you grind to the beat. You can feel his rock-hard cock through his jeans, pressed against your ass. His rough fingers move down, drifting lower and lower, making your pulse below. "Bet this pussy’s so wet,” he groans, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

Rafe applies a little more pressure, pressing his fingers on top of your clothed pussy; rubbing small circles on top. Oh my god. Your body tingles, warmth coursing through your system as you feel little spurs of pleasure between your thighs. You breathe deeply, taking in his cologne, eyes widening when you take in a subtle differences.

This isn’t Rafe.

You look ahead, watching as Rafe lifts his red SOLO cup to his lips, his smirk half-seen as he stares you down. He gives you a flirty nod before tossing back the rest of his gin and tonic. You look down at the large set of hands on your body, seeing his twins matching gold Cameron ring on his finger. Cam’s body is familiar, the shape of him fitting perfectly with yours, but his hold is heavy, touch not as gentle as Rafe’s. His kisses are rough, sending chills up your spine as you rest your hands on top of his, guiding them closer to your sweet spot as Rafe watches on.

Cam’s fingers trace your inner thigh, toying with the soaked lace of your panties. “Y/n…" He moans against your skin. You lean back against him, tipping your chin up in his. Your heart skips a beat when you see Cam’s face, the sight of him making this all that more real. He looks so good, so fucking good; Rafe’s double in every sense of the word, donning a black v-neck instead of a white. His gold chain lays on his chiseled chest, glinting in the laser lights. The only visible difference is his buzzed hair. Cam wets his lip, blue eyes sparkling down on yours.

He pushes your panties to the side, causing you to gasp; Cam quickly claims your lips, stealing your breath. Rafe’s brother teases your entrance with the tip of his rough finger, making you whimper on his lips. He draws his hand away, bending you over. You rest your hands on your knees as you throw your ass back into him. Cam’s grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer; the two of you fucking clothed.

Rafe pinches his jeans, adjusting himself clearly, loving what he sees. He calls over to the bartender, yelling for his tab, making your heart pick up pace as you see the plan set in motion.

Cam grabs you by your waist, turning you around; pulling you close to his chest. One hand works around the back of your neck, guiding your focus toward his eyes as his other hand continues to massage your clit. You feel a heat building in your belly, lashes fluttering as you look up at him.

"Rafe said you were a good girl, y/n. That true?" He rasps in a voice just a little deeper than Rafe’s.

"I - I’m a good girl," you whimper.

"Then cum for me." Cam pulls you in a little closer as you feel yourself about to lose control. Fuck. Am I gonna cum in front of all these people? You look around, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd off in their own worlds. "Eyes on me? Wanna see your face, princess. Wanna see my brother’s pretty little slut cum on my hand in front of all these people," Cam taunts. He leans in, lips brushing against yours. "Our hands.” Ours? You gasp as Rafe grabs you by the waist, plunging two thick fingers between your thighs.  He fucks them into your pussy effortlessly, curling and stroking with precision.

“He told you to cum," Rafe warns.

You grit your teeth, gripping onto Rafe’s wrist and Cam’s shirt as your orgasm claims your body. The two boys work you through your release. Cam watches you closely, taking in your beautiful features as you cum for him for the first time. Rafe slips his fingers out of your pussy, sucking the mess clean as he always does. "What do you say, brother? Let’s get our girl outta here. Hmm?”

[dazed--xx]

SKZ Reaction: He hurts the reader (Hyung Line)

A/N: GUESS WHOS BACK?! BACK AGAIN DAZED IS BACK TELL A FRIEND GUESS WHOS BACK GUESS WHOS BACK GUESS WHOS BACK….a little short one I was able to come up with for this request. I hope y’all missed me as much as I missed y’all. I was uninspired recently but I’ve found my inspiration and I’m not as depressed as I once was so I felt it was only right to give y’all what you wanted. Also Minhos is implied Yandere

Masterlist

Chan:

“You’re fucking kidding me right?!” You argue, frustration bubbling in your stomach as the image of the trainee seated comfortably on Chan’s lap flashes in your memory. He shakes his head, his eyes rolling in annoyance, “No, Y/N if you can’t handle the fact that she just fell and it’s not what your making it out to be then maybe I don’t need to be with you!” He growls. You scoff at the audacity “oh sorry Chan, she just fell and I just so happened to walk in at the wrong time?!” He throws his hands up in frustration “Jesus Fuck! Y/N are you stupid? Like genuinely I’m asking because you’re obviously fucking stupid if you seem to think I would allow someone to do that!” The veins in his neck begin to bulge as you roll your eyes “I guess I’m fucking stupid then! Cause I don’t believe you! If she had just fell why were her arms around your neck why was her head laying on your shoulder?! WHY WERE YOUR ARMS WRAPPED AROUND HER?! I UNDERSTAND IF SHE FELL BUT SHE DIDN’T FUCKING FALL YOU GUYS WERE FUCKING CUDDLING CHAN” you counter, your voice cracking as you make your way to the bedroom. Forcing the door open you grab your suitcase placed under the bed.

Chan followed behind you his eyes never once leaving you. His heart sunk in his chest at your actions, and his anger in his stomach bubbled. There’s no way you were leaving him over this….right? He genuinely didn’t do anything wrong. And whilst, yes things could have been misconstrued he was sincerely telling you the honest to god truth. Your actions only fueling his anger “Why can’t you just fucking trust me?!” He snaps, grabbing the lamp from the nightstand and sending it hurling across the room. Only, not only did he hear the shattering of the lamp but a loud scream erupting from your throat. His eyes fall on you now huddled in the middle of the room. Fragments from the lamp scattered on the floor behind you and at your feet. Shock over took him. His mouth hung widen open, tears flowed down your cheeks as you ran past him out of the room as you meekly muttered “I’ll send someone to get my things another time…” it took him a few seconds to process everything as his anger was completely subsided with his actions and your words. His feet acted before he realized what he was doing, your retreating figure came into view and his heart yearned to stop you from walking out of that door. “Baby—Y/N, please I-I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that, please don’t leave. I’m sorry” he cried as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Your whole body tensed from the contact and his resolve completely shattered at your fear. Sobs flowed out like Niagara, his breathing grew heavier and heavier as you struggled to pull him off you. His pleas falling on deaf ears as you finally force him off you and grab your keys and purse before running to your car.

Your heart broke as Chan pulled on your door handle, heartbreak and sorrow etched on his features as he begged you to stay, that he would fix things and profusely apologizing. You pleaded for him to let go of the handle so he wouldn’t get hurt but having no choice you placed your car in reverse and slowly made your way out of the drive way and down the street. Your eyes catching a glimpse of the man you love crying at the end of the driveway where you left him, on his knees.

Minho:

“You’re overreacting..” Minho sighed as you walked down the street, not understanding your anger at his ignorance. “Minho, you introduced me as your friend to someone you’ve liked for years. How can you be so oblivious to how that can hurt your girlfriend. That watched you pine over that girl for years.” You explained cautiously behind gritted teeth. “I didn’t pine over her. And I love you, not her so I don’t see the problem, nor do I really care if she knows our relationship or not. It’s not like I go around telling everyone you’re my girlfriend anyway” he states snobbishly as he shrugs you off. You stop in place releasing his hand. “So who knows then?” You question, this has come up a few times in your almost one year relationship. For some reason, Minho seems hesitant to fully acknowledge you as his girlfriend. You wouldn’t have really cared if it was just about going public but so far you’ve never even met his members. Not when you were his friend, and especially not while you were his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure his parents knew. And with the way he’s been treating you, it’s no surprise when he gives you a confused look and states “no one? Why does anyone have to know? You know what I’m not doing this with you again. I told you already, I don’t want anyone to know about us. Other people like to ruin happy relationships, why would I want someone to unnecessarily know about something I want to be mine and mine only?” You scoff at his undermining tone, this is how it always was. You somehow get on his nerves and he scolds you like a child, almost like he looks down on you in a way. Almost like—“Are you embarrassed of me or something?” You snap.

Realization washes over you, your mouth hung open; as you stare at him in shock. The look on his face has your blood running cold. A glare planted firmly on you as he stomps over to you, his hand roughly grabbing your wrist. His grip is vice like and hurt. “ow, Minho, you’re hurting me—Don’t ever say something so fucking stupid again are you kidding me?!” He snapped behind gritted teeth his words like venom almost instantaneously you nodded in fear. Tears built in your eyes and you thanked god you were close to your dorm. “Please let me go…” you muttered as he pulled you beside him down the street toward your dorm. The whole way his harsh grip remained on your wrist, as tears flowed down your cheeks. His natural calm look remained on his face, really selling the façade of someone quite unaffected but inside he was dying. How could you ask him that? You are the only thing that matters to him. He’s never once been embarrassed of you he loves you so much. And though—yes, he may have lied to that girl about your relationship, honestly just to see how you’d react, he never thought you’d ask him such a disgusting question. He lied to you, and he knows this is his price to pay for that lie but how could he bring you around everyone that’s so desperate to meet you? He could feel you slipping through his fingers so to speak so he held you at his side. Your pleas falling on deaf ears, he didn’t even realize how tightly he had been holding you. And once he realized it was too late, when you refused to meet his eyes at your door he felt like he was going to throw up. He overreacted, he knows he did. He stared at your fearful figure and pulled you into his chest. Words getting stuck in his throat as you shoved his arms away, what could he do? He was panicking. “I-I didn’t mean to—I don’t care.” You cut him off “I can’t do this anymore Minho, please…don’t—don’t come back here” this couldn’t be happening right now. “Princess, I really didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, I’m not embarrassed of you okay? I’ll fix this, we can go to my dorm right now you can meet my members. I’ll do whatever you want but please don’t break up with me. You know id never hurt you on purpose, I genuinely just lost myself for a second but it won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again. I’m sorry I’m so sorry but please don’t make me leave now it was supposed to be our night please don’t let my stupidity mess everything up.” He begged grabbing your hand in his. Shaking your head you rejected him coldly before rushing inside and locking the door behind you ignoring the banging and whaling at the door.

Changbin:

“This is really too much, Y/N..” Changbin scolded. You had texted him quite a few times, since he hadn’t come home in 3 days and to the average person you’d expect a reply or any sign your significant other is doing okay. The last time you had seen him he was on the verge of collapse and now he acted as if nothing had happened; as if you didn’t see how he struggled to even walk to your room a few nights prior. “How is it too much? I just asked Chan if you were okay, I was worried about you, Bin” you pout from your place on the couch. “I told you that I was fine. I told you I was busy and didn’t need you consistently checking up on me and being so fucking obsessive. I understand why your exes just disappeared on you cause holy fuck!” He growls, you bite your lip at his words lifting yourself from your seat and slowly make your way to the bedroom to collect your things to get some space. Your movements are halted by his harsh grip whipping you around to face him. Tears streaming down your face as your harshly shoved against the wall “No! You don’t get to be literally fucking crazy then just walk away like you didn’t fucking harass me” He scolds.

A sharp pain radiating in your back, you flinched as he towered over you. “Please let me go I-I don’t want this…I’m sorry I’m sorry” your hands covered your head as you squeaked. His hold on you loosened “B-babe…” he croaked “Im sorry I—“ his words were cut off by you forcefully shoving him away from you “D-don’t touch me” you exclaim while you rushed to the bedroom. Locking it behind you as you listened to a once frozen Changbin shout expletives and several loud bangs ring through the apartment.

Hyunjin:

“You really think he loves you?” Yerim prods, her words like venom and you silently prayed Hyunjin would be back from the store soon. “Hyunjin likes me Yerim, we’re dating. We have been dating for over a year now I would think he likes me” you sigh. Staring at the door, “you think that but you do know what he does when he comes over to my place? It’s like you don’t exist, he loves me honestly. We’ve been friends since we were kids you really don’t think I can’t make you guys break up any time I want? You’re still with Hyunjin because I allow you to be.” She snaps. Her hands sat on her hips as she leans into your face “He loves me not you and honestly it’s embarrassing how much you cling to him” her words like venom, sending pain straight into your heart. You never particularly cared that Hyunjins best friend was a girl, you never minded that they hung out almost daily. You didn’t mind not tagging along because you felt he deserved to have time alone with his best friend. Yet, every time you’d had seen her she would have something negative to say and for a while now it’s been the stipulation that Hyunjin was cheating on you with her. You typically just ignore her, and never tell Hyunjin as you don’t want to be the reason for them to fight. But her words today have you absolutely fuming. “Jesus Christ, Yerim! Can you grow the fuck up for once? Like honestly I’m really over this bitchy, monopolizing attitude you have over Hyunjin. He may have fallen for this innocent, perfect persona but I’m really getting pissed off with it.” You snap as you lift yourself from the couch you were sat on and making your way over to the kitchen. “I WAS HIS FRIEND FIRST! I LOVED HIM FIRST!” She growls grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at her “okay! SO WHY WERE YOU SUCH A PUSSY AND DIDN’T CONFESS TO HIM?! IF YOU LOVED HIM SO FUCKING MUCH YOU WOULD HAVE TOLD HIM THAT YOU LOVE HIM WHETHER HE WAS WITH ME OR NOT BUT NO YOU CHOSE TO RUN WITH YOUR TAIL TUCKED BETWEEN YOUR LEGS AND NOW YOU EXPECT ME TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT MY BOYFRIEND! Get a fucking grip Yerim and don’t fucking touch me!” You force your arm from her grasp with a little too much force earning a small yelp from Yerim as she stumbles back toward the couch. The sound of the door slamming closed cut both of your words off. You see Hyunjin standing in the doorway a glare planted on his face as he stormed toward you two.

