#people say that it gives more of a high than taking drugs

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part one)

part two (soon)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, very indirect subtle mention of sexual themes (no actual scenes), mention of drug usage (no actual scene)

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him.

word count: 2.1k+

a/n: i haven't written this kind of stuff since like 8th grade (i recently graduated from university sooo yeah) but i kinda felt like it now and idk. there are so many smut involved fics on here (which isn't bad, i just need more softer slow burn stuff). not saying there won't be any smut in future parts hihihihi. also i have no clue how the american school system works (i'm from europe) so pls just accept this lol. and kelce's last name is statter bc apparently it was never mentioned in the show. anyway, this is for all my introverted and overthinking girlies (who may or may not be little freaks) <3

*****

Fuck my life.

That was the only thing on your mind as Mr. Smith announced the partners for the upcoming two-week art project. In pairs, you were supposed to create a reinterpretation of the Greek gods.

The assignment wasn’t the problem. In fact, it actually sounded kind of fun. But your partner? Yeah, that was the real issue.

Fucking Rafe Cameron.

Of all the people in this class, it had to be him. You didn’t even know why he'd chosen this class. Rafe was probably the last guy you’d expect to take an art elective—well, right after Kelce Statter.

He'd probably thought it was an easy class to boost his GPA. Rookie mistake.

Okay, whatever, it was just a small project. You could handle this.

NO, YOU COULDN’T, HOLY SHIT.

The thought of working with Rafe Cameron made your skin crawl. In all your years at Kildare Academy, you'd maybe exchanged two words with him—and that was only because he'd mistaken you for another girl.

"Y/N, right?" Rafe appeared at your desk at the end of class, a bored expression on his face.

Okay, okay, just act normal. Be nice. You nodded. "Yeah."

Rafe stared at you for a moment, like he was waiting for you to say more. His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he tilted his head. "Cool, okay. Let’s just meet up during lunch break and get this over with."

Did he seriously think you could finish a two-week project in one lunch break?

When he saw the look on your face, he raised his brows in amusement, his tone teasing. "What? You too busy?"

Your cheeks heated up as you shook your head. "No, lunch sounds good."

"Okay, then let’s meet after the fifth period." Before you could ask where you should meet him, he turned around and disappeared out of the classroom.

You frowned. This was off to a great start.

Just two weeks, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed to math class.

On the way, you unlocked your phone to text your bestie Cara:

You shoved your phone away and tried to ignore the uneasiness creeping into your stomach.

You didn’t usually have trouble talking to guys but Rafe Cameron was a whole different story. Not because he was "too cool" or some dumb shit like that.

No, Rafe was just... intimidating. Not in that bad-boy, cringe Wattpad kind of way. It was something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

He wasn’t arrogant—he was proud. He was loud, but not in the annoying way Kelce Statton was. He wasn’t rude—he just said whatever the hell was on his mind.

He was just ... himself. And yet, somehow he wasn't. It felt like there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Maybe that was what made him so interesting to you. Sure, he had a nice face and a well-known name, no doubt about that. But more than anything, you wanted to know why he was the way he was.

Was he just a blunt person who didn’t give a fuck, or was there more to him than his looks and his last name?

So yeah, maybe a part of you was curious about him. But he had such an overwhelming presence, you wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the past, he'd had a few friends-with-benefits situations, but none of them had lasted long. And that was definitely a path you didn't want to go down. Under different circumstances, maybe you could but you've never even held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one or—yeah, no, not going there.

Okay, chill. Internally, you cursed Cara for fueling your delusions.

You had more important problems at right now anyway. Like math class with Mrs. Richman. And no one could claim you were a star student in that subject.

----

The lesson dragged on, your thoughts constantly drifting. After class, you were supposed to meet Rafe.

Rafe, who had PE right now.

Shit. You tried not to think about a sweaty, heavy-breathing, and—NOPE, NOT NOW.

"Okay, that’s it for today. Don’t forget about the math test next week. But for now, go enjoy the nice weather," Mrs. Richman announced, dismissing the class.

Your hands felt clammy as you got up to leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You headed to the restroom and washed your hands. Why were you so nervous about spending one lunch break with Rafe Cameron? Fuck you, social anxiety.

"Everything okay?" A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You look kinda pale."

You turned to see the pretty face of Molly Crane. Red hair, cute freckles, and a super charming smile. She was one of the few Kooks (if any existed at all) who was genuinely nice.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, all good. I think I just ate something bad for breakfast."

Molly didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Really, thanks, Molly. I’m fine now." With an awkward smile, you excused yourself and headed out—only to realize that, well… great, you and Rafe had never picked a meeting spot.

Brrrt.

Your phone had been buzzing since math class. Of course, it had been Cara.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and texted back.

Should you really wait in front of the gym? That felt weird af. But at the same time, you didn’t want to miss him and end up having an awkward conversation about it in the next art class.

The dining hall would've been the most obvious meeting place, but would Rafe actually look for you there?

You pressed your lips together. Fuck it.

Heart pounding, you headed toward the gym.

Good thing your body totally knew how to distinguish between social interaction and actual danger.

When you arrived, you heard muffled voices of the boys inside, along with Coach Brown’s instructions.

Just breathe, it’s just one lunch break, you told yourself. Then again, this was probably how the next two weeks were going to feel.

You held your breath as the gym doors swung open, and a crowd of sweaty—oops wrong, freshly showered—boys streamed out.

You awkwardly stepped to the side, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way.

No sign of Rafe yet. A sick feeling settled in your stomach. Even worse than being here and having to explain HOW you knew that he would be here, would be explaining why you were standing there if he didn’t actually have PE right now.

But then relief washed over you when you spotted Kelce Statter and Topper Thornton. And right behind them—Rafe Cameron.

You tightened your grip on your bag. Okay, okay, I can do this. They’ll probably say bye to Rafe and leave for lunch now.

They didn’t. Great.

When Rafe saw you, something flickered in his gaze that you didn’t want to analyze. You expected him to just walk past you but instead, he headed straight toward you—with Kelce and Topper right behind him.

Just smile. No, not like that, you probably look like a creep. Oh god, okay.

"Hey," Rafe greeted you with a slightly puzzled smile as the three of them stopped in front of you. "I didn't expect you here."

In other words: Did you stalk me or how did you know I was here?