You feel confusion as his scowl never once left your face as he shoved you away from his friend. Losing your footing from going backward you land on the ground a sharp pain shoots through your wrist. “Yerim are you okay? Y/N are you fucking crazy?!” He growled at you never once turning and seeing your small figure holding tight onto your wrist as the pain radiates through it. “. “She’s literally fine she fell…” you grumble. “Onto a couch mind you” your words are strained as you slowly lift yourself up from the ground. “Why’d you fucking push her in the first place? I get you don’t even like her but to act so fucking childish it’s disgusting!” He scolds, you glare at him as you make your way to your door grabbing your car keys with your wrist pressed firmly against your body; as you held back your tears “ITS DISGUSTING THAT YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME TOO BUT WHATEVER HYUNJIN IM GOING TO THE HOSPITAL I WANT YOU, YOUR SLUT AND YOUR SHIT OUT OF MY APARTMENT BEFORE I GET BACK!” You snap. “Wait, Y/N! I think you’re misunderstanding something here… she’s my best friend that’s all! I didn’t mean to hurt you I’m sorry okay? But I heard what you said and just saw red when I saw you push her!” He counters as he makes his way over to you. “But you don’t care about what she said? Nothing was misunderstood she made both of your relationship very clear to me and honestly you can have each other” you argue, his eyes brows scrunch together as his head whips toward Yerim. “What the hell did you say to her?!” He shouted his voice filled with panic. “It doesn’t matter I want you both gone before I get back here…” you snap as you force your door open and make your way outside. You can hear his confused pleas for you to allow him to come with you. You saw the realization adorn his features as he realized that you were serious, when you wouldn’t unlock your passenger door no matter how many times he pulled on it. He cried and begged you not to break up with him over this, that he would fix it and he believed you. He felt the world crumbling down around him as you drove away and he received a text from you stating that him and his stuff needed to be vacated from your apartment by the time you came back home. He sobbed harshly as he stared after your car driving away from him.

[capquinn]

Hey I love your Dad!Quinn writings so much! They’re so cute and fluffy! Maybe you can do one about mom’s bump popping up one morning and Quinn is like mesmerized, realizes that a baby is coming and his life is going to change. But he’s so happy. Only if you want to write this. Have fun in NYC!

The hoodie slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Quinn froze in the doorway, caught in the quiet spell of the moment. His breath stilled, his gaze fixed on you — on the reflection of you in the mirror, framed by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. You were standing there, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, your fingers brushing over it in a way that was both casual and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the same curve he’d kissed goodnight the evening before. This was new, different.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, lingering on the now unmistakable swell of your stomach. It wasn’t just a gentle hint anymore, not the subtle softness he’d grown accustomed to seeing. It was undeniable, defined. A bump.

His bump. His baby.

Quinn’s arms hung at his sides, his hoodie now pooled in the chair behind him as his brain worked to catch up with his eyes. For a long beat, he just stared, unmoving, as the weight of it hit him all at once. His chest tightened, his heart thrumming in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t panic, not fear, but bigger — something that was overwhelming in its tenderness. Awe, maybe. Or reverence. A sense of this is real that felt too massive for his chest to hold.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking from a different angle might somehow soften the impact, but it didn’t. If anything, it deepened it.

His gaze dropped to your hand, the way your palm smoothed over the firm swell like it was second nature now. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until he let it out, slow and shaky, his hands flexing at his sides. There was no mistaking it anymore — this was real. Tangible. The tiny life that had been nothing but whispers and plans and grainy black-and-white ultrasound images was suddenly here, making its presence known.

You glanced up in the mirror, your eyes catching his reflection, and Quinn’s heart twisted. You looked at him like you always did — a soft affection that grounded him — but now there was something else. Something unspoken, something shared. Something that said, can you believe this?

He stepped closer without even realising, the movement automatic, like gravity was pulling him to you. His hand reached out instinctively, tentative at first, brushing against the curve of your belly before settling there fully. His palm was warm, steady, fingers spreading slightly as if to take it all in. The bump was firm, more defined than he’d expected, and the simple touch made everything feel sharper, clearer.

“This is new,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the same quiet awe that was written all over your face.

“No,” he agreed, his thumb sweeping in a slow arc along the edge of your belly. “It wasn’t.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just an abstract thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just appointments or plans or future names whispered in the dark. It was right here, under his hand. The tiny, growing life you’d made together, tucked safely between the two of you.

His gaze flicked back up to yours, his eyes soft and bright with something unspoken. Pride, maybe, and then his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile.

“That’s… really our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, as though saying them aloud might help him fully believe it.

“Really our baby,” you echoed, and the way you said it, so soft but so certain, nearly unraveled him.

Quinn’s thumb brushed over your skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if tethering himself in the moment. He didn’t let go, didn’t even think about moving. His fingers flexed gently against you, holding on as though the world might tip if he didn’t anchor himself to this — to you.

He exhaled quietly, his voice dropping even lower as his gaze flicked back to your bump.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he murmurs. “To you. To seeing you like this.” His voice caught slightly, and his eyes softened even further as they roamed the swell of your stomach, his hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you — off the way your body had changed, the way it was carrying something that was a part of both of you. It hit him all at once, an overwhelming wave of awe that nearly stole his breath. The guys had joked about this, their faces lighting up in a way that always seemed a little exaggerated when they said there was nothing more attractive than seeing your partner pregnant with your child. He’d brushed it off at the time, but standing here now, he finally understood. You were stunning, and it wasn’t just how you looked — it was what it meant. What you were doing.

He kept those thoughts to himself, too raw and vulnerable to say aloud, but they lingered, stirring in the quiet space between you.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he said instead, the words escaping before he could stop them. He didn’t need to elaborate — everything he felt was in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft, his expression completely open.

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with hormones. He saw it immediately — the way your eyes glossed just slightly, your lips pressing together as if to hold back an overflow of emotion. You stared down at the curve of your belly, your hand resting over his, grounding yourself in the moment.

Quinn’s heart clenched at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make you cry, but the way your reaction softened your entire expression made his chest ache in the best way. His fingers flexed gently against your stomach again, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow, steady rhythm, his way of silently telling you that he was right here.

Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something but weren’t quite ready, and he stayed quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” you whispered finally, your voice carrying a quiet awe that made his breath catch.

He paused for just a moment, watching the way your gaze lingered on your belly, before answering.

“It’s real,” he said, almost to himself, as if to convince the last part of him that still couldn’t quite believe it. His fingers pressed a little more firmly, cradling the swell of your stomach with the same care he might handle something sacred. “It’s us. Right here.”

He could see the ripple of emotion in your expression, the way your chest rose in a deep, steadying breath. The way your hand tightened over his for just a second, like you needed him to hold you in the moment.

When your eyes finally met his, the look you gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was full of wonder, gratitude, and a love so profound it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t do anything but hope that you saw everything reflected back in his gaze: the wonder, the love, the quiet, unshakable resolve that whatever came next, he’d be there — every step, every breath. For you. For the tiny life between you. For all of it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[shrenvents]

hii can you do some dean smut, maybe he and reader meet in a dive bar or sum?? <3

a/n: sure thing, i hope u like 😉😘

Mind Games

Warnings: Minors dni; Smut, v!penetration (protection used), language, fingering, some fluff, some jealousy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x you

Summary: You and Sam go way back. You and Dean as well, though he has no recollection of it, and for that, you make him pay.

Word Count: 4.1 k

...

The night had been long already when Sam texted you—“Hey, I'm in town. Drinks at Murphy's?”—but you didn’t hesitate to answer yes. It had been quite some time since you’d last seen him, and life had a funny way of pulling people apart after high school, though you and Sam tried to stay in touch here and there.

It hurt when he unexpectedly dropped out of school without explaining why, but thankfully he reconnected down the line, and the rest was history. He was just an easy friend, a good one you could pick up things with even after years of silence.

A dive bar wasn’t exactly your first choice. You preferred places with brighter lighting and cleaner, less sticky floors, without an old jukebox playing songs that were a hit, long before any patrons could remember. But Sam seemed to have a soft spot for them. It suited him, really—the unpretentious atmosphere, the cheap drinks. 

As you stepped past the creaky door, the scent of stale beer and cigarettes hit you like a wave of nostalgia. It reminded you of late nights sneaking into bars with Sam when you were underage, laughing too loud, worrying too little. The memory still made you smile.

You quickly spotted Sam, his broad frame hunched over a small booth in the corner, beer in hand. He looked up, eyes twinkling when he saw you, enthusiastically calling your name. Mid-wave, you froze and your heart skipped a beat after noticing who was sitting across from him —Dean. Sam’s older brother. 

Dean leaned back in his chair, lazily nursing a beer and his signature, cocky smirk as his eyes coasted his surroundings. He looked exactly the same, though his face was a little more rugged, and perhaps a little worn from life.

You’d had a ridiculous crush on Dean back in school. Your best friend's older brother. The guy who could make anyone laugh, who strode around like the world was his oyster. But he never noticed you. Not back then. Dean was too busy sleeping around, charming his way through the female student body, and leaving an abundance of broken hearts in his wake. The few times you were around him, he rarely glanced in your direction. And that was fine. Especially now, since you’ve grown up and moved on…

'Of course he's here,' you thought with an internal roll of your eyes, trying to steel yourself for the sudden rush of old, pitiful memories of unrequited love. You should've guessed he'd be here since Sam told you they'd hit the road together.

With a deep breath, you straightened out your shoulders and paced over, mustering all your strength to fix a calm smile onto your face as you greeted Sam, and his brother, who most likely wouldn’t really know you. "Long time no see," Sam remarked, standing to give you a bear hug, which you immediately returned. “Missed you."

"Missed you too," you replied with a pleased sigh. Your eyes then flickered to Dean for the briefest moment. He hadn’t moved, still reclined in his seat, watching you both with that curious tilt of his head. His silence stretched on long enough that it was clear—he didn’t recognize you.

'Typical,' you thought, and your smile tightened into a thin line as you slid into the booth. Ignoring the way Dean’s gaze dwindled, you decided two could play this game. It might be fun, even.

"Dean, you remember her now, don't you?" Sam asked, oblivious to the tension looming in the air as he gestured to you, hoping the in-person image would jog his memory.

Dean’s brows furrowed, and for a second, you swore you saw something flash behind his forest-coloured eyes. Then, as if he’d decided it wasn’t worth pretending, he shook his head, offering you a half-smile. You dismissed the swarming butterflies in your stomach, realizing this might just be the first time he's truly looked at you. And you’ve seen that look countless times from afar —it was the one he showed to the next girl he'd pick up.

"Sorry," Dean huffed dramatically, feigning disappointment having not remembered you. His voice was a low rumble that made your pulse quicken against your will. "Can’t say I do."

And there it was. Just as you expected. You’d spent countless afternoons back in high school, hanging out with Sam, romanticizing his older brother from the sidelines, praying he’d eventually give you the time of day. But Dean Winchester has always been… Well, Dean Winchester. And he always will be.

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms with a smirk of your own, mimicking his relaxed demeanour. "Don’t worry about it. It’s been a while." Dean’s eyes narrowed momentarily, like he knew he’d missed something important, but had no clue what. Sam, ever the peacemaker, cut in with a laugh.

“Well, now that that's settled, drinks are on us. Let’s catch up.” Sam pushed a beer towards you and you downed nearly half, already determined to show that tonight, you weren't gonna be that quiet, shy, unnoticeable girl you were in school. If Dean noticed you now, he was in for one hell of a ride…

You and Sam probably spoke for less than an hour, because, unfortunately for Sam, he could barely get a word in with all of Dean's shameless flirting, which you somewhat entertained. Undoubtedly, neglecting him only egged him on more.

Throughout the night, after Sam gave up and wandered elsewhere, drunk and confused, Dean would make bold throwaway comments, steal lingering glances, and release that low chuckle every time you defiantly teased him. At first, it was satisfying—this was the guy you used to dream about noticing you, and now he couldn’t take his eyes off you. But as the hours ticked by, you recalled all too well who Dean really was: a player. A guy who’d probably seen countless women come and go without a second thought. However, now, with him slowly inching towards you, it was becoming increasingly difficult to disregard the urge to go home with him to spare your dignity.

The second the ragged surface of his jeans started grazing your thigh, you excused yourself to get another drink. Strutting over to the bar, you felt his eyes bore into your backside and a shiver racked down your spine. Rather dizzyly, you ordered another drink but were surprised when a tall stranger offered to pay for it. Despite the unwanted attention, with Dean eyeing you both, you selected to make this stranger an outlet for a potential mistake.

So just for show, you leaned in a little too close, laughing at jokes that weren’t funny, ambling with your drink as if you were reluctant to return to Dean. His gaze was burning holes into the man's head the entire time, and you knew this was doing wonders to Dean's inflated ego. 

Then you heard a loud thud behind you, and just as you turned around, Dean was already there, standing close by, staring daggers into the stranger you ironically couldn't remember the name of. Dean then glanced down at you, wordlessly demanding eye contact, and you're rooted to the floor when his hand brazenly brushes across your lower back, to rest comfortably on your hip. "Hey," he smiled as his gaze softened, marking the smooth return of his playboy facade.

"How about we get outta here?" Dean whispered into your ear while his nose skimmed your hair. Subtly taking a deep breath, you seductively beam up at him and note how his grip tightened on your side as if he had to brace himself. "Exactly what I was thinking," you whispered back and Dean's eyes fluttered, and you're so close he likely thinks you're about to kiss, but you have other plans.

"Wanna go?" You asked the man you nearly forgot about, who seems almost as stunned as you sense Dean is. He takes a sharp intake of breath at his rejection, virtually staggering back from you, and the moment his hand lifts from your hot flesh, you slip away and grab the stranger's forearm, swiftly hauling him outside with you, without looking back. As you left, you waved goodbye to Sam. "I'll call you tomorrow," you said with an energetic wink, unable to conceal how giddy you were.

After your dramatic exit, you made it clear to the poor stranger that you had no intention of taking things any further than a walk to your car. But Dean didn’t know that. 

…

The very next day, you made more plans with Sam to make up for yesterday's turn of events, but Dean was relentless. For that whole week in fact. He obviously forced Sam to give him your number, and since then, there have been numerous texts, calls, and unexpected visits. Each time he found you, his approach became more serious, more focused, and still, you’d reject him every time, in a rather absentminded way, which drove him mad. You grew to love the way it made him squirm.

Today was one of those days, at a quiet little bar far from the one you met at, the conversation quickly turned south from the usual banter.

He’d barely sat down before that trademark smirk was back. His green eyes glinted as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table between you, his fingers grazing yours. The touch was subtle, but deliberate—like he was testing the waters. You pulled your hand back just a fraction, enough for him to notice but not enough to discourage him. You were growing unsure of who you were punishing at this point.

"Missed me?" Dean's voice was deep, smooth, and far too confident for someone who’d been chasing you all week and failing miserably. You rolled your eyes playfully and took a sip of your drink. "Don’t flatter yourself. I just wanted to get a quiet drink," you quipped. Dean chuckled, undeterred, shaking his head. "Right, right. That’s why you agreed to meet me here. For a ‘quiet' drink." His voice dripped with mischievous sarcasm, and an undertone of sexual frustration.

You couldn’t help but grin. "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better." You crossed your legs and kicked out one, lightly touching Dean's, and he tensed. He then closed in, his fingers gently touching the back of your hand, this time pausing just long enough to send a quake up your arm. "You like to keep me guessing, don’t you?" He wet his lips, eyes darting to yours, which were shrivelling up with anticipation.

"Maybe," you admitted with a sheepish grin. "Or maybe I just like taking you down a few pegs." Dean laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sounded a bit like a scoff and sent a rush of heat through you. He didn’t pull away, and the teasing glow in his eyes eased for just a moment as he studied you.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" His voice dropped a notch, and his regard danced across your skin. "Ever since that night at Murphy's… I haven’t stopped thinking about you."

Though your pulse was racing, you shifted away, pretending to be unimpressed. "I'm sure you say that to all the ladies," you taunted with a roll of your eyes. Dean shook his head, his smile fading a little. "This isn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. "Oh Please. Not even a little?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I didn’t remember you from school. But Sam and I've moved around so much; I never bothered to remember anyone." He winced, as if admitting it aloud stung a little. "Though I have no idea how I don't remember you. I wish I did," he expressed, and he sounded so sincere that you nearly swooned.

"But things are different now. This is different," he proclaimed, eyes wild with a fiery determination. You arched an eyebrow, scooting forward. "So, what’s this been about then?" Though you question Dean, you give him no time to respond, pressing on. "You're just upset that I didn’t fall into your lap like all the others?"

Dean’s eyes were ablaze, and he didn't retract into his seat. If anything, he dipped in closer. "Sorry I hurt your ego," you added, half-sarcastic, half-challenging. He shook his head and his jaw clenched. "Maybe it started out that way," he acknowledged, but his tone held not a trace of his usual humour. "But really, it isn’t like that anymore."

You tilted your head, intrigued by the sincerity in his voice, but confused by his articulation. You’d expected him to laugh it off, throw out a line, but this? This felt… as he said, different. Not to mention the way he was looking at you—like he was seeing you, really seeing you—made your heart skip a beat.

"Oooohhh, okay then," you mocked slowly, drawing out the words. "Tell me, what’s it like Dean?" If you weren't paying such close attention to him, you might have missed how his breath hitched and how his eyes darkened while he inched closer to you. The impish atmosphere between you two had suddenly altered, the circulating tension becoming thick and electric. His hand moved to your thigh under the table, his touch scalding, steady, while his other hand weaved through your fingers.

"It’s like…" He trailed off, his voice a whisper now, his lips brushing your ear. "Every time I see you, I have to resist the urge to…" He paused, cutting himself short as he moved back slightly. His breath was warm on your skin and he peered down at your lips once again, however this time, he appeared vulnerable.

"To what?" You whispered, barely able to get the words out as your heart pounded against your ribs. Dean’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours, his hand tautening on your leg, his thumb slowly rubbing your inner thigh. "To kiss you."

Before you could respond he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with a sudden, heated intensity that took your breath away. You melted into the kiss. All the teasing, the banter, the back-and-forth disappeared as you instinctively tangled your fingers into his hair, drawing him in.

Dean groaned softly against your lips, pleased by your instant reaction. His hand moved from yours to cup your cheek, his thumb gently gliding over your flushed skin as the kiss deepened. It was slow at first, then building, and heat swarmed your core when the hand gripping your thigh slid upwards. You felt the pent-up tension you'd been feeling all week, and since the moment you saw him, spill into your actions. He pressed flush against you, leaving no space, and you laid your legs overtop of his lap. His tongue licked your lips surface, grazing your teeth and you gasped, pulling away as much as he allowed.

Breathless and panting, Dean rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That’s what it’s like," he rasped airily, his voice hoarse. And for the first time, you believed him. Things may really be different.

As you got lost in your thoughts, he began to chant your name with that same smile widening. Both his hands then seized your upper arms, shaking you tenderly as he repeated your name. "Tell me what you're thinking," he more or less pleaded.

"I'm thinking that, if I find out you're lying to get in my pants, I'll kill you," you smirked devilishly, peering up at him through hooded eyes. His eyes morphed into a darker shade of black, turned on by your threat. You giggled, lightly shaking your head. "I can't fake this baby," Dean sweet talks, and you note how his manner seems looser now that he's gotten how he feels off his chest.

He pecks your cheek. "You know, I was pretty hurt when you left with that guy the other night," he huffed like the memory still haunted him. You stifled your laugh. "Uh-huh?" His eyes narrowed at your teasing response, though his smile hardly wavered. "You think that's funny?"

"Yeah," you replied immediately with a shrug. "Especially since I was deliberately messing with you." Dean's brows shot into his forehead, creasing it in utter disbelief and bafflement. "I didn't sleep with him Dean," your tone lowers wantonly, "like I said, I wanted to take you down a few pegs."

His wide eyes crinkled as he erupted with laughter, stammering "touché" in between chuckles. You laughed along, admiring how carefree he was at that moment. When his stream of laughter died out, you gulped at the strange look he suddenly showed. "It's a shame," he stated cryptically. Your face twisted with puzzlement, which made Dean's dreamlike expression grow, apparently in deep contemplation. "What?" You snapped jokingly.

"Oh nothing," he sighed while his palms skated down to your torso, cupping your ribcage as he looked to the distance sadly. You smacked his side which made a snort escape him. "Oh, just... If only you left with me that night," he remarked dolefully, unable to hide that glint of lust-fueled wit. "If only," you reiterated with a strained sound, also unable to hide your looping thoughts, which were clouded by desire. "How about we make that happen?" He kissed your other cheek. His lips lingered there and his breath fanned your skin. "How about it?" You responded airily and Dean laughed at your consistent repetition, clearly trying to push his buttons in a way he's grown to love.

Without another word, he slides out of the booth and gently ushers you out, onto your feet, holding your hand firmly in his. With his spare hand, he drops some cash on the table and pulls you to his hip. He walked you both outside, leading you towards his car and you shuddered at the sight. It reminded you of the countless times he'd pick up Sam from school and you'd watch him from afar. The number of fantasies you had of him and that car made your body surge with a fierce, intoxicating need.

He opened his passenger seat and propped you inside, and you obediently admired his every move until he sat behind the wheel. One glimpse of his profile darting from you to the windscreen pushed you off the edge.

"Fuck," you quickly murmured, catching Dean off guard when you abruptly pounced on him, straddling his thighs. You cupped his dome, tugging on his short locks while his hands shot to your waist, dragging you downwards so he could grind into you. You both moaned into the messy kiss, so close to satisfaction, yet so far. He groaned your name when your lips moved to his neck, desperate to leave a mark. He reluctantly tried to halt your attack, but your need overpowered all logic. "I can't wait," he grunted when he wretched your face from his neck. Dean's head thumped against the seat's leather headrest and his eyes were glossy with a sort of determination.

"Get in the back," is all he ordered before he hastily assisted you onto the backseat. He climbed on top of you after grabbing a condom from the glove compartment, following your mouth eagerly, and pecking it a few times as he laid you down. "God you're sexy," he groaned. He then yanked off his jacket and shirt in two swift motions before that familiar smug expression consumed his features. "You're unbelievable," you scoffed and his smirk grew.

"I get that a lot," he commented jokingly and you smacked his side harder than before, displaying your exasperation. He laughed and you threaded your fingers into his hair again to shut him up. His mouth collided with yours, and his hands frantically removed both of your clothes. He sweared loudly when you bucked your hips up and rub his bulge —now covered by his boxers alone. His deep voice let out a surprising whimper when you did it again, this time using your hands to drag him down, clutching his defined hips.

You then had a sudden craving to admit to him how much you longed for this moment, but you opted for: "fuck me." Dean growled into your ear before kissing you rather harshly as he took himself out of his briefs. He cupped your bare breast, which is still partially hidden by your bra since he was too transfixed elsewhere to remove it completely.

When his cock hit your abdomen and he slid on the condom, you hummed a moan, biting your bottom lip in anticipation. "Jesus," he mumbled under his breath when his tip breached your slit. He smoothly glided inside, as if you were two puzzle pieces melding together. Your heart panged and you gasped, while Dean muttered nonsensically. He reared back to look into your eyes once he bottomed out. When he pulled away, his very breath abandoned his lungs as if his soul was now connected to your lips, and you'd be keeping it with you now and forever. For once, he actually felt like putty in someone's hands, and he didn't hate it. Not when you felt like Heaven, after years of experiencing Hellfire.

Underneath him, you remarked on how it felt to finally be touched by Dean... Addictive. Unhurriedly, he guided both your arms above your head, stretching out your spine, and holding your wrists in place with a single hand. The air stilled and you listened to his rapid heartbeats. The tension was palpable as his mouth descended onto yours —quickly going from slow and passionate, to needy and frenzied. Dean suddenly thrust and you yelped, which made him cease his movements immediately. He attempted to pull away from your mouth but you raised your head to pull him back down, unable to do anything else, not with your arms still hoisted above you. You rolled your hips into him and he released a lengthy grunt of approval, clearly understanding that you wanted him to resume his pounding.

He sped up his thrusting and you could barely hold back your cries, loving his strength and weight caging you in, and taking you roughly. Even though his lower half was aggressive, it was still Dean writhing into you, looking down at you with such tenderness, and kissing you in ways that made you hopelessly expect more. At this point, you'd take whatever he'd give you and thank him for it.

"Don't stop," you nearly shouted when your legs begun to shake. He released an animalistic sound, his strokes becoming increasingly choppy. Dean heaves your name, muttering, "You're some kind of fantasy, you know that?" Before you could respond he captured your lips, moaning into your mouth while his fingers slipped between you two. Suddenly his digits rubbed circles onto your clit and you gasped loudly, whining into his all-consuming kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist and felt Dean smirk, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reprimand him when he makes you reach your climax, which rushes over you like a tidal wave, crashing into shore with a loud sob.

"Fuck," Dean's hips stuttered into you, and his eyes squeezed shut as he came, letting go of your wrists to prop himself up in a plank. He breathed in and out slowly, eyelids eventually fluttering open to witness you already surveying him, entranced by his face when it's full of ecstasy. "That was... Fucking amazing," he panted as he monitored your reddened complexion. You nodded, though you shied away from his gaze, feeling all too vulnerable, afraid that history was repeating itself, and you were already head-over-heels for Dean Winchester.

As your mind wandered into a dark place, Dean's calloused finger pads grabbed your attention when they caressed your jaw, swiping your cheek. "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," he chuckled airily to himself before continuing, "and give me a chance to do that again—many, many times."

Now it's his turn to seem sheepish and you laugh, partially in shock. "No strings attached?" You arched a brow as you questioned what you were, despite having not gone on an actual date yet. He displayed a genuine smile as he shook his head no. "I'm already tangled up in them," he confessed with a shrug.

Your heart flipped and you fought to remain stoic. You then lifted your index finger above your nose, right in his eye line. "I'm givin' you one chance... To do that, over and over again," you whispered sensually, biting back your shit-eating grin. A giddy, boyish look took over Dean's face and your laughter burst through, making your core clench around him and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"How about we start that 'one chance' right now?" You purred, smirking at the way his eyes playfully narrowed. "Gladly."

a/n: heyyy!! if y’all liked this check out my ff “to be hunted” on wp!

[xxblairexxss]

Revenge (part 2)

Part 1

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Tiny bit of angst and fluff

In which Charles tried to fix things back after what he did to you last night. Not proofread!

Charles didn’t sleep at all that night. He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t deserve a wink of sleep after what he did. Funny how he was so tired last night but couldn’t even afford a minute of sleep now. He tried to check up on you but you locked the door. Yeah, served him right. The audacity for him to even try to see you after everything he said was unbelievable.

He only fell asleep due to exhaustion and it felt like a solid 5 minutes before his alarm rang. The house felt cold for some reason. It was early in the morning. He knew you would still be asleep.

Soon as he took a shower and got dressed up, he walked past the guest room and made his way to get the car key. He thought it would be better to not disturb you as you had enough from him anyway. That was when he saw a bowl of fruits on the table with a small handwritten notes on the side.

‘My handwriting is probably so hideous with my left hand but I hope you can read this. I couldn’t prepare your favourite sandwich but I cut these fruits for you. Make sure to eat something before you head out! I’m sorry about last night.’

Charles had to sit as he felt his legs getting weak. Why did you have to make things even worse. He was too embarrassed to talk to you and now he didn’t think he could even look at you in the eyes.

“Chérie?” He softly knocked on the door before turning on the doorknob. Charles took a peek inside the guest room and there you were, sound asleep with one hand clutching on the heating pad against your stomach. He had come in hoping he could apologize or at least say something before he left but seeing the way you sleep, your hair bun was loose as those strands of hair covering your face, you looked like you had just fallen asleep so he didn’t have the heart to bother you.