Kelce and Topper eyed you with amusement. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

Blushing, you pointed at the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, I saw you bringing a sports bag today, and PE is usually scheduled right before lunch ... so I just assumed you’d be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kelce stifling a laugh. You wanted to disappear from Earth, no from this universe. No way anyone would believe--

"Right," Rafe replied with a lopsided grin. "I would’ve just waited in the dining hall."

So you had been right. And you could've saved yourself this painfully awkward moment. G-r-e-a-t.

"Good thinking though. The faster we get this project over with, the better."

Shit, did Rafe just compliment you? Then again, why did the last sentence sound like he didn't want to work with you?

You smiled awkwardly. "Exactly."

"You're Y/N Y/L/N, right? Your mom owns Y/L/N Yacht Sales." Topper’s voice cut in, and you were grateful for the topic change.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Was that admiration on Topper’s face?

"Ohh, a business Mommy, I like that", Kelce said, and both Topper and Rafe eyed him with shaking heads.

Topper blinked at him annoyed. "Bro, shut the fuck up for once."

Kelce just laughed.

"My dad bought a Grady-White from you guys recently," Rafe remarked, and your gaze flicked back to his blue eyes.

Jesus, he wasn’t just looking at you—he was staring into your soul. If he was always looking at girls like that you'd gladly be his friends-with-benefits-girl.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that you didn’t blush. "I remember. A 456 Canyon."

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched up. "Yeah, a pretty model."

Your cheeks warmed, and either he didn’t notice, or he chose not to comment on it.

"Oh shit, that sounds like a boat party," Kelce chimed in with a grin and looked at you. "If I were you, I’d have thrown a dozen parties by now. So many possibilities…"

Rafe scoffed amused. "Good thing she isn’t, or her family would be broke by now."

You allowed yourself a small smirk.

„Hey, I’m just saying.“ Kelce raised his hands innocently.

Topper tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. „Okay, dude, and I’m saying we’re leaving now before you say more stupid shit.“ Then he looked at you apologetically and turned his gaze to Rafe. „See you later.“

Rafe just gave him a short nod, his expression hard to read, before turning back to you with a tired smile as Kelce and Topper disappeared behind the gym. „So, you hungry?“

Why did this situation suddenly feel so… intimate? It wasn’t. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason to feel weird about this. And yet—standing here alone with Rafe Cameron was… a lot. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—calm, focused, as if he was actually paying attention.

Or maybe it was the damn wet strands of hair falling into his forehead after his shower.

Get a grip.

You nodded quickly, trying not to overthink it. „The cafeteria has quinoa veggie bowls today. Or fries, if you’re not into influencer food.“

Oh God. Was that your attempt at being funny? Tragic.

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement. „So, you’re assuming I don’t like quinoa bowls?“

Oh. Oh no.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, and you could feel your cheeks burning. Why the hell did you say that?

„No—I mean…“ You let out a nervous laugh, which sounded more like a weird cough. „Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you’re just more like—uh, not that I’m putting you in a box or anything, but you don’t seem like someone who… uh…“

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. „Someone who eats quinoa?“

You sighed. „Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.“

„No, no, now I’m curious.“ His voice was amused, almost teasing. „How exactly do I seem?“

You swallowed. Shit.

„Uh…“ Your eyes flickered over him for a second—his broad shoulders, the damp strands of hair falling into his forehead, the fresh polo shirt fitting way too well against his body—oh God, wrong direction.

„I just meant…“ Maybe you should just stop talking and dig your own grave. You sighed and smiled awkwardly. „Okay, look, I'm sorry if you’re actually a secret quinoa veggie bowl advocate. I didn’t mean to sound condescending.“

Rafe laughed. Not in a mocking way—no, it was real, warm, which somehow made it worse because it only made you more nervous.

„No, no, I get it,“ he said, shrugging with an amused smile. „I guess I need to work out more if I’m giving off ‘fries guy’ vibes.“

Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. „That’s not what—“

„Relax, I know what you meant.“ He cut you off, tilting his head toward the dining hall. „Come on, you can keep judging me in there.“

I am the most embarrassing person alive, you thought, face still burning.

Still, you fell into step beside him, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Brain, could you please shut the hell up? Thanks.

It didn’t.

Because why did Rafe’s presence feel so overwhelming—in the best way possible? And why did his ridiculously good aftershave still linger in the air between you, like some kind of cruel distraction?

And most importantly—how the hell were you supposed to survive two whole weeks of this?

[rothinnpanna]

Went winterbathing (with a sauna) a couple days ago, and it was my first time doing it where the sea was frozen. So we jumped into a hole in the ice and it was really fun and nice, but the water was also just straight up burning.

The weird part was how I didn't feel any pain or really the cold either until I got back in the sauna. And then it was just pins and needles all over until I had warmed up again.

10/10, do reccomended, and I will be doing it again soon.

Cold weather enjoyer FREAKS when they’re shivering and tensed up and can’t feel their toes and their face hurts and

[toothfa-1-ry]

CHICKS DIG BAD GUYS

choi su-bong/thanos x ex gf!reader

"Fuck me" you whisper under your breath with obvious annoyance as you spot the familiar shade of purple approaching you, cursing yourself for having such bad luck

The tall boy's grin seemed to widen even more upon hearing your remark

"Gladly" he gleamed with obvious delight which caused your frown to deepen

"Hey boss, you know her?" no. 124, you quickly note his number, says to the boy who stood infront of you

"Hey! Hey! shut up man" su bong, as you know him as rather than his weird nickname thanos, frowns at his team mate (which in your point of view seemed more like his lackey)

Su bong in turn, whips his head towards you with an excess amount of glee in his face to your dismay

"Senorita!" He leans to you "I'm sure you missed me"

"Su Bong-" an irritated expression plants your face which your ex boyfriend quickly recognized as the face you made before you began scolding him

"Hey Hey hey!" He shouts with enthusiasm which causes you to groan much to his enjoyment "It's thanos not su bong. Cmon, you know that baby"

The familiar nickname he called you made you feel like gagging. No one had called you by that awfully cringe nickname ever since you broke up with him when he used up your savings to invest in crypto currency without your knowledge

"What the hell are you doing here?" You ask him as you fold your arms, taking a step back to create some distance between you and your ex boyfriend

"For the same reason you are" su bong takes an immediate step towards you when he sees what you were trying to do

You open your mouth to retaliate, shout, or even scream but su bong beats you to it with widened eyes

"Don't you think it's fate?" He says as he walks behind you, grabbing you by your shoulders while he leans towards your face

"What the hell are you on" you knitted your brows "are you on some kind of drug-"

"I mean" he laughs loudly, causing other people to turn and stare "It's has to be fate or some kinda shit right?"