Charles sat on your side of the bed, careful not to wake you up as he heaved a sigh and tucked the strands of hair away from your face. “Why do you have to do that…after everything I have said.” He placed his hand against your cheek and stroked his thumb on your jaw. You were so kind, too kind that he didn’t know if he still deserve everything, all of this, the blessing of being your boyfriend and to have you as his. “I’ll be back as soon as the shooting ended. I love you.” He leaned in to kiss on your forehead before tucking you in and leave the room.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“I have never met someone who looks so sad eating strawberries.” Joris took the vacant sit in front his best friend who looked like he had dark clouds surrounding him. “What happened? Was it Y/N?”

“Yeah, I fucked up.” Charles had been playing with the fruit ever since he reached the set. Nothing felt right. He kept on reminding himself to smile and to not bring any private matters into job but it was even harder this time. Maybe telling someone about it would make it better so he told Joris.

“What the fuck? Dude, you know I have always got your back but that was really messed up. What about all the cuts on her? What happened?” Joris would have smacked his friend in the head if they weren’t in public. He wasn’t an expert when it came to dating but he knew that was so low of him.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her about that.” He wiped his palm across his face. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know where you got all those cuts and bruises from. All this time he thought you injured yourself on purpose.

“You didn’t ask her? What a fucking gentleman you are. Your girlfriend came home all bleeding and all you cared about was your image?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t—sighs—I don’t know. I fucked up, okay. I know.” He aggressively messed on his hair and covered his face with his palm.

“Y/N even prepared you these after what happened? I would have left the house and you in a second.” You had always been Joris’s favourite. He could see you were different than any of Charles’s exes and hearing what Charles did to you made him fuming.

“No, no. Don’t say that. I can’t—I really can’t lose her, Joris.”

“Well then you should keep your act together or I’m gonna be offering her a ride to get away from you any second she calls me.”

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Charles wasn’t expecting the reply. You would always asked him to buy you tons of your favourite snacks whenever you got your period.

“How was your girlfriend?”

“Pardon?” Charles thought he was hearing things.

“Your girlfriend. That poor girl was hit by a bicycle last night it was really bad. Thank god she has a very loving boyfriend to take care of her. Is this all?” The old man scanned on the items Charles had put on the counter before clicking on the total amount. “Sir, are you alright?”

Charles believed the universe had arranged every events today just to remind how much of an asshole he was. “Yeah, I’m alright. Here, keep the change.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Chérie?”

Charles closed the door and locked it before walking to the room. He knew you were in the bathroom when he heard a mumble coming from it. “Love, what are you doing?”

You had been struggling to put an ointment to your cuts. The cap of the ointment was fully sealed so you had to spend 10 minutes trying to open it and everything felt so awkward when you had to do things with your left hand. “I was just trying to put these on, I thought you won’t be home until another hour. I’m sorry let me clean up the mess. I’m really sorry.” You hurriedly put all the ointments and cotton bud aside.

“Here, I’ll help you.” Charles pushed open the door to the bathroom wider and took a step closer to take the cotton pad from your hand to which you took a stepped back in surprise.

You were still scared of him. You were scared of your own boyfriend.

“I—…” He felt his throat closing up and had to breath from his mouth. He couldn’t believe what had just happened and he was scared, scared of what would happen from here. “Love, I just wanted to help.”

“No, it’s okay… I can do it myself.” You gave him a smile, a smile that Charles knew was just a smile to ask him to leave you alone.

“No, let me help you. Please?” He slowly took the cotton pad from your hand.

“It’s okay, I can do it myself. You can take your rest, I won’t take up your time. I’ll be quite I promise.” You gave him a smile, the same one that didn’t reach your eyes.

Charles knew he messed up but he never thought what he did last night would make you completely shut him off. You used to seek for comfort in him whenever you were in pain, now he was asked to be away because you thought you were taking up his time.

“You didn’t take up my time. I’m your boyfriend I should be the one helping you. Give me that.” He took the cotton pad back from your hand and he leaned in to carry you up, one hand supporting your back and another one behind your legs out from the bathroom and headed to the room. “Stay still, Y/N. It started to bleed again.”

“Charles, it’s okay. I can do it—“ You tried to take the cotton pad away from him but he retracted his hand before you could touch it.

“If you can take it from me then I’ll let you do it yourself.” He dropped the ointments onto the cotton pad and pulled his hand away when you tried to snatch on it again.

“Charles, I’m serious. Let me do it myself.” You let out a sigh knowing you could never win against him since you didn’t go through those reflex tests like he did for years.

“And I am not playing around too. Take it from my hand and I’ll let you do it, love.” He dapped the cotton pad on the cut a few times and placed it away. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, that should be fine. I can put the wound plaster on my own.” You bended and was going to take the box of wound plaster that was on his side before he snatched it first.

“Too late. I got it first.”

“Charles..”

“There you go. All set.” Charles ignored your plead and threw away all plastics and used cotton pad away before taking a seat on your side. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes..”

“And what did you eat?”

“Something..”

“Yeah, right. I’ll order something.” Charles stood up to get his phone but you hold him arm before he walked away.

“I don’t want takeouts. Can you cook me your carbonara?”

“My infamous carbonara? That dish was put out of the menu, remember?” He took a seat back on the bed and was greeted with a forlorn look from you. “I think I can bring it back. Pretty sure it’ll taste better than my last attempt.”

He had asked you to stay put and you could hear all the ruckus going on in the kitchen. Charles loved to talk to himself whenever he cooked so you could hear “This is good. I’m such a good cook.” and “Carlos would be impressed if he tasted this.”

“Charles?”

“Yes, love? Am I taking a long time?” He turned around and saw you walked towards him while playing with your ring, the ring that he gave you. “What’s wrong?” He took your hands in his and brought it up to his lips and peck on the ring.

“I…”

“What is it, love?”

“I didn’t go out last night on purpose. My cramp hurt and I didn’t want to keep on pestering you. I swear on my life I wasn’t trying to ruin your night I was supposed to head out, bought the painkiller, went home, and slept.” You couldn’t look at your boyfriend in the eyes because deep down you were still reminded of his enraged look and whatever he said to you last night.

Charles pulled into a hug and kissed on the side of your head. “I know, baby. I know. I was wrong and I’m really really sorry. I didn’t know what took over me, I didn’t know why I was so mad. I know and I understand if you still can’t forgive me but let me take care of you.” He didn’t hear you say anything but he could feel your body started to shake as you cried in his arms. “I guess seeing you last night with all those cuts made me infuriated at myself and I took it out on you by thinking of the worst.”

He broke the hug and brought his upper body down to level his gave with your teary eyes and held your face as his thumb stroked on the freshly dropped tears on your cheeks. “I know everything I did can never be easily forgiven and I understand that. I’ll sleep on the couch if you don’t want me on the bed, I’ll leave you alone after this. Just stop thinking as if any of this was your fault and that you shouldn’t trouble me with your problems. I could cancel every schedule I have if it meant I could take care of my sick girlfriend. You are my responsibility.”

“I didn’t hurt myself on purpose. I was on my way home and—“

“I know what happened. That guy shouldn’t even ride a bicycle if he can’t control it.” He frowned in displeasure thinking about it.

“But he was nice.”

“Are you saying that the stranger is nicer than your boyfriend? He replied and made you titter in response. “On second thought, I am an asshole so he is probably nicer than me.”

You laid your head back on his chest and you could feel his arm snaked around your waist instantly. “You are not an asshole. You were tired. People say things they don’t mean when they are too tired.”

“That still doesn’t excuse my behavior last night, baby. Joris was fuming I feel like he would have choked me to death if it wasn’t for the staffs around the set.” He slid his hand under your oversized shirt and stroked on your skin.

“Well, serve you right.”

“Yeah, serve me right for treating my prettiest, softest, kindest girlfriend that way. I’m sorry, love.” He pulled away and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Stop apologizing. I’m hungry.”

“Ah! My pasta! You distracted me. Anyway, I bought your favourite chocolates on my way home earlier but you said you didn’t want anything so I guess they are mine.”

“Can we share?”

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Bakery ownerKai! Smutty hcs:"

✰---Summary: you pass this new bakery so often. and from what you can tell from just through the windows, it's full of cheer and life. whoever uses it makes the most of the small space. their personality really shines through in the decorations and the desserts looked good and well... you couldn't deny that the baker with the apron and the broad shoulders looked good in there as well. so you decide to stop in. but this is only the beginning: now he smiles when he thinks of you and your cute interaction together, hoping you'd come back and then soon enough... you do.

✰--- approx: 20 min read

✰---A/n: idk if these are considered hcs anymore lol here's a fic to hopefully tide over y'all while I finish up on that much much longer one for Vernon. may or may not turn this into a full fic OR just another hc post. probably the second because of the Vernon fic coming out perhaps in two chapters. andI feel as if this would just be better in "hc " format. (Maybe some header images coming soon idk) trying to make my fics prettier do y'all like the life stars?

✰---warningz/info: cursing I think, lots of talk of eating and desserts, smutty, Kai jerks off, I have a little brake telling you where the NSFW starts, reader has boobs but otherwise is gn I think. and that’s about it.

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

if you don’t have an age indicator saying you’re not a minor in your blog then I will be blocking you! So minors dni!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bakery owner!Kai who whips his head around spilling chocolate on the floor when he hears your voice for the first time. He has just opened the shop, it was a hole in the wall and cutesy— plushies and Pokémon character figurines on the shelves, stuff like that. You saw it then you saw him. With his powdered sugar dusted apron from the doughnuts this morning. And in this moment he realizes how very, extremely, dank he looks right now. His eye bags are dragging down his face like circles of hell, he hadnt had time to do much anything about it this morning. His hair isn’t really done. He had slept through his first alarm (something he hasn’t done is forever) and had to get here, to make the stupid doughnuts early because well, he’s the only worker here. Ugh why did I have to conserve on money this way? He thought to himself. The bowl clatters with a reverberating and embarrassing clang. He cringes, quickly going to pick it up as you greet him so so so cutely he thinks his heart will explode.

Bakery owner!Kai who’s blush on his cheeks looks so adorable to you you have half a mind to tell him. You’d Been passing this shop for days but you’d finally gotten a chance to go in this morning. He’d never know, but you’d looked into your phones selfie camera to fix your appearance one last time before going in after taking a deep breath. And you smile at the way he endearingly shares the story of how he got the shop with you.

Bakery owner!Kai who somehow feels so comfortable with you quickly when you ask about the weird names for all his desserts. He says it’s a long story and you tell him you’ve got all the time in the world for it. And he smiles wide and your knees go weak. And then because of the air of the shop you carried in with you when you set foot into the place or vibe you give off he doesn’t know but he just blabbers on and on about why he named the desserts what he did

◆◆◆◆◆nsfw under the cut◆◆◆◆◆

Bakery owner!Kai who hopes and prays that you’ll be back. and that night he can’t get you out of his head. oh no.... he really can't. and he almost feels bad when the thought of you and your sweet as sugar smile is being tossed around in his mind, making his stomach do flips as his weeping cock is dripping onto his fist. and he just can't.... stop. not that he wants to. hes pretty sure your imagine is burned in his mind till the day he dies... ok, maybe a little over exaggerated but you get the point. but now he can't think. his mind his clouded with how he should've invested in more business cards. so he could've given you one and maybe suavely told you to call him if you ever had a sugar emergency

ok... that was a little cheesy so maybe not. but who the hell knows, maybe you'd like it?! he'd gone over that small interaction you two had that day-- wondering, even though it was all a blur, how he made you feel; comfortable? at ease? oh, he hopes so. even the way he handed the box to you, with a free pastry in there as well, of course, tied with his best, perkiest ribbon all neatly. he wanted to make sure it was perfect for you. even if he never saw you again, even if you both forgot in a weeks time. he wanted to make a good impression while he had the chance.

he even worried about how the pastry tasted. though, he was confident in his skills with his passion he couldn't help but think about it all the rest of that day. which... when he though about it... seemed lonely without you in his shop. was it a good texture? flavors balanced enough? not the slightest hint of staleness? he made sure to grab one from the back of the display counter to make sure.

"you must really wanna see them again?" his friend joked "youre in looooveeee"

Bakery ownerKai! who, when he says that, rolls his eyes at Beomgyu, the friend with powdered sugar caked on his face thicker than he could grow his own beard to be. who was sitting at his table, getting crumbs all over it with the weird way he was sitting.... with his feet... all over the booth. Not even with shoes on! just bare feet. which kai honestly didnt mind much. he lets his friends eat here when hes closing up and nobody's around all the time. they'll usually clean out the couple things here and there that didnt sell and would've been thrown away anyways.

so when he drops his broomstick, almost shrieking, whisper yelling at Beomgyu to get his feet off the furniture, his friend at question is a little bit confused but does it anyway.

Baker ownerKai! who's nonchalant and laughing at his friends comment shaking his head and thinking to himself: no no, thats not true. pfff this guy is outta his mind! that was... until he saw you walk in again. "hello! I know you're closing in like--" you check your phone, "five minutes. but would you mind? that dessert I got a bit back was so good I had to literally run here from work to get the same one." he nods, smiling. and Beomgyu sits up straight in his seat at the way you two are just sitting there.... looking at each other for just a little too long. Kai swiftly drops down to pick up the broom he had dropped before leading you to the counter.

"sorry about that. I was just setting up traps for any burglars, but I trust you'll pay right?" he chuckles and you laugh along with him. "if I didnt pay then id never be able to have any more of this delicious delicacy, am I right?" you joke back. he nodes and keeps up his very much not customer service smile and gets you the dessert he remembers giving you in a box. "aw thank you!" he places the tongs down into the sink "thats really sweet of you! was it that good?" he turns back around to face you, closing up the box and you can't help but stare at the way his hands flex when his nimble fingers are pushing that box closed.

you realize youre taking too long to respond, "no seriously, it was!" you lean excitedly on the counter, bouncing on your heels. "and thats why I had to come back for more., and why I need to pay and leave a generous tip" you chuckle, already counting out the cash for the little doughnut shaped tip jar. "or maybe I could just give it to you for free!" his back is turned, snipping a stand of that pretty expensive ribbon he used especially for yours last time and made sure to move towards the front of the ribbon rack in case you came back so that he'd reach it easily.