"Get of your high ass su bong and speak properl-"

He cuts you off again, this time placing his finger in your lips

"thanos. It's thanos baby, you know that" his voice low, if it were anyone else they would have taken it as a threat but instead you just brush his hand away from you, glaring at him

"Whatever, you and your shitty nickname. Just say what you want to and get lost"

Su bong gives as exaggerated sigh "do I really have to spell it for you? You always did like to play hard to get didnt you"

You felt like slapping that cheeky grin away from his face

"All im saying is that it's fate baby!!" he nodds his head with giddiness while punching the air with both his arms

"even the universe wants us to get back together. Why else do you think we would both coincidentally end up meeting eachother in this place?!" He spoke rapidly, fast, almost as if he was rapping

You immediately scoff, which caused his smile to drop in an instead

"Get lost loser" you turn away "Don't you dare talk to me again, i don't talk to bad people like you"

"Hey!" su bong attempts to grab your hand but you flipp him off, showing your middle finger as you walk away from him.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Nam gyu stood awkwardly next to thanos as he watched the rapper get flipped off, trying to decid on how he should respond in order to make thanos happy

"I guess even winners have to lose some right?"

He recieves a resounding thud in the head by the frowning rapper

"didn't you even pay attention to what they said?!" Thanos shouted with offence

Nam gyu massaged his head with an dumbfounded expression "i dunno boss, that kinda sounded like a rejection to me.."

"You idiot! Wanna get hit again?"

Nam gyu immediately staggered a few steps away from thanos, covering his head with his arms

Thanos took a deep breath, placing his hands in his hips, taking an assertive stance as he laughed. Very loudly.

"She called me a bad person" thanos said in a tone that seemed a bit too optimistic.

Nam gyu couldn't help thinking, isn't being called a bad person a obvious insult?

Thanos quickly noticed his lackeys expression which made his scowl "you really don't understand women do you?"

Nam gyu shook his head fervently as Thanos wore a proud look on his face, his fingers on his temples as he shook his head

"Chicks dig bad guys" he says with cockiness in his voice

"So?"

"So? You asking me So?! Don't you get it!?!" Thanos loops his hand around his lackey as he jumped up and down,

He grinned from ear to ear as he shouted at the top of his voice impulsively

"Holy shit! she still wants me so bad!"

[femonologue]

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[suh-lee]

' fuck you... fuck you. ' - thanos

𐔌♯ pairing — dom thanos x sub amab!reader

𐔌♯ warnings — smut mdni , slight feminization , blowjob (reader receiving) , drug usage (+ peer pressure) , cursing, implied korean speaking (stuff intended to be english will be italicized) , 'boy' used for reader, cockwarming mention

𐔌♯ word count — -1.7k

𐔌♯ authors note — hi.. had a small depressive episode so i halted my writing.. uhm.. anyways we are so back! and small note.. i literally do not know anything about drugs.. most of the substance use was written with a small amount of research.. if it isnt accurate please imagine it is..

you fucking hated it here. you didn't know where you were, what you were doing, or even the true nature of the other 455 players with you.

anybody could be planning anything against you.. at any time.. anywhere... and you just had no way of knowing.

you knew this was a bad attitude to have when you had nobody else to rely on at the moment, but you just couldn't help the feelings of doubt and possible betrayal.

everyday, as the other players went to grab their small portions of food, you just sat on one of the many bunkbeds and stared, trying to observe everyone possible.

"hey pretty boy," you heard someone say from the floor.

it was that bitch with the highlighter purple hair, thanos. you found him anything less than unendearing. thanos had a habit of constantly breaking out in a freestyle rap.. and they were never really good. as well as seeming to pick fights with everyone there.

yup, he was definitely not the person who you would try to become allies, or even friends, with, even if you were desperate here.

you tried your best to ignore him, continuing to stare off into the lines of people.

"hey bitch!" thanos yelled, "i'm talking to you!"

a soft groan escaped your lips as you slowly moved your head down to look at him, standing like an idiot on the floor.

"what?!" you said in a snappy tone, to which he responded with a smirk.

"i liked you better when you were quiet." he mumbled, climbing up the metal latter to the many bunk beds, finally reaching the one you were on a plopping down.

the slightest look of disgust was on your face as you stared him down, getting a glance of every small detail about him. "are you high?" you mumbled, noticing his bloodshot eyes and overly shaky hands.

"why, pretty boy? ya want some?" thanos said, a smirk placed on his face as he started to reach into the sweater of his tracksuit, where you assumed (more hoped) was where he hid the drugs.

"no, im fine." you spoke in a stern tone.

"awh! you're no fun." he frowned, pulling out a detailed cross-shaped necklace. he turned his head to make sure nobody else was around before lifting the top on the necklace, revealing a small collection of drugs of multiple colors. "....you sure?" he asked in a cocky tone. "c'mon man!! live a little!" he said a little louder than you would have liked.

"fuck you." you mumbled, rolling your eyes off to the side. you looked around at the people in the room, letting out a loud sigh. your gaze looked the purple-haired man up and down, "fine. give me one."

"shit?! yo.. i knew you'd come through!" he said, taking a pill out of the cross necklace and quickly putting it in your palm. "it's crazy strong though. like man."

you placed the colored pill into your mouth, confused if you should swallow or let it dissolve, but you chose the latter. the version of you that existed before participating in these games would've never dreamed of taking a drug... but here you were.

thanos stared at you, a look of anxious excitement placed on his face. the both of you made eye-contact with another blankly, waiting for the effects of the drug to hit you.

..and.. it finally did.

"holy shit.." you managed to mumble. the feeling of hunger in your body was lifted with the drug, as well as the feeling of stress. your mind felt float-y, even causing your body to do the same, even as you sat perfectly still.

"it's strong.. right?" he said as his eyes watched you."

"..yeah.. god.."

"it's not very beginner friendly.. but it'll definitely make this place more fuckin' bearable." he mumbled, scooting a little closer to you.