"wait? what? no! youre joking right?" he spins back around to you, smirk on his face. "not in the slightest." he chirps. then hands you the box. you stuff your tip in the jar. "no seriously! please, take the money." you weren't worried that he now might think you owe him, he seemed to nice for that. "and im serious too. its like one pastry. you'd be taking it off my hands and doing be a favor actually if you'd like to think of it that way that is. not that is isn't fresh." he shrugged. hes leaning in over the counter a little bit, apron bumping the iPad customers would use to pay. you open your mouth to say something but he stops you "you already tipped me! even if you didnt just take it. my treat."

you didnt know it but in his mind he was already dreaming of having one ready every week for when you came in. maybe a sticky note with his number one day too? "wow thanks so much! thats so sweet of you!" you hold the box closer to you and look down at it.

you also didnt know it, but hes his half hard cock is now pressed up against the cabinet under the counter. and hes trying not to imagine you with powered sugar on your nose... not a very sexual sight in itself he guesses, but something cute none the less and that won't do his situation any good. hes also trying not to think of you licking your fingers after the delicious dessert, or the way youre leaned over the counter even more now, giving him a perfect vantage point of your plush boobs that after accidentally seeing a peak of once he wants to never do so again.

hes mature, or at least needs to be about this. not that he doesn't want to. cause god he really wants to take a sneak peak down. who wouldn't? youre sweet and gorgeous, and funny! but he wants you to know who he really is. so thats why hes currently focusing really hard on your eyebrow and trying so damn hard not to even glance down in that general direction. even if he was doing something entirely different than peaking.... cause thats what gentleman does.

"wait how'd you know my order?"

and now hes back on earth. he scratches the back of his neck. "I uh" "were you hoping id be back?" you smile, obviously meaning it' as a joke. but he just smiles back "bakers memory," he taps his brain, "there a lot up here ya know. gotta remembers recipes and stuff" he takes it as a win cause it was a good distraction. you take it as a win cause he kinda just called you important... right?

you dont pay and see yourself out. as youre opening the door you sniff the box "ugh smells so good! can't wait. thanks again!" and just like that youre gone

Bakery ownerKai! who's friend who is usually such a yapper, is at a loss for words for a second after you leave until he simply says: "I get the feeling you'll be seeing them a lot"

~end~

I’m gonna do a part two/ make this into a full on fic eventually. Just wanted something to post until I finish the bigger fic I’m working on. If you liked it please leave some love like comments or a reblog!

Thanks for reading <3

Taglist: @bamtorin

[ieatstarsforaliving]

Denial (1)

Summary: Hazel and (Y/N) are the tributes from District 12 for the 74th Hunger Games. Hazel doesn't want to see (Y/N) die. And (Y/N) just wants to live.

Pairing: Tribute!Hazel Callahan x Tribute!Reader

Warnings: Mature language, use of (Y/N), (Y/N) is kind of a bitch but aren't we all when facing death, I swear she gets better, mentions of death and suicide, lots of mentions of violence with pretty graphic descriptions but it’s just depressive hunger game shit

Word Count: 2614

Note: I KNOW I said I’d write part 3 of Spiderwoman!Hazel Callahan BUT I suddenly craved angst and had to write this. I had to. Just let me post this today and I’ll give you Spiderwoman soon– I SWEAR. Also this is lowkey bad cause I have not written angst in a while. Idk. It's not gut-wrenching enough. I'll make it work somehow.  - Bia <3

No.

Not you. 

Anyone but you.

Hazel knows what the Hunger Games look like. 

Violent. Callous. Sadistic. 

None of those words resemble you. 

Hazel watches as you walk towards the stage, each step weaker than the other. She thinks you’ll fall over, but you manage to stand beside the extravagantly dressed escort, who claps cheerily in your honor with a guiltless smile. As he chatters about his appreciation for the games, you are expressionless. Your fists are clenched, your eyes fixed on the crowd, blankly staring at the faces of the people who know you. 

Hazel has never seen you so scared. 

“Well, then, shake hands!” The escort chirps, pushing Hazel towards you. 

There’s a pause before Hazel takes your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.  

Please, please look at me, she thinks. It’s going to be okay– 

-But when you do look at her, it's automatic. Empty. Involuntary, as if meaningless to share eyes with a future corpse. Hazel recognizes the shift of the dynamic between the two of you. She is no longer your neighbor, your classmate— no longer the girl you once kissed in the grounds of the forest.

-She is your rival. 

Her eyes flick away from you. It feels like you can read what’s in her head, both the shock and the anguish. Hazel is not ready to deal with either. 

So she drops your hand and looks away, staring at the camera zooming in on her face. 

But in the second of eye contact, Hazel does notice this; 

Grief has already struck your eyes. 

The train ride is silent. The District 12’s assigned escort, who introduces himself as Meyers, continuously attempts to make conversation with either one of you, talking about what a privilege it is to be traveling to the Capitol. 

You choose to be speechless, sitting on the plump green velvet chair with your legs pulled close to your chest. Hazel sits opposite to you, persistently peering while contemplating on how to start up a conversation— or maybe, not to start one at all.

You’ve been subtly ignoring her gaze, trying not to look deliberate in your avoidance. Staring at the passing trees out the window, you’re forced to picture the forest back at home— A hug of browns, shelter of extended limbs, sunlight filtered through the overlapping leaves above.  

Along with the images of forest, you’re forced to remember. 

It was a particularly cold morning when Hazel first found you in the heart of the woods, the chilling air hanging heavy with the scent of pine and coal. In your hands was a bleeding bird, fragile body betrayed by your well-aimed rock. 

It turned out to be a mockingjay, and as the crimson stain spread across its black and white feathers, the satisfaction of your hunt waned. Your hunger persisted, but found yourself frozen. The irony of the prey was a slap in your face. A mockingjay– Why did it have to be a mockingjay? The failed muttation, the insult to the dystopia— the only thing in the world that seemed to be resisting the Capitol— and here you were, unwittingly taking its life. 

Hazel approached you, and you flinched– but you didn’t run. You couldn’t, not when her eyes had such softness within them, as if forgiving your savage hand in place of the bird. Without uttering a word, she knelt beside you on the forest floor. 

Her fingers dug through the dirt, prodding into her nails until a hole was made. Her hands were soiled but warm as she took the mockingjay from your hands, placing it in the makeshift resting place amidst the roots of a towering tree. You watched as she covered the bird with earth. She then took your hand and guided you back to the fence, back to the meadow, to the bakery, where she bought a small piece of bread in exchange for the shabby jewelry off her neck. You learned later the necklace was a gift from her absent father. 

That was the Hazel you became used to. She was strong. Stronger than anyone you ever grew to know– as if to acknowledge that she could one day be standing in the arena. Yet you found her kindness to be her weakness. She never harmed anyone. Anything. She was a refuge from the harsh reality of the televised Hunger Games. And you kept coming back to her, mistaking the comfort for a shield against the brutality of the world. As if being close with her could protect you from any fucking thing. Perhaps that had prompted you to kiss her on that day, the day before the reaping, and all you could think about was how she didn’t push you away.

You snap out of your memories, the weight of the past and the jarring truth of the present boring down on you. You can’t handle either of those. You can’t handle looking at her. You can’t handle being in the same room as her. But the intensity of her gaze has burned into the side of your head, and you feel demanded to meet her eyes once more. 

When you finally look at Hazel, her eyes widen. 

She starts to open her mouth, on a pathway to a ramble, but the compartment door swings open, revealing a rough man with scruffy braids holding an explicit magazine. 

Hazel recognizes him– the only winner left alive from the Hunger Games from District 12. He’s notably muscular, with tattoos that circulate his stocky arms along with a rugged beard to match his image. 

He is Hunger Games winner material, Hazel thinks, and feels considerably feeble in comparison. 

The man looks around the room.   

“Man, I got stuck with two girls this time?” 

Hazel starts, “G–” 

“-Mr. G to you. I may look like this, but I’m still your mentor.” 

You stare at the man as he disappointingly analyzes his two mentees. He decides you’re not promising enough, not giving more than two seconds to consider you two before plopping on the green velvet seat and flipping through his magazine featuring a barely-clothed capitol woman. 

“You’re supposed to give us advice,” Hazel mutters. 

He scoffs in response, “I’ll give you advice; don’t die too quickly.” 

“So you think we have a chance?” 

“Hell no,” Mr. G laughs. “Look at you two.” 

You and Hazel stare at him. He notices the angry silence. 

“Alright. I’ll help y’all.” He shrugs, not looking up from the magazine. “When you arrive, you’re going to be grabbed by the most annoying sons-of-bitches who're gonna get y’all cleaned up and pretty to parade around the Capitol. It’s gonna suck. But you deal with it. No complaining. No resisting. You deal with it. Then you get in the arena, let them throw you around for a bit, and then find something visibly mild to kill yourselves with.” 

Hazel stiffens at the line. 

“What is wrong with you?” You shout, your voice laced with anger. “My life is on the line.” 

Mr. G glances at you with a raised eyebrow, indifferent. “Welcome to the Hunger Games, darlin’. You think having a different mindset is gonna keep you alive?”

“You’re supposed to be our mentor,” Hazel says, her voice trembling. “You’re supposed to help us survive.” 

“Survive? You kids from District 12 don’t survive. You endure. You endure and you die. There’s a difference.” He emphasizes on the words ‘die’ and Hazel wants to throw up. “It’s just like the year before this and the year before that.”

“So you’re just giving up?” You push yourself to your feet and step towards him. There’s resentment in your words, clawing at the lifeline that is supposed to be your mentor. “You’re pathetic.”

Mr. G gets up from his seat, looming over your frame. Unwavering, you glare at him. He lets out a chuckle, a brief moment of consideration flickering across his features. Then he pulls back his fist. 

In an instant, Hazel rushes in front of you, her body bracing for impact. His fist swings towards you, but it doesn’t land on your face. Instead, it meets Hazel’s, sending her backwards to the floor. The collision makes Mr. G stumble back a step, surprise evident in his eyes.

Hazel groans, rubbing her cheekbone but gets up again, standing in front of you with a defensive stance.

“Ah, I understand now.” Mr. G gawks at Hazel, amused. “The fighter and her protector.” 

Then he starts laughing, slowly staggering away from the two of you, walking out of the compartment with his dirty magazine still in his hand. Meyers quickly trails behind him, muttering something about tributes being barbarians and forcefully shuts the door with a resounding bang. 

Hazel turns to you, hoping her face isn't red. “Are you okay?” 

“Don’t.” 

Hazel blinks, taken aback. You’ve pulled away from her, creating a perceptible distance, your face flushed in an unknown emotion. 

“I–”

“-Don’t do that.” 

Hazel recognizes the barrier you’re attempting to draw between the two of you. She refuses to accept it and steps closer. 

“Don’t,” you insist. “Don’t come closer. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. We’re nothing.” 

“We’re friends,” Hazel protests.

“No,” you correct her, your voice cracking. “We stopped being friends when we were picked to kill each other. If we hadn’t—” 

If we hadn’t kissed, killing you would be easier. 

You stop. 

Hazel shakes her head, her expression in disbelief. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

She steps closer. You retreat. 

“Hazel, stop, please–”

She watches as your body begins to shake. A whimper escapes your lips, which is quickly covered by your hand. Then you’re sobbing uncontrollably, covering your reddened face as a means to hide yourself, but the tears manage to escape from the gaps between your fingers, soaking the condemned dress that you only wear on reaping days. 

“I- I don’t–” 

Hazel steps closer. “I know.” 

“I don’t want to die,” You croak. “I want don't want to die. I don’t want to kill. I don’t–” 

-I don’t want to kill you. 

The unsaid words ring around the room as Hazel pulls you into her arms. You don’t hesitate to hide your face into her neck, crying earnestly, body burning and painful, teeth clenched as the tears drip off your jaw and you refuse to let your lip quiver like a child. Hazel holds you tighter and presses her hand against the back of your head.

Hazel wants to say something. She opens her mouth.

Then she starts to cry.

As much as she hates Mr. G, he is right about the clean-up process before officially entering the capitol; it sucks. 

After arrival, the two of you were separated to different rooms with different stylists. Hazel’s stylist has been going about Hazel for two hours, scrubbing down her body with soaps of intense fragrance, trimming the nails into a smooth oval shape, rubbing makeup over her fresh bruise, painting on her eyelids, and primarily, getting rid of her body hair. She lays on the cold metal bed, barely clothed, as the hairs on her arms, underarms, eyebrows, nose– even places that shouldn’t matter being robbed of its hair. Hazel ignores the soreness of fabric being stripped from her leg, tearing out the hairs beneath it. 

Instead, Hazel thinks about killing. 

She thinks about the physicality of it. The impact of the blow, the act of stabbing, the struggle of choking someone. She assumes there would be weapons in the arena, there always is. But even back at home, she’s never crossed the line of killing even the smallest of creatures, not even when she was desperately hungry. But laying on the cold metal bed of the stylist’s office, she almost regrets the lack of practice. The visceral brutality, the raw and primal surge that accompanies violence— she’s unsure of it all. 

Then she thinks about you. 

She pictures a hand wrapped around your neck, slitting the flesh, warm liquid seeping through the fingernails— and the victim writhing, clawing, screaming— then finally falling limp. 

Hazel pales at the image. At the same time, she feels a particular jerk at her leg once again, and the stylist squeals the words, “Perfection! You’re beautiful!” 

She is ushered to sit up as the stylist grabs a cart filled with combs, bottles, and other products that Hazel doesn’t recognize. A mirror is passed, and Hazel blinks harshly at her reflection. She can see that she looks so… Capitol. Everything about her is enhanced; from hermetically coiffed eyebrows to her skin, perfectly shaped and painted, devoid of blemishes. The bruise from her mentor is gone, too. There's light bits of glitter on above her eyes, amplifying her blue eyes while giving her a much softened look. 

She looks like a tribute. 