"how'd you know i was a beginner?" you asked, looking at him with disbelief.

"ay, pretty boy. let's be for real now." thanos started off, "your whole body language is fuckin' rookie if i've ever seen one.. you didn't even know what the fuck to do with the pill."

a sigh escaped your lips as he spoke, "how the fuck does anybody put up with you?" to which thanos chuckled.

"i dunno.. you seem to be doin' a damn good job at it though."

"fuck you." you mumbled, staring at him.

you guys talked for a while as the substance reached it's high in your body. after the conversation, you seemed to be able to tolerate thanos more... even throughout his annoying ass tactics. he seemed to have a difficult time before coming here.. as did you. a light was revealed in thanos with said conversation. one that you were shocked about.

you saw... an attractive male. you definitely couldn't deny that he was a physically attractive man, but you've seen more into his actual persona, and you like it. a lot.

"yo." he finally mumbled, "i'm not gonna deny this.. you're fuckin' pretty. like shit."

"you literally called me 'pretty boy'."

"c'mon man! you don't need to expose me like that." he said, a slight joking tone was hidden under his words.

you guys sat in silence for what could only feel like hours. you leaned a little closer to him.

"can i.. kiss you?" was the only thing you could say, it coming out of your mouth as a whisper.

thanos stared at you in shock, a moment of silence went on, almost making you regret asking, before a small nod appeared on thanos' face.

his gaze glanced around the room, making sure all of the eyes were off you guys before the both of you leaned into each other.. your lips quickly connecting. he put his right hand on the back of your head. it grabbing your (slightly) outgrown hair in a way that was somewhat comforting. your lips kissed, the both of you waiting before bringing your tongues into it. your lips simply sat on each others... until they didn't. thanos lightly bit your bottom lip, asking you to open your lips without actually asking you too. you waited a minute before doing so, his tongue slowly slipping into your mouth, and vise versa. the kiss still seemed slow, so you decided to pick up the speed of your tongue. thanos matched the speed of your tongue causing your arms to swing from the sheets on the bed to his back. your arms tightly wrapped around his torso as his other hand slid to your waist, it lightly rubbing up and down.

thanos waited a moment and carefully slid his cold hand under the fabric of your clothes. he continued to rub his hand against your skin, the icy touch of his fingers sending a shiver down your spine. you pulled away from the kiss and stared at him.

"your eyes.. they're pleading.." he said with a small laugh, his hand trailing up under your top. he did so slowly, the grazing of his fingers making your breath's speed to decrease. his hand stopped on the left side of your chest.

thanos leaned into your ear and whispered, "what a small and perky tit..." he said with a smirk on his face before pulling away and starting to fidget with the nipple.

you never thought having your chest referred to in a way commonly used for females would turn you on... but here you were.. your dick was rapidly getting hard, it slightly poking out through the fabric of your sweatpants.

this movement did not go unnoticed by thanos, his gaze slipping from your face to your pants. he let his hand slide out from under your shirt and placed it on the hem of the tracksuit pants. they were carefully tugged down, just enough to reach the end of your boxers. he placed his hand on your boxers now, looking at you for confirmation that you wanted this, and all you could do was quickly nod. you adjusted yourself to be completely laying down on the bunkbed, as he adjusted himself to hover above your pelvic area. he nodded before pulling your boxers down and watching your dick pop out almost immediately. he teasingly flicked it, receiving a whine from you.

"..how responsive." he teased before placing his mouth on the tip of it.

thanos slowly moved his head downward on your dick, stopping right before he reached your testicles. he looked up at you, before lifting his head up and slamming it back down onto your dick. he continued this a few times, having you quietly whimpering.

you watched his head lift up to look you in the eye, your dick making a 'pop!' sound as his mouth went off of it. "hey. you gotta be quiet, man!" he exclaimed in a hush tone. "the fuck you think that pissy old man's gonna do if he sees this!" he said, clearly referring to player 001. the man who had stopped him from beating up a player.

"sorry." you mumbled, your eyes pleading for him to ignore it and continue.

thanos looked at you with doubt before slamming his head back down onto your dick, your dick hitting the back of his throat with ease. his eyes teared up on reflex as he let out a quiet groan.

"thought we we're being quiet?" you said, teasing him through shaky breaths, to which you received no response.

you watched as his head quickly bopped up and down, each thrust of your dick reaching the back of his throat, you quickly decided you had to come and left no notice before your dick started to release the infamous white liquid. your nut squirted all around his mouth, his head bopping up and down a few more times to rid you of that high before lifting his head up.

thanos stared at you as he swallowed it before laying down, right next to you. he helped you pull your boxers and tracksuit pants back up.

you sat in silence, processing what had just happened. a hand being placed on yours interrupting your thoughts.

"so. pretty boy.. whatcha feel about cockwarming?"

[keehomania]

party animal — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, slowburn, pining, swearing, minors dni, reader’s surname is archibald bc it sounds expensive, super rich kids, slut-shaming, kook princess!reader, pre-buzzcut rafe, drug use, alcohol abuse, promiscuity, unprotected sex, reader has major daddy issues, rafe is lowkey obsessed, glazing the reader lol heavy serena van der woodsen vibes, rafe wants to fix her (he needs a therapist!)

you were a paradox, a contradiction wrapped in silk and sin—something meant to be divine but marred by every thorn that hell’s garden could offer. you reveled in it, though—the chaos, the pull of power, the way the world seemed to orbit around your smile. the thrill was intoxicating, the rush of watching people bend to your will like marionettes on fragile strings. if you wanted, they’d scrape gum from the soles of your designer heels, and you wouldn’t even need to say “please.” it wasn’t about malice; it was about the game. how far could you go before everything unraveled?

that’s why you came home late every night, long past the hour when even the shadows began to whisper secrets to each other. midnight had always been your threshold—swaying on the edge of your limits, drenched in vice. you carried the night with you like a perfume—martinis clinging to your breath, the ghost of cuban cigars still roughening your voice. your skin glistened under the harsh yellow glow of the porch light, the sweat and sin of your evening etched into your being.

sarah had been your constant, your touchstone in a life teetering between indulgence and destruction. she was supposed to anchor you, but even her goodness wasn’t immune to your sway. she let you in without question, her hand firm but gentle on your arm as she led you across the threshold. her boyfriend trailed behind, his words a muffled hum lost to the haze in your head as she whispered something you didn’t bother to catch.

you knew better than to stay, yet there you were, wrapped in tom ford and tequila, your gaze flickering in the dim light as you crossed the line you swore you wouldn’t touch again. this was mistake number one hundred, but this one felt different. this one was bigger. and you could already feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest, even as you smiled in the dark. god, how you wished you could take back time.