“I really do wish you hadn’t cut your hair like this,” the stylist whines as she ruffles Hazel’s messy head with a sigh. A hairstyle she fearlessly trimmed with a pocket knife, now being sprayed by a sour, citrus themed liquid. “You are such a pretty girl. Perhaps we should glue a wig to your head.” 

“Don’t.” 

Hazel turns towards the voice. 

It’s you. You’re peering through the doorway, your entire form stripped and peeled away just as she is. Hazel does a visible double-take when she sees you, swallowing hard while staring at your half-naked body. She gazes at you, taking in the transformation that the Capitol has imposed on your appearance. 

If she thought you were beautiful before, she thinks you’re breathtaking now. 

“I like her hair,” You murmur, walking towards the bed. Hazel instinctively reaches up to touch her trimmed mullet, as if to confirm that it’s still there. 

“I suppose I can work with a tomboy image. Oh, I see a vision! I’ll be back,” The stylist sings to herself, running out of the room with a sudden enthusiasm.  

Hazel is still staring at you.

You shrug. “How do I look?” 

Like a lamb to slaughter.

“You… look different,” She says. “I don’t mean it’s bad. It’s good. But it’s also…” 

“I know,” you sigh, sitting beside Hazel’s bed. “A true depiction of Capitol beauty.”

“It could be worse,” Hazel starts. “We could be naked and covered in soot for the opening ceremony.” 

You laugh, knowing that the only thing District 12 is known for are coals. And there’s not many costumes you can be inspired by coals. Hazel smiles at your laughter, feeling instantly better. It’s a sound she hasn’t heard since the forest, as if a piece of home has been brought back to life. Although the room is cold and metallic, there’s warmth in between the two of you. 

Her gaze lingers on your transformed appearance. With the grime and dirt from the District rubbed off, you seem so fragile, so innocent, so out of place in the cruelty of the Capitol. None of you belong in that arena. And all of a sudden anger rises in Hazel. She wants the Capitol to burn. She wants the Capitol to burn for what it does to innocent lives like yours. 

Your laughter eases and you’re left staring back at Hazel. The forest and the Capitol are vastly different places. Even the silence is different. Back there, it was a pleasure to be silent. Here, silence is almost sickening. Still, your warmth persists.

“I’m serious about winning," You say.  

Hazel holds your gaze. 

“I know.” 

She offers her hand. You take it. And for a long time, neither of you speak. You just breathe and cling to each other, lost in a moment that's become heavier with your words.

There is a brief pause before the full effect of everything comes barreling towards Hazel. She ignores it.

Instead, Hazel thinks about dying.

Next Chapter: Anger

(Guys I don't know how a taglist works so just comment "Tag me next chapter or" "tag me in all upcoming chapters" on THIS POST if you want to be tagged ok???)

@vster0769 @milktea-academia <333

[coal15]

Worth It

This took me 1,000 years longer than it should have, but I finally finished Worth It, Ch.2 of I Never Do This below is an excerpt from Ch.2 (the excerpt is ga, but the fic is a mix of floofy cute and absolute smut)

“I woke up alone." Buck pouted. "How dare you.”

“Will a Denver omelet earn me forgiveness?” Tommy swiveled sideways to reveal a half chopped bell pepper.

“I’m listening.”

“Light on ham, heavy on veggies, average amount of cheese, served with a side of sliced tomatoes fresh off the vine.” Tommy paused and mmmm'd into a long good morning kiss. “The tomatoes turned out really great this year. I was worried 'cause last year they sucked." 

Buck sighed, so love-drunk he may as well have had little cartoon birdies and hearts floating around his head. “I’m gonna get spoiled dating you, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely. I try to spoil all my guests, especially the cute ones.”

"Aw." Buck gave his man a quick peck on the cheek. “Point me to the cheese grater, sir.” The thought of prepping a meal with Tommy made him stupidly giddy. Best morning ever.

Tommy drummed a bare foot on the cabinet door behind him. “In there. Oh, and you might have to dig around in the fridge for the cheese. I’m terrible at keeping it organized.”

In any other situation being confronted by the sight of veggies, condiments, leftovers and so-forth tossed around all willy-nilly would awaken Clipboard Buck with a vengeance, but this time he just shrugged and made a mental note to tackle it later. “Are these green beans from your garden?” he asked, pushing aside an overfilled bag to reveal a block of sharp cheddar. The cheese sat between a takeout container and a bottle of ketchup, but still Buck's focus remained locked on Denver omelets and Tommy.

“No, they’re from Cathy down the road.”

On the counter next to the knife block were four cutting boards of descending size held upright by a glossy ceramic smiling cat figurine wearing an apron and holding a whisk. A kitschy item clashed so harshly with the rest of Tommy’s decor he figured it must have some sort of personal significance. Dating someone sentimental. Another new one for Buck. They worked in comfortable silence for a while until he broke it with “by the way, I would have been here sooner if I hadn't spent like a year trying to get out of that crazy-ass hall." A teasing hip-bump accompanied the comment.

“Uuuugh, sorry." Tommy cringed. "I should have thought to label the doors with post-its before you woke up. I literally have to do that whenever I host parties, it's the only thing I really hate about this place. I have major renovations planned though. Trust me that goddamn nightmare is getting fixed the second I have the budget."

"You gonna hire a crew or go diy?” Buck's entire train of thought screeched to a halt, backed up, and took a sharp left onto the image of Tommy wearing a toolbelt and sledgehammering the shit out of a wall . . . maybe covered in drywall dust and sweat . . . splatters of paint from past projects all over his work clothes. And, and maybe the jeans are hanging really low. Barely perched on his hips so the slightest nudge would-–

“Woohoo!” Tommy whistled, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Oh!” Buck flinched. “Hi, yeah. I’m, I’m back–did you say diy?”

[atomictyphoonkitten]

Charlie Weasley and the utterly complicated matters of the heart - Part 1

a/n: Welcome, this is my very first fanfiction, like ever. I think there is not enough Charlie Weasley fanfiction out there, so I thought I'll take the matter into my hands. It will be long and slow-burning (I warned you!). My native languge is not English, so sorry if you see anything weird.

warnings: mentions of solitude?, Charlie being angsty a little bit, nothing yet, really

word count: 1500+

Chapter directory: here

Part 1: The one where she unexpectedly shows up

The sanctuary was quiet that afternoon, a rare lull after the midday rush of activities. Charlie had been up early, finishing his rounds with the dragons, content in his usual solitude. He has been working here since he was 18 years old, he knew the place like the back of his hand. Today he managed to get back to his quiet cottage quite early, a bit bothered, as the place needed some cleaning, and he was not in the mood for that. All he could hear were birds chirping around the cottage, the mild wind rustling the leaves of the trees around the little cabins, sometimes he could identify very distant roars from dragons. Everything was perfectly calm and undisturbed. Just as he preferred.

Before he could get too comfortable, the sound of a weird muggle-like engine gradually drifted to his ear, cutting through the stillness, unfamiliar and distinctly out of place here in the dragon sanctuary.

He squinted down the road, watching as a figure on a motorbike came into view, maneuvering with steady confidence over the rough roads, directly heading to the empty cabin next to his. Leather jacket, black helmet, a long, blonde braid, brown eyes set with a kind of unshakeable focus that caught him completely off guard. And just like that, you arrived. A newcomer in a place that rarely saw strangers like you. He felt his shoulders tense, uncertain if it was from the disruption or something else entirely.

Charlie watched as you parked the bike, got off, and took a long look around after removing your helmet. He should have been heading back to the cottage, but his feet stayed rooted, his attention fixed on you with a strange, almost unsettling fascination. This was… unlike him, and he didn’t understand it. In his years here, he’d met all sorts of people, most of whom he welcomed with friendly detachment before returning to his world of creatures and wilderness. He liked it that way.

But you… you seemed to be different.

Charlie tried to dismiss the feeling, shaking his head as he moved toward his cabin. His eye never lingered for too long on women, he was absolutely content without any emotional complication in his life, thank you very much.

But as he crossed the yard, he caught your eye for the first time. You were unloading bags from the back of the bike, frowning slightly as if deep in thought. His mouth opened, a casual greeting ready on his tongue, but the moment felt too strange, too weighted. So instead, he called out, “Are you lost?”

The question sounded abrupt, even to him, and for a second he regretted it. What the hell was that, he thought to himself. But you looked up, meeting his gaze with a small, almost bemused smile.

“No. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.” The words carried a quiet confidence that struck something deep within him, a certainty he couldn’t help but secretly admire, though he didn’t quite understand it. There was a gravity about you, something he hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to place.

Charlie nodded and gave you a quick, awkward smile, then decided to make his way to the sanctuary’s far edge instead, where the older dragons basked in the afternoon light. Maybe some distance and physical work could put his mind to ease. But as he worked, his thoughts kept drifting back to you, each image accompanied by an irritating pull of curiosity that left him feeling strangely out of balance. Why was he so intrigued? It made no sense, and that only fueled his frustration. 

As he worked, memories of the way you’d looked at him replayed in his mind. The way you’d said, “Exactly where I’m supposed to be.” For most people, it would have been a simple response, but from you, it had felt layered, as though it held a secret he could not uncover. He found himself wondering what had brought you here - why someone like you would seek out a place so far removed from everything else.

Charlie exhaled sharply, annoyed at himself. This isn’t my business, he told himself. You were here for your own reasons, reasons he had no right or need to know. Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to you - a complexity, a vulnerability that you kept carefully tucked away. He found himself wanting to know what it was.

By the evening, he was almost irritable with himself, annoyed that his mind kept circling back to you with something he couldn’t control. He tried to redirect his attention, his hands moving automatically as he worked on trying to fix a ragged harness. Yet, with each task, his mind betrayed him, your face returning to him unbidden - the way your gaze had met his, unwavering, but guarded. It made him feel as if he’d caught a glimpse of something rare, something he wasn’t supposed to see.

Later, he spotted you again, this time outside your cottage, looking around with an expression that seemed somehow both lost and determined. He watched you from a distance, a slight frown creasing his brow. It was strange, seeing you here, a newcomer in a place he had always felt belonged to him alone. And it was even stranger to find that he actually didn’t really mind your presence. In fact, he found it… grounding, somehow.

His confusion only deepened when he noticed the way his gaze lingered, the way he felt drawn to you in a way he hadn’t been drawn to anyone in years. He’d never been one for relationships or entanglements. His brothers joked that he was as wild as the dragons he cared for, untamed and he was perfectly happy to remain that way. Romance wasn’t something he’d ever prioritized, and he’d been fine with that. Better than fine, even.

But now, as he watched you, a series of feelings he couldn’t quite name flickered to life, leaving him uncertain and unsteady. It was like the moment before a dragon took flight: an anticipation that hung heavy in the air, tinged with the thrill of the unknown. He wanted to brush it off, convince himself that it was simply curiosity. But deep down, he knew he was lying to himself.

So as the sun dipped below the hills, casting the sanctuary in deepening shadows, Charlie found himself moving toward your cottage again, his steps slow, hesitant. He stopped a few paces away, then cleared his throat. “Is it… is it what you expected?”

What was again this sentence, he cringed silently.

You looked up, surprised by his approach. There was a softness to your expression, a hint of vulnerability that made his chest tighten, he couldn’t explain why.

“It’s… different,” you said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “But it feels right.” Your words held a quiet strength that left him unsettled and oddly comforted at the same time.

He nodded, unsure of what else to say. His heart beat strangely, a little too fast, and he felt as though he’d forgotten how to speak entirely. After a moment, he managed to stammer, “If you… if you ever need anything, you know… help with, uh, anything, just let me know.”

It was a simple offer, something he might have extended to any new arrival. But this time, it felt different. Personal. Almost vulnerable. And as he spoke, he saw the faintest flicker of gratitude in your eyes, a glimmer that sent another inexplicable rush of warmth through him.

You nodded, that small, cautious smile still in place, and thanked him. The moment felt strangely intimate, like an unspoken connection coming to life in the brief silence that hung between you. Charlie found himself wanting to linger, to keep talking, to understand the thoughts and experiences that lay behind your guarded gaze.

But instead, he took a step back, feeling the need to retreat before he said or did something stupid, that would betray that strange turmoil roiling within him. He mumbled a quick goodbye, then turned, heading back to his cottage with a sense of relief mixed with regret.

As he walked away, the conflicting emotions inside him only grew stronger. Part of him wanted to understand why he felt this sudden, intense need to know you, to unravel the layers that you seemed to guard so closely. Another part of him resisted, warning him against getting too close, against letting himself be drawn into something he might not understand.

In his years at the sanctuary, Charlie had found comfort in solitude, in the knowledge that his life was his own, uncomplicated and free from the expectations of others. But now, with you here, that simplicity felt strangely lacking, like a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying. He wanted to ignore the feeling, to brush it aside as an unusual curiosity. But the truth was undeniable: in just a few short hours, you had unknowningly disrupted his world, stirring up feelings he wasn’t ready to face at all.

As the shadows of the night deepened and he settled back into his cabin, Charlie found himself thinking of you yet again, your face imprinted in his mind. He didn’t know what to make of it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. All he knew was that something had changed—something he couldn’t fully understand yet, but that felt as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Next chapter>

[b1xi]

𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜

Glenn rhee x reader

word count:3927

Warning: nothing i Guess

Previous Chapter/Next chapter

As soon as the car came to a screeching halt upon arriving at the camp, you jumped out of the seat before the engine even fully stopped. You didn’t wait another second. The need to see Alice was the only thing occupying your mind. Your feet barely touched the ground as you ran, completely ignoring Shane’s words as you passed by him. Your gaze was fixed on a single target: Carol, who was holding your little one in her arms.

“Damn it, turn that off!” Dale shouted from the roof of the RV, his face wrinkled in concern as the blaring horn continued to sound.

“I don’t know how!” Glenn responded, stepping out of the sports car, clearly confused by the dashboard controls.

But in that moment, nothing else mattered to you. Your entire world shrank down to the tiny arms that Alice was already extending towards you, an innocent smile on her little face. “Thank you,” you said to Carol, your voice heavy with relief as you took your little one into your arms, feeling her comforting warmth against you. “I missed you so much,” you murmured, kissing her forehead repeatedly, overcome with emotion. Each kiss you pressed to her soft skin was a confirmation that, despite all the chaos, she was okay.

“Look what I brought you!” you said with a smile. You threw the backpack on the ground and, with one hand, pulled out a small plush seat. “Do you like it?” you asked, eagerly waiting for her reaction, your heart pounding.

Alice looked at it with curiosity before smiling widely, her little hand gently stroking the soft plush with interest.

Then, you called out to Sophia, who was standing next to her mother. “Sophia, I brought something for you too,” you announced, pulling a Barbie doll out of the backpack. The box was a bit crumpled, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes lit up when she saw the gift, and with a big smile, she took the doll from your hands.

“Thank you so much!” Sophia exclaimed, clutching her new toy as if it were a treasure, her small hands protectively holding it with care.

Carol, touched, looked at you with a warm smile as she placed a protective hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re so sweet,” she softly remarked, her eyes shining with gratitude.

Finally, they managed to turn off the car horn, and the deafening noise that had been breaking the camp’s peace faded away. Amy quickly approached Glenn, her concern evident. “Is Andrea okay?” she asked anxiously.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine… except for Merle, of course,” Glenn replied, with the seriousness of someone who had just returned from hell.

Shane, however, wasn’t ready to let it go. “What were you thinking, driving this damn noisy car all the way here?” he snapped, his voice full of frustration as he leaned against the car’s hood. “Are you trying to attract walkers or what?”

"I think we’re fine," Dale interjected, his tone more relaxed, trying to ease the tension.

"Fine? You think being an idiot is fine?" Shane continued, not missing the chance to vent his anger. You knew what he was referring to, but calling Glenn that wasn’t helping anything.

Dale, always calm, raised a hand in a gesture of peace. "The alarm was active in several areas; it’s hard to pinpoint the source. I don’t want to argue, but maybe next time you should be a bit more careful," the older man suggested, firm but without direct confrontation. His comment was more for Glenn, who now looked like he was being scolded like a child.

"I’m sorry," Glenn replied, looking at the car with a mix of regret and resignation. "But at least I got a good car, right?"

Before anyone could respond, the sound of the truck bringing the others broke through the air. Everyone turned to see how the vehicle screeched to a stop, and Morales was the first to get out. Within seconds, the others followed, running to reunite with their loved ones. The scene was a balm for frayed nerves, an image of families reuniting amid the chaos.

The moment Carl ran into Rick’s arms stayed imprinted in your mind, a powerful image of what really mattered: surviving, yes, but also keeping the family together in the middle of the devastation. The two hugged with an almost desperate force, palpable relief in every shared sob. There was no sadness in their tears, only the weight of being reunited and the certainty that, at least for now, they were together.

After that moving scene, everyone returned to their activities, and the camp resumed its quiet routine. You headed back to your tent, trying to process everything that had happened, while Alice played peacefully next to you with the plush toy you’d gotten for her. Sitting on the ground, you could feel the cold of the earth seeping through the thin plastic floor of the tent.

You began unpacking the things you’d brought with you: light blankets to keep Alice warm during the cold nights, some clothes for both of you, bottles, diapers, the pacifier that soothed her so much, and a couple of personal items you had packed almost out of habit. You placed each thing carefully to the side, organizing with efficiency.

When you reached the bottom of the bag you’d been using since arriving at the camp, something caught your attention. There, crumpled and forgotten, was your old work uniform. You lifted it slowly, the thick, now worn fabric feeling strange in your hands. Why had you brought it? You didn’t know for sure. Maybe a part of you had clung to the hope that, at some point, things might return to the way they were. But hospitals no longer existed, not in this new world.

As you stared at that uniform, a lump formed in your throat. It was a symbol of a life you had left behind, of the endless night shifts, of the patients you had helped, and of a clear purpose that now felt blurred amid the chaos. Now, your purpose was to survive, to protect Alice, and to find meaning in a reality that seemed determined to take everything away from you.

You dropped heavily into the desk chair on the other side of the reception room counter. The exhaustion had built up in your muscles, as if the weight of the endless hours was finally catching up with you. A few patient papers, reports that needed filing, were scattered on the desk in front of you. You began stacking them methodically. The monotonous hum of the computer beside you was the only sound breaking the silence of the room.

“You look exhausted,” Ellith commented as she sat beside you. Her cotton jacket fell softly over the back of the chair, revealing her nurse’s uniform, a distinctive shade of purple that stood out in the muted atmosphere of the emergency room.

“Two shifts in a row,” you replied with a sigh, rubbing your face in an attempt to shake off the sleep that weighed down your eyelids. Your fingers slid across the computer screen, but the letters on the monitor blurred at times, demanding a focus that you simply didn’t have anymore.

Ellith watched you in silence for a moment, a small, sympathetic smile appearing on her face. “I don’t know how you’re still standing. I would have collapsed hours ago.”

You gave a tired smile. “Coffee. Lots of coffee... and probably some pure inertia.”

She laughed softly, though both of you knew there was a deeper truth behind that comment. The work in the hospital never stopped, especially in the emergency rooms. Exhaustion wasn’t optional, and the ability to keep going, to do what needed to be done, became second nature. But there was a limit, and you felt yours approaching.

“Don’t worry, once we finish this shift, I promise to take you for real coffee. None of that horrible stuff from the break room machine,” Ellith joked, trying to lift your spirits. Her voice was soft, but you could hear the same exhaustion reflected in her as well.

You looked at the screen one more time before turning away. “That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Is Jay here, or has he already gone home?” Ellith asked as she powered up one of the computers, adjusting her sleek, thin-framed glasses.

“He’s still here,” you replied without taking your eyes off the screen, your fingers moving swiftly over the worn keyboard as you took a sip of your coffee, now cold and bitter. “He’s in neonatology with Margot, reviewing some cases.”

Your fingers paused mid-typing when the emergency alarm blared throughout the hospital, filling the air with tension. The quiet atmosphere of the reception transformed into controlled chaos as paramedics rushed in with a stretcher, moving with palpable urgency. Ellith, along with the other nurses, reacted immediately, rushing to meet the patient.

From where you stood, you watched as the man on the stretcher writhed violently, his face contorted with effort, the anguish evident in every one of his movements. The paramedics and nurses struggled to stabilize him, their efforts barely enough to contain the frantic energy that shook him.

You quickly stood and approached the scene, leaving the reception behind.

“What’s going on?” Ellith asked, her voice firm despite the confusion as she helped hold down the patient.

One of the paramedics, sweaty from the effort, responded as he adjusted the straps to immobilize the man.

“We’re not exactly sure. We found him in his apartment, thrashing like this. A neighbor called after hearing the screams and banging. His blood pressure’s through the roof, and he hasn’t stopped moving since we picked him up. He’s not responding to external stimuli, but he’s still conscious.”

"It could be poisoning," Ellith suggested, frowning. "We need blood tests and an urgent CT scan."

You nodded, mentally noting what needed to be done. The patient continued to struggle, his eyes rolled back, while his breathing grew more irregular. It was as if his body was fighting an invisible battle, and no one knew against what.

“He seems to be going into a seizure,” you said, focusing on his erratic movements. A full seizure could endanger his life.

“Prepare the sedative,” Ellith ordered firmly, turning to one of the nurses.

As you pulled the flashlight from your coat pocket, you prepared for an exam that, at the moment, felt routine. However, when you opened one of the patient's eyes and shone the light directly into his pupil, you noticed something alarming: the dilation was much greater than you'd anticipated. The man’s skin had a sickly yellow hue, and what struck you the most were the bluish veins, with a faint greenish tint, spreading like roots under the surface of his skin.

“Are you seeing this?” you murmured, not taking your eyes off the patient's face.

One of the nurses, who had already prepared the syringe with the sedative, quickly handed it to you. You took the needle and, as you inserted it into the patient's skin, you noticed something unsettling: the needle sank in with an almost unreal ease, as if you were piercing jelly rather than human muscle.

As the sedative began to take effect, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, which had been racing, started to slow. The patient, who had been thrashing and writhing on the stretcher, became still, his breathing becoming regular and deep. A momentary sense of relief flooded the room.

Ellith approached calmly, removing the oxygen mask from the patient’s face. With steady hands, she began unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing, exposing his torso.

“Look at this,” her voice was laced with surprise, immediately drawing your attention and that of the rest of the team.

You approached the stretcher along with the others, all of you with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. What you saw left you speechless. On the patient's side, near his abdomen, there was a clear human bite mark, surrounded by dark bruises and spots of dried blood. It was an unmistakable pattern: teeth, perfectly outlined, embedded in the flesh.

“Is... that a bite?” you managed to say, though the disbelief in your voice was evident.

Ellith nodded slowly, equally perplexed. One of the nurses leaned in closer, examining the wound with a mix of horror and fascination.

“Was it a person?” the nurse asked, as if seeking confirmation for what everyone already feared.

One of the paramedics, who had been standing by the door, cautiously stepped forward and asked a question that sounded more like a desperate guess.

“Could it be rabies?”

The question hung in the air, but no one answered immediately. Rabies was the first thing that came to mind when you saw a bite, but not a human one, and something about this scene didn’t quite add up. The greenish veins, the yellowish skin, the ease with which the flesh had given way under the needle... You had never seen anything like it.

As you tried to process what was happening, the patient, who had been completely sedated, let out a deep, savage growl that echoed through the room. His eyes shot open, bloodshot, and his body arched violently on the stretcher, fighting against the straps holding him down. The sounds he made were not those of a conscious human. They were closer to those of an animal, something primal and uncontrollable.

Fear gripped the room. No one dared to move, all of you frozen in the horror of the moment. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the patient collapsed again, his muscles relaxing, his eyes closing once more. The heart monitor returned to its steady rhythm, as if nothing had happened.

“This isn’t rabies,” whispered Ellith, her face pale as she adjusted her glasses.

After several minutes, everyone gathered in the break room. You glanced at the watch on your wrist; your shift was almost over, and soon you could head home.

"Alright, we should keep the patient under observation in case his condition worsens," you said, resting your hands on your hips as you addressed the nurses and Ellith. "Run a blood test, it could be an infection."

"Got it," Ellith replied, pulling her hair into a high ponytail. The other nurses left the room, ready to follow the instructions. "You should head home. I’ll call you if anything changes."

You nodded and quickly went to change clothes. You grabbed your backpack from your assigned cubicle and headed toward the elevator, pressing the button with a tired finger. You went up to the fourth floor, where you waited outside the men's locker room. After a few moments, a tall man with messy blond hair came out, wearing a gray hoodie.

"I need you to drive me home," you said as you slung your backpack over your shoulder, following him.

"Hello to you too," he replied, his tired voice barely concealing his exhaustion. "What about your car? I thought you'd wait for Ellith to finish her shift."

"I'm dying, dear Jay," you said, wrapping your arm around his as both of you took the elevator down to the parking lot. "I left my car at home; I walked here."

"You should start paying me for being your chauffeur," he joked, pulling the car keys from his pocket. "You owe me a favor."

You smiled as you settled into the passenger seat, closing the door gently. Jay got in and started the engine with a quick turn of his wrist. The hum of the car filled the silence as the streets, emptier than usual, stretched out before you.

Jay gave you a quick glance before speaking.

"So... how was your shift?" he asked with a mix of curiosity and fatigue, keeping his eyes on the road.

You sighed, recalling the patient who had arrived in such a disturbing condition.

"It was... strange," you began, intertwining your fingers in your lap. "There was an emergency admission, a man. We don't know all the details, but apparently, they found him in his apartment. He was in a pretty agitated state, his blood pressure through the roof, and he wouldn't stop moving frenetically."

Jay frowned, clearly intrigued by the tone of your voice.

"What did he have? Some kind of overdose?"

You shook your head, mentally reviewing the events of the past few hours.

"That's the weird part. It didn't seem like an overdose. When we stabilized him and were able to examine him, he had yellowish skin and bluish veins... But the most disturbing thing was what we found when Ellith took off his shirt." You paused, still processing what you had seen.

"What did you find?" Jay asked, now fully alert.

"A bite," you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking it out loud would make the memory even more real. "A bite mark on the side of his abdomen. Surrounded by bruises and dried blood. They looked human, but there was something... off about them."

"A human bite? Do you think it could be rabies?" Jay frowned even more, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"That's what we thought at first," you admitted. "But I'm not so sure. When we tried to stabilize him, he suddenly woke up, screaming. Then he fell unconscious again."

The silence between you stretched as Jay processed what you'd just told him. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows over his face as he turned down a deserted avenue.

"That sounds... creepy," he finally said, letting out a sigh as he turned the wheel toward your building. "Like something out of a horror movie."

The conversation faded into the quiet air as the car slowed down in front of your building. You unbuckled your seatbelt slowly, still somewhat absorbed in the day's events.

Before opening the door, you turned to look at Jay, who kept a relaxed expression, though there was a glimmer of concern in his eyes.

"Goodbye, JayJay," you said, using the nickname you'd given him years ago, your tone affectionate, softening the moment. "Thanks for the ride, as always."

Jay flashed a light smile, resting his hand on the steering wheel.

"You're welcome. You owe me dinner for being your chauffeur," he joked, though his tone was warm.

You let out a soft laugh as you opened the door and stepped out of the car.

"I owe you," you replied, leaning slightly toward him before closing the door. "Take care, Jay."

––––––––––+––

The lump in your throat tightened as you packed away your uniform, the images of Jay and Ellith resurfacing in your mind. Where were they now? Were they safe, or had they succumbed to the chaos that now ruled the world? You wondered, almost automatically, while you reorganized your backpack, trying to push aside the thoughts that only brought uncertainty and pain.

"Let's go outside," you whispered softly as you lifted her into your arms.