“shit, shit, shit,” you let out a long, high-pitched moan as your nails dug into the flesh of his chest, leaving everything from crescents to the presence of fresh blood from how hard you were clawing at him.

you threw your head back as you steadied yourself, his strong forearms wrapped around your knees as he spread them about, allowing him to meet your thrusts, his hips snapping forward as you moved at your own pace, bouncing, yours hands moving to push your hair back as your tits moved with every motion. “feel so good, rafe,” you slurred, leaning in and arching forward as you pressed your lips to his neck.

now, pause. was this bad? yes, this was very bad. not only were you drunk off your ass, but he was just as bad, if not worse, running on no sleep and booger sugar the way he usually did—maybe he was just wired that way. whatever the case was, he didn't care. he was enchanted, in a trance that he wasn't completely aware of—maybe it was the blow, he wanted it to be the coke more than anything, but he had a feeling it was more than that.

it had to do with the way you were moving, almost as if you were still at the club, dancing and swaying without a care in the world. had you always been like that? when did the kook princess conquer the underworld? he was panting, his mouth hanging open at the feeling of you squeezing, clenching around him like you were trying to milk everything he had to give—and you were. he let you kiss down his jaw, licking a stripe up his earlobe before moving down to his neck, nipping at the flesh and praying it wouldn't bruise.

“keep this up,” he hissed through his teeth, jaw clenching as his big, rough hands manhandled your hips, giving him all the leverage in the world as he kept thrusting, kept pounding into you like you were the only two people on the earth. “and i’m gonna fucking cum.”

you exhaled, something between a laugh and a moan passing your lips, ringing in his ears like a melody. “yeah, gonna cum?” you taunted, “gonna fill me up, cameron?” god, you were asking for it—begging for it, he was gonna nail you.

he pushed you back with a growl, leaning forward until his lips were perched around your nipple, teeth grazing the flesh of your tit as he muffled a guttural groan, fingers gripping the flesh of youe thighs as his dick throbbed. you could feel it pulsing inside you, twitching against your walls, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you sank down on his cock a final time. then, it was game over.

he moaned, loud and hard as he filled you up, milking the delicious grip your walls had around his cock as he continued to thrust, his cum spilling into you continuously, like he had an infinite amount of it in his balls, but he didn’t and, eventually, it did end.

it ended with you collapsing beside him, panting as you fought for oxygen. you wiped the sweat from your forehead as you panted, coming down from your high and absolutely refusing to look him in the eye—at all, really. he turned to glance at you, sweat sticking to the loose, thin bangs that grazed his forehead. he gulped, unsure of what to say as he took in the sight of you, unsure if he should say anything at all, and he didn't. he was too afraid to, but he’d never admit that out loud. he wasn't the type that got scared, intimidated, nothing of the sort. so, why was he suddenly quiet?

he was supposed to be the one to tell you to get up, to grab your clothes, and to get the fuck out of his room, but the words didn't come out. he was supposed to hear you talk about enjoying long walks on the beach, wanting something serious, something more than a quickie at three in the morning, but you didn’t. you didn’t beg for him to look at you as something more than just his friend, sarah’s best friend. instead, you turned around, pulling a blanket over your naked body, and went to sleep.

the pounding in your head was merciless, splitting your skull into jagged thirds as you groaned softly, pressing a hand to your temple. everything was blurry—the sunlight cutting through the blinds too sharp, the stale remnants of last night’s debauchery clinging to your skin like a brand. you blinked, once, twice, trying to piece together the fragments of memory that refused to align. but when the realization hit, it slammed into you like a freight train. your breath hitched. rafe. naked. asleep.

the room—the white walls, the overflowing closet, the faint trace of white powder on the desk—left no room for doubt. this was his room. and you had slept with him.

“dumbass,” you muttered under your breath, smacking your palm against your forehead like it could somehow erase the memory. “dumbass. dumbass. dumbass.”

you scrambled to your feet, fumbling for the crumpled dress discarded near the bed. your hands shook as you tugged it on, the silk clinging to your skin like guilt. your heels weren’t hard to find, their straps a sharp contrast against the chaos of his room. quietly, you tiptoed to the door, heart thundering with the weight of your actions. what the hell had you done? you tried to steady yourself, convincing your mind that it wasn’t the end of the world. rafe wasn’t the sentimental type. he moved from girl to girl like a chess master with no endgame, and you weren’t exactly unfamiliar with that strategy yourself. if anything, this was just another misstep, a shared mistake that wouldn’t—couldn’t—ruin your friendship.

but god, the thought of sarah finding out, of topper’s smug comments and kelce’s relentless teasing, made your stomach churn.

you reached the kitchen, relief washing over you like a cold shower—until you saw her. standing by the counter, sipping orange juice, her messy blonde hair and pinched expression screaming hangover.

“hey,” you croaked, your voice raspier than you intended.

she barely glanced at you, waving her hand dismissively. “jesus, stop screaming,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

you rolled your eyes, slipping into a stool and squeezing her shoulder. “sorry, mom, i’ll use my inside voice,” you whispered with a smirk. “what? john b keep you up with his john d?”

her eyes narrowed, a faint smile twitching at her lips. “oh, you so cannot be talking,” she shot back, draining her glass in one go. “you did my brother, so that totally makes us sisters-in-law.”

your heart stopped. “keep it down, you psycho,” you hissed, swatting her arm. “you totally hazed me last night. this never would’ve happened if you hadn’t dragged john b along.”

sarah shrugged, not even bothering to hide her grin. “and what now? gonna ditch the club-night stands and get with my brother?” she teased, her tone as light as the smirk she shot you.