With Alice nestled in your arms, you headed out of the store, needing some fresh air and perhaps a distraction from the emotional weight that burdened you. As you stepped out, the first thing you noticed was Glenn, sitting by the RV. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, fanning himself with his baseball cap in an attempt to relieve the sweltering heat.

You walked slowly toward him, the crunch of gravel under your feet was enough to make him look up. Glenn gave you a tired but genuine smile, as if your mere presence brought a bit of normalcy to all the chaos.

"Hey," he greeted softly, his voice dragged down by exhaustion as he gestured to the empty chair beside him. "You look exhausted. You should rest."

You gave him a grateful but resigned look as you adjusted Alice in your arms. The little one, curious but fidgety, turned her head in all directions, her wide, alert eyes absorbing everything around her.

"I would, believe me," you sighed, taking a seat next to him, "but someone has to look after this little explorer." You smiled, though the exhaustion on your face was evident. You knew that caring for Alice wasn’t just a physical task but an emotional one. She was your anchor, but also a weight you carried with every step you took.

Glenn looked at you sympathetically, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his cap into his hands. "It must be hard, doing it all on your own."

"It's what has to be done," you shrugged. "I don't have any other choice. She needs me, and that keeps me going."

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft murmur of the camp and the crunch of gravel under the feet of some companions. In the distance, someone was arguing about food rations, and the constant presence of walkers beyond the perimeter was a shadow that never truly disappeared.

Glenn broke the silence. “You know, it’s amazing how strong you are.” His words caught you by surprise, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the genuine respect on his face. “All of this... it’s not easy for anyone, but you manage to stay strong for Alice. That’s admirable.”

You smiled, though you weren’t sure how to respond. You had heard similar words before, but coming from Glenn, they felt different. More genuine. “I’m just trying to do the best I can. But sometimes... sometimes it feels like it’s not enough.”

“It is,” he replied with certainty, looking at you again with that warmth that seemed to be one of the few constant things in his character. “Sometimes, just surviving is enough. And you’re doing a lot more than that.”

The impact of his words was immediate, and although you tried to hide it, you felt the heat rising to your cheeks. You lowered your head, pretending to focus on Alice as you adjusted her in your arms, but the truth was you wanted to hide the blush that was spreading across your face. God, you were sure of it. As much as you tried to deny it, the feeling was there: you wanted this man.

That feeling had been growing in you for a while, but now, under the dim light of the evening and the soft scent of damp earth, it seemed impossible to ignore. Glenn was more than just an ally in the midst of chaos. He was one of the few people who managed to make you feel safe, even when the world around you was falling apart.

You took a deep breath, trying to control the emotions surging in your chest. The camp continued its course, with the distant murmur of voices and the crunch of feet on the gravel, but between you and Glenn, there was a bubble of tranquility, of shared calm.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Glenn,” you finally said, your voice soft, almost inaudible, but clear enough for him to hear. It wasn’t just a thank you; it was a disguised confession, a way of saying what you felt without fully exposing yourself.

Glenn turned his head towards you, and although you couldn’t look at him directly, you could feel his smile. “You don’t have to imagine it. I’m not planning on going anywhere,” he replied, his tone light, but with an underlying seriousness that made you feel like he meant it.

You dared to look up, meeting his eyes. There was something in his gaze, a silent understanding, a connection you both shared but neither of you had dared to name until now. Maybe there was no need to say more; you both knew what was happening Between you.

[crimson0lake]

BSD characters as parents! Pt5 (I'm somewhat still manage to keep doing these-)

Pt1 - Pt2 - Pt3 - Pt4 - Pt5 - Pt6 - Pt7 - Pt8

Masterlist

A.n: yeah, probably a lot of you wait for these ones till now, images from BSD manga

Characters: Fyodor and Nikolai please don't come for me in the comments if I accidentally mischaracterized them. I didn't watch past early parts S3 and I'm trying my best-

Warnings: mentioned gun, knife, and dead. Mentioned manipulation.

Edit: I updated and fixed some grammar mistakes and my own mistakes in some parts since I forget to add some things

Fyodor:

Marriage or not? Both is possible. Like with the mafia members, Fyodor is also can consider to get in a physical relationship if needed or he wants to gain something. Adoption would still be a choice but it most likely not since we know why Fyodor most likely would take an orphan out of blue, either use them in his plans or they have relation that would be use of him

Still if an abandoned child keep following him or they are somewhat interesting to him (via eye colour, their expressions, their actions, etc) he maybe could take the child with him.

If they are from a physical relationship, he probably question the mother in his mind: if he come to conclusion of that the mother is not good/abusive/in a bad state to look after the child, he is taking the child with him; if the mother is in good state and not abusive, he is leaving the child. Even then, he probably send plenty of money to mother to stay silent and take care of the child

He is pretty religious (as for what I see and read about him) so he probably raise his child like that.

I'm not entirely sure about his religious self and I don't like to make, accurate or not, points to the things I'm not sure, so onto next topic-

If the child is a girl: he would treat his daughter as like a princess, even teach them etiquettes. If it's a boy however: he would still treat them good: but more like a knight/strong prince I hope it explains except those two, he won't act different fully.

He loves his child, probably would have a smirk or at least have his lips sides curled upwards when his child near him. He isn't the best at showing emotions however so it can easily seem like he doesn't care about his child

Yet he would be slightly protective inside as well, making sure everything would go smoothly when his child is around. Also, he probably strict too, making rules for his child like bed time, forbidden rooms (his office, the places that he put the people who go against him or he captured, etc) yet he won't be too strict, in the end he knows what his child is doing and thinking by just looking them.

He would put the drawings his child made to in his desk's drawers, he sometimes would take them out, looking through them and take every detail once again

He is has his own fears even though he don't shows them. Losing his child is one of them, he would act like he don't care about losing them and that they are just tools he use for his plans. But those would not be true, his fears of losing his child locked deep inside his manipulative heart.

Nikolai is the first play friend of the child, Fyodor probably had to warn him to not to give his child a gun before he let Nikolai baby sit them but he still gave them a toy gun as a gift-

Nikolai is the kind of a uncle/brother to the child, who would teach them how to make things disappear and make illusions

But for the babysitter part, he is letting his child alone with Sigma. Nikolai isn't the best one not only to his child but any child. He don't want to visit versious of countries in a week to find his child and Nikolai.

Anyway- Sigma is the second friend of the child, who he likes to play. He himself didn't have a childhood, so seeing a child and experiencing things with them makes him feel less nervous about his lack of experience.

Fyodor most likely teach his child how to use manipulation but not too perfectly/fully so he would still be two steps ahead of his child.

He probably wants his child on his side. Not bad, not good. Just on his side. Yet he won't be disappointed or angry of his child goes to either of those sides. He would only mad if his child decides to go against him.

If his child decides to be on good: he is fine. At least he would make his child to be in somewhere and in a position that he can gain something, maybe information or power over that organisation or people.

If they are on the bad side: still, it's not the worst. He would make sure and help his child in secret to get them into the Por Mafia and in a position he can get information to use against the Mafia as well.

Only bad thing would happen if his child go against him: He would be very disappointed and mad inside. He won't look the fault in him but find the blame in his child. Even though he would see it coming if his child found what he did and doing, he is still disappointed in them

He would always fight against his child if the fight necessary, if not he won't even bother to fight.

In fights he would remind them who raised them, who taught the manipulation to them and keep making them fall into his manipulations, cause we all know this man probably raise his child between his manipulations in case he need to manipulate them.

He would make them lose their colleagues, fall in the despair before taking them next to him again. No, he won't let them keep fighting against him if he can't take any gain from that.

Overall he is strict, calm, and looks like he is not caring for his child. Which is not true, but he won't admit even himself. He won't show his love to his child that much, but he can't deny that he would do anything to stop the harm ever touching his child.

Nikolai:

Marriage or not? Both is possible as well for this man. Like in Fyodor's part, Nikolai can consider getting in a physical relationship with someone if he would gain something or for a mission. Or he would simply take a child he found abandoned and take his interest by their anything.

If it's from an physical relationship, he probably don't care. He loves the child and probably would take the child with him. If the mother cares for the baby as well? Sure thing, he can just, yoink a ring and boom! Now a family-

He probably doesn't care about the gender. Girl? She is learning how to do illusions. Boy? Still learning that.

His child probably at least has one desk of cards in their room since they are Nikolai's child.

Fyodor probably would let the child alive as he can use the child to keep Nikolai under control or keep manipulating him (I'm not sure if Fyodor's manipulating Nikolai or Nikolai's just crazy/acting like crazy in BSD.)

Pretty fun dad actually. He is calm and let's his child do anything almost. ALMOST. Cause he still won't let them get seriously harmed. I said seriously cause he probably won't get into his child's mess if they arent seriously injured. He probably things this would help them with going in life.

Random desk of cards everywhere in the house. His child would even find cards in their clothes and hair. They would at least once question where their dad find this much of cards..

He is his child's first friend. First play friend as well.

He probably leaves his child with Sigma as well. He won't leave them with Fyodor cause.. He don't want his child dead. I don't think he would even find other members of DOA's safe to leave his child with. Yeah he can be crazy (or act like crazy) but he is not completely crazy to risk his child.

Sigma is their first babysitter and probably first friend after their father (and mother if she is there). Tbh Sigma would question himself and be nervous around child at first few times till he get more comfortable. Still it's the same for him, it would make him feel at least more good to be with someone probably less experienced than him.

He wants his child in his side. But if they aren't? Not a big problem as well. At least it's away from the government's works or the people against DOA, he is good (cause you know, I read DOA arent good with government completely)

He is scared to lose his child, he would show it from time to time. So he wants them away from serious fights.

If his child is on good side: he is fine with that, he can still randomly visit and bring them small gifts or deserts. He would want them leave if they are working for government however. He don't want government to learn about his child and try to use them against him. I'm saying again: He won't risk his child's life.

If they are on bad side: sure thing. He probably been on the bad side before as well. Only he would make them not to get in big fights or at least call him if they get in a big mess.

If they are against DOA however, he would be shocked probably. Yeah, he knew his child would probably hate him when they learn about what he did and doing.. but he wouldn't expect them to turn against him.. he would be disappointed and mad.

He is mad that his child leave his side after all those years, it would still hurt to see his child in pain, laughing, crying, and simply living their Ife while he can't go and join them. He probably felt the pain if his child hit what he done to his face. He probably made the hero and good guy image in his child's eye from the childhood, so breaking that image would hurt

He would avoid the fighting sometimes, while other times he won't hold back. Still carefull to not to hurt his child seriously though.

Even if his child is against him, he won't want them to leave him completely.. He dont and didn't want that to happen..

Overall, he is fun and energetic father. Who would bring (teleport?) his child around the world with him and do the most of the things most parents won't let them do. Like eating ice cream in winter or getting in the sky casino (only with him till they are adults though).

[forget-me-maybe]

WIP WEDNESDAY

thank you for tagging me @honeybee-bard <3

no pressure tags for: @lemonsrosesandlavender @lizziemajestic @reverieblondie @heartfluttered and anyone who wants to really

here's a snippet from the post canon, longest and final (ehm) part of a change of heart, the fic collection with the man we all love to hate; aradin beno.

since apparently i've made it's my life's mission to clog up the tav/aradin tag on ao3.

can i fix him? man, i don't know.

can i get some good smut and angst out of him? YES I CAN.

this part's mostly angst tho. tav coping extremely well with the aftermath of saving the world and is, of course, totally over the bastard.

cw heavy drinking and nsfw and just unhealthy coping methods in general

it might be a bit patchy and strangely paced bc i just removed the spoilery parts and also bc i wrote this in a frenzy yesterday

Partying helps, at least she thinks so. The vaults of memories she doesn’t want to revisit are harder to open that way. Just as the fragments of last night lie shrouded behind a thick layer of fog. Just as many things do from the past months. 

This morning, she has an uneasy feeling of there being something she should remember. She shrugs it off. It’s probably just something she said. Maybe she insulted someone. Wouldn’t be the first time. Nor the last. 

An undignified groan slips from her mouth as she climbs out of the bed. Her clothes lie scattered across the floor, unceremoniously she steps over them towards the side table by the window. The whiskey bottle is half empty, and soon it’ll be completely empty. The first gulp is uncomfortable and threatens to return up her throat, but she pushes through the nausea, longing for the sharp edges of her mind to become soft and foggy again. 

Bottle in one hand, she carefully peeks through the heavy curtains. The light stings her eyes and she has to blink a couple of times before she can make out the sun’s position. Must be some time in the afternoon. 

The next mouthful of whiskey goes down easier, its warmth spreads comfortably through her body. The headache makes way for numbness. There’s a rustle coming from the bed followed by a yawn.

“Sweetheart, come back to bed,” Daryk murmurs. 

If someone were to ask how they met, she wouldn’t be able to answer. Some time ago he just ended up in her bed every night and with his arm swung around her at every outing. She sure as hells doesn’t love him. She’s not even sure she likes him. But he’s another distraction. 

She places the bottle on the bedside table, she’ll need it later, before crawling back onto the bed. His morning breath is awful, she reckons hers is too. She doesn’t care, he kisses her just as well. 

And she doesn’t care as he flips them over. She stares into the ceiling as he eats her out. She wonders if he’d consider it rude if she were to drink while he goes at it. Perhaps best to save that to some other time. 

Instead she closes her eyes, trying to lean into the feeling. But Daryk has always been more enthusiastic than skilled with his tongue, the movements too light and never hitting just the right place. 

Her mind drifts off and instead of long black hair, she imagines her fingers hold onto brown curls. For just a moment she wants to push away the image, just typical of him to barge in uninvited. But suddenly Daryk’s tongue feels good against her core, his fingers reach parts of her she’s quite sure he’s never done before. 

When she comes, she imagines a raspy chuckle vibrating against her core. When he crawls over her she imagines tanned muscle weighing her down, callused fingers wrapping around her wrists, whiskey eyes instead of blue ones. As he slides into her, it’s another voice whispering filthy nonsense in her ear. And as she reaches her second climax she has to bite her tongue not to scream another man’s name.