“as if,” you scoffed, pouring her another glass of juice. “i’m getting tested for chlamydia after this.”

her brow lifted in mock surprise. “damn, this is a first. usually, the girls beg me to hook them up with rafe.”

you shook your head, wagging a finger at her. “absolutely not. you know me,” you said firmly, and she did. “rafe’s my friend. known him since he was hoarding cereal box comics. so, this? It never happened.”

sarah laughed, leaning back against the counter. “man, he’s totally gonna brag to top and kels,” she said with a mischievous glint. “not everyone gets to nail the kook princess.”

rolling your eyes, you snatched your keys off the counter, leaning in to hug her. “you’re real peachy, aren’t you?” you teased, hand darting down to slap her ass. “i’m out, babe. pick you up tonight for the bonfire?”

“wear something cute,” she called after you, shaking her head with a grin as she watched you leave.

the engine of your corvette roared to life, a deep, satisfying hum that vibrated through your chest and momentarily distracted you from the chaos in your head. you leaned back against the leather seat, gripping the wheel as last night’s events replayed in fragmented flashes. the tequila, the dim haze of rafe’s room, the feel of his hands on your skin—it all came rushing back like a tidal wave, making your cheeks burn with equal parts shame and disbelief.

“what the hell were you thinking?” you muttered, shaking your head as you pulled out of sarah’s driveway.

the quiet streets were still sleepy, the morning sun casting long shadows that danced across the pavement. you drove a few blocks, the rhythmic rumble of the engine filling the silence as you tried to piece everything together. but no matter how hard you tried, it all felt surreal, like something out of a dream you couldn’t quite shake. when you finally pulled into your own driveway, the sight of your familiar front porch brought a strange sense of relief. this was home, your sanctuary—empty for now, thanks to your mother’s work trip. thank god for small miracles; she would’ve flipped her perfectly groomed, suburban lid if she’d seen you walk in smelling like bad decisions and luxury cologne.

sliding out of the car, you groaned softly, your palm meeting your forehead for what felt like the hundredth time. “dumbass,” you whispered again, scolding yourself as you made your way inside.

the house was quiet, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks. you kicked off your heels near the door, leaving a trail of discarded items on your way to the bathroom. the cool tile against your bare feet was grounding as you stepped into the shower, twisting the knob until a hot, steamy cascade poured over you. you closed your eyes, letting the water wash away the remnants of last night—the sweat, the guilt, the lingering scent of rafe’s cologne clinging to your skin like a bad memory. your hands worked through your hair, fingers scrubbing at your scalp as you tried to scrub him out of your mind.

but he lingered, even as the water ran clear and you stepped out, wrapping a plush towel around yourself. you moved mechanically, toweling your hair dry before running a brush through the damp strands, blow-drying them until they fell in soft waves around your shoulders. a light layer of makeup followed—just enough to cover the shadows under your eyes and add a touch of color to your lips.

you opened your closet, scanning the rows of neatly hung clothes until your fingers landed on the white sundress. it was simple, elegant, hugging your curves in all the right places while leaving your tan lines exposed—reminding you of sun-soaked days that felt like a lifetime ago. you slipped it on, adjusting the hem before layering yourself with delicate gold jewelry: a thin chain around your neck, dainty hoops, and a few stacked bracelets.

the white heels completed the look, their sleek design elongating your legs as you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror. you looked put together, polished, even if you felt like a hurricane on the inside.

as you walked back out of the house, locking the door behind you, the corvette gleamed in the driveway. climbing back into the driver’s seat, you started the engine, the rumble a familiar comfort. last night was still a tangle of confusion in your mind, but as you pulled onto the road, you pushed it to the back of your thoughts. you had errands to run, a day to salvage, and a version of yourself to piece back together before anyone else caught on to how close you were to falling apart.

sarah wiped down the countertop with a slow, deliberate motion, her lips curving into a small smile as she thought about you. not with jealousy—she could never bring herself to feel that way about you—but with a kind of admiration that only years of friendship could cultivate. you had always been a force of nature, unpredictable and unrelenting.

you were the girl who punched cindy lopez in the nose for calling sarah stupid in third grade, who bought her her first vogue magazine when her parents refused to indulge her interest in fashion, who never hesitated to stand by her, no matter what. sarah knew, deep down, that nothing could ever truly take you away from her.

“hey.” the familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts. she turned, her eyes landing on her brother as he sauntered into the kitchen. his hair was tousled, his eyes slightly bloodshot, and his expression unreadable.

“morning,” sarah greeted, fighting the urge to laugh. “some night you had.”

rafe ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he moved toward the fridge. “she left,” he stated, his voice flat, though sarah could hear the faint edge to it. “they usually don’t.”

rafe shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off. he took a long sip before sitting at the kitchen island, his gaze distant. “yeah, well, she’s a free spirit,” sarah said, leaning against the counter. she studied his face carefully, noticing the subtle tension in his jaw. “you’re cool with that, right?”

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” rafe said quickly, almost too quickly. he shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers against the counter as if to distract himself. “she’s a—she’s a good friend. shouldn’t be too bad.”

sarah tilted her head, suppressing a smirk as she moved some dishes around the sink. “congrats, by the way. you nailed the kildare princess. topper’s totally gonna be jealous.”

rafe raised an eyebrow, finally looking up at her. “top?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes narrowing slightly.

sarah nodded, folding her arms across her chest. “yeah, god, he’s had a crush on her forever,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “don’t rub it in too much, though. i was totally rooting for them.”

rafe tapped his foot against the tile, his brows furrowing as he processed this. “yeah? And, uh, how does she feel about him?” he asked, keeping his tone even.

sarah shrugged, pondering the question for a moment. “i have no idea. no one knows what she’s thinking—not even me,” she admitted with a small laugh. “she’s a free spirit, like i said. she doesn’t take guys seriously. guess it has something to do with her dad. whatever it is, a guy couldn’t fix her with two hands and a toolbox, so be grateful she isn’t begging for your attention.”

rafe nodded slowly, her words sinking in. he leaned back in his chair, wiping his face with his hands as he considered what she’d said. it didn’t sit right with him—the way you had left without a second glance, the way you hadn’t even seemed to care about what had happened between you. he was used to a certain kind of response from the girls he spent the night with—flirty texts, coy smiles, maybe even the occasional attempt to cling to him. but you? you’d left like it was nothing, like he was nothing. it bothered him. more than it should have. but rafe cameron had always liked a challenge.

the roar of your corvette’s engine echoed as you pulled into the car wash, your fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a rhythm that betrayed your nerves. the ache in your head hadn’t dulled, and you silently cursed yourself for not grabbing an aspirin before you left the house. a drink sounded tempting too—something strong enough to quiet your thoughts about last night.

as you drove into the bay, a figure approached your car, a man in a black cap pulled low over his brow. his gait was confident, but as he got closer, you noticed the slight hesitation in his step. early twenties, give or take, with sun-kissed skin and broad shoulders, he leaned down to meet your gaze through the window.

“hey, do you need your tires polished—” he stopped mid-sentence, his voice faltering as his eyes widened. recognition lit up his face as his jaw slackened slightly.

“top?” you asked, rolling your window down with a grin.

a smile broke across his face, wide and sheepish, as he tugged the cap off his head, running a hand through his hair. “hey,” he stammered, his voice boyish and endearing. “what are you doing here?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” you replied with a chuckle. “what’s this? early career change?”

he laughed nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “nah, it’s my uncle’s shop. just helping him out for the summer,” he explained, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “it’s, uh, it’s really good to see you.”

you smiled warmly. “it’s good to see you too, top.”

the moment lingered for a beat longer than necessary, his gaze holding yours before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

“so, what’s the occasion?” he asked, gesturing to the car.

“just getting her ready for the bonfire tonight,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “won’t take up too much of your time.”

topper shook his head quickly, his grin returning. “you’re not wasting my time,” he said, almost too earnestly. “i’ll get started—on the house.”

you frowned, leaning forward. “come on, top. you know i can pay.”

he waved you off, his grin widening. “yeah, but you won’t.”

you sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. “fine, but i owe you a drink or two tonight.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” he said, his voice lighter, more confident now.

as he turned to get to work, you watched him for a moment, appreciating the way his shoulders moved as he grabbed the hose. he was efficient, his movements precise, but his composure faltered when his eyes drifted back to you through the window. he tried to stay focused, but you caught the way his gaze lingered on your collarbone, the golden jewelry adorning your neck, and the soft curve of the sundress that hugged your body. his jaw tightened as his eyes trailed lower, taking in the tan lines just visible above the hem of your dress. topper had it bad. real bad.

the errands had eaten away your day, the sun already dipping low in the sky by the time you were done. time had flown by faster than you realized, but the anticipation bubbling in your chest made you brush it off. you drove down the familiar block, the hum of the corvette’s engine smoothing your thoughts as you spotted the estate. pulling to the curb, you honked the horn twice, leaning out the window with a grin.

“get in, loser, we’re getting wasted,” you called out, watching as sarah appeared in the doorway, slipping into a pair of sandals.

behind her, rafe hovered like a shadow, his tall frame taking up the doorway. he muttered something to his sister—something about seeing her at the bonfire—but his eyes weren’t on her. they were on you. your stomach twisted, caught between the weight of his gaze and the awkwardness of the situation. shit, what was he supposed to do? wave? say hi? stay quiet? he settled on a wave, though the moment his hand lifted, his confidence faltered. the wave was awkward, hesitant, and he regretted it instantly.

you winced for him, forcing a half-hearted wave back, just as awkward, until the sound of the passenger door slamming shut snapped you out of it.

“romeo, romeo, where art thou, fair romeo?” sarah teased as she tossed herself into the seat, kicking her legs up and reaching for your playlist without hesitation.

“good to see you too, princess,” you mused, rolling your eyes.

she shrugged, her teasing smirk softening as her eyes swept over you, taking in the white sundress that clung to your frame. “you look good,” she said, her tone genuine for once. “you look good in white.”

a smile tugged at your lips as you shifted the car into drive. “you look good in everything,” you shot back smoothly, earning a laugh from her.

the drive to the bonfire was pure summer magic, the kind of ride where the windows were down, and the air smelled like salt and heat. music blared from the speakers as you and sarah sang along, her feet resting on the dashboard as the wind whipped her hair around her face. the sky burned in hues of orange and pink, melting into a deepening blue as the sun dipped lower.

the road opened up to the party grounds, and it was clear the bonfire was just the centerpiece of something much larger. the expansive courtyard buzzed with life, groups of people laughing and chatting, while the glow of string lights gave the scene a warm, golden hue. to the side, a makeshift bar was already busy with activity, and further back, you could see the well-manicured green of a golf field illuminated by soft lighting.

you pulled into valet parking, handing over the keys with practiced ease as sarah slid out of the car beside you. without thinking, your hand dropped to hers, fingers brushing for just a moment before she let out an exaggerated groan.

“oh, god,” she muttered under her breath.

“what?” you asked, already bracing yourself for the mess. seriously, it’s been, what? 10 seconds?

you turned your head and saw him—john b routledge, weaving his way toward you with that signature grin of his. he didn’t even hesitate, wrapping sarah in a hug the moment he reached her.

“hey,” he greeted you casually, though his attention was clearly focused on sarah.

you didn’t reply. instead, you met sarah’s gaze over his shoulder, your expression speaking louder than words. “routledge. mind if i steal her? thanks.” you didn’t even wait for a response.

as he pulled back, you leaned in close to sarah, your voice low enough that only she could hear. “he does or says anything, you get bored, anything goes flat—you call me, text me, i’ll be there, okay?”

she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “god, you’re the best,” she said, throwing her arms around you for a quick hug.

you shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “i know.” and then, with a bounce in her step, she was off, disappearing into the crowd with her boyfriend.

the bar wasn’t far, but the walk to it felt like something out of a movie. you didn’t notice it at first—the way heads turned, eyes lingering on you like you’d stepped out of some dream. the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees and string lights, casting a warm, golden glow that seemed to follow you. It was as if the sun itself had decided to pause, just for a moment, to watch you move through the courtyard.

when you reached the bar, you slid onto one of the stools, crossing your legs and leaning forward just enough to signal that you meant business. the bartender looked up from his station, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he approached.

“miss archibald,” he greeted smoothly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to feel personal but still professional.

of course he knew your name—everyone did. kildare was a small county, and its residents loved their local legends. you’d been a sensation for years, the name whispered with awe and envy, your life dissected by those who had nothing better to do. table dancing in barcelona? they’d seen the photos. a whirlwind fling with a celebrity? they’d read the headlines. you couldn’t decide if the attention was a blessing or a curse.

“hey, trent,” you replied casually, your gaze flicking to his name tag, even though you already knew it.

“what’ll it be tonight?”

“don julio, chilled,” you said, pulling your wallet out with ease. you layered a crisp hundred-dollar bill with a few twenties and then added a little extra for him, sliding it across the counter without a second thought.

he raised an eyebrow but accepted the tip without comment, reaching for the top shelf. “haven’t seen you around in a bit,” he mused as he grabbed the tequila. “get yourself a boyfriend?”

the question made your skin crawl, though you masked it with a polite smile. “not in the slightest,” you replied, your tone light but firm enough to shut the topic down.

he nodded, as if that were the answer he’d expected, and set to work. within moments, he placed a chilled bucket on the counter, along with a neat arrangement of shot glasses, lemon wedges, and salt.

“here you go,” trent said with a grin, stepping back to give you space.

finally, you could relax. you exhaled slowly, letting the buzz of the courtyard fade into the background as you eyed the setup before you. the tequila gleamed like liquid gold in the bucket, and you reached for a glass, savoring the moment. tonight, at least for now, was yours. or so you believed, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. the joy was short-lived.

you turned at the light tap on your shoulder, eyebrows raising in curiosity before your lips curved into a familiar grin. there he was, his blond hair slightly messy, his signature smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you look like you could use a drinking buddy,” jj maybank said, his voice laced with that casual charm that never failed to make people smile.

you leaned back against the stool, crossing one leg over the other as you looked him over. “what are you doing here, j? still crashing our parties?” you teased, your tone light but warm.

he chuckled, sliding onto the stool beside you, his movements as relaxed as ever. “what can i say? i keep coming back. think it’s for the women,” he shot back, his eyes trailing down to where your legs crossed before flickering back to your face.

“some luck they have,” you replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow as you poured yourself another shot.

jj whistled low as he noticed the bottle. “don julio? act a foolio?” he quipped, grabbing a glass for himself.

you smirked, pouring him a shot. “savor it, maybank. you’re drinking two hundred bucks.”

he laughed, leaning back on the stool and looking skyward. “huh, i thought houses cost that much. or is it just mine? just mine? okay.”

you swatted him lightly on the chest, shaking your head as you laughed. his grin widened, and he leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar. “how about a drinking game?”

your curiosity piqued, and you raised an eyebrow. “oh, yeah? what’s your angle?”

jj grinned like a cat with a canary. “simple. i take a shot, tell you a secret. you take a shot, tell me a secret. loser has to outdrink the other.”

you stared at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “smooth operator, aren’t you?”

he tilted his head, his grin unfaltering. “when it works, it works.”

you tipped your glass back, the tequila smooth and icy as it slid down your throat. setting it down with a soft clink, you thought for a moment before a sly smile spread across your lips. “alright, remember last summer when i went to spain? that article about my celebrity hookup?”

jj nodded, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. “oh, hell yeah. don’t tell me it was a kardashian or some shit.”

you smirked, leaning in slightly. “pablo gavira. nightclub. barcelona.”

his jaw dropped, and then he burst into laughter, slapping the bartop. “holy shit, congrats, it girl. you lived the dream of every fourteen-year-old girl out there!”

you rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips. “shut up, you ass. your turn,” you urged, gesturing for him to take his shot.

jj grinned, taking the glass and throwing back the tequila in one swift motion. as he set the glass down, he leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “okay, remember last month when john b’s board mysteriously went missing?”

you groaned, already sensing trouble. “jj, what did you do?”

he shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “sold it to a tourist for three hundred. used the cash to buy everyone drinks at the wreck. including your best friend, by the way.”

your eyes widened in mock horror. “diabolical.”

he laughed, that carefree sound that was so uniquely him. “hey, the guy wanted something ‘authentic.’ i gave him authentic.”

you shook your head, pouring another round. “you’re the worst, maybank.”

“and yet, here you are,” he teased, his grin infectious as he raised his glass for another round.

you stared down the shot glass, your mind racing for a secret that would blow jj’s offbeat humor right out of the water. you had your reputation—hell, you had a treasure chest full of scandals to pull from. but this? this had to be a knockout. something so jaw-dropping, so absolutely wrong that it would leave even jj maybank momentarily speechless. and then it hit you.

you set the glass down with a soft clink, leaning toward him, your lips curling into a devious grin. “guess who i slept with last night.”

his head snapped toward you, his interest piqued as he leaned in, matching your grin with his own. “sarah,” he shot back instantly, smirking like he already knew the answer.

you rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “i wish,” you groaned dramatically. then, you paused for effect, letting the tension build before delivering the bombshell. “rafe.”

jj froze. for a moment, it was as if his entire system short-circuited, his jaw dropping in an expression that was equal parts horror and hilarity. then he hissed, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. “you’re joking,” he choked out between gasps, his face twisting in disbelief.

you shook your head solemnly, a hand over your heart. “i wish i was. i was drunk, he was high. it just happened.”

he leaned back, clutching his stomach as he cackled. “and they say romance is dead,” he wheezed before shaking his head in mock disapproval. “dude, you had sex with your friend. big no-no. and your friend is a total whore. what if he caught feelings? you be up for a change of pace?”

you nearly choked on the air you inhaled too sharply. “big no,” you said firmly, your voice rising slightly. “and with that psycho? he’d snap my neck in a heartbeat if he was coked up enough.”

jj shrugged nonchalantly, taking another sip of tequila. “that’s your type, though. let’s face it. you like ‘em hot and stupid, and that’s all rafe is.” he broke into another fit of laughter, the image clearly amusing him to no end.

you narrowed your eyes, leaning toward him. “hey, i don’t go for psychopaths that shoot cops, dude.”

jj winced, his head swiveling as he glanced around. “allegedly,” he corrected, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “not so loud, psycho. besides, you like your men deranged.”

you scoffed, throwing back another shot. “yeah, that’s what I need. a strung-out psycho blasting big syke while he beats my ass.”

jj’s laughter came to an abrupt halt as he stared at you, his brow furrowed in mock thought. “really? pegged him more as a tupac kind of guy.”

you chuckled, leaning in close with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “you know, i should fix him up. do some psychoanalysis-type shit. make him a good boy,” you joked.

jj nearly fell off his stool, laughing so hard that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “is that it, bob the builder? you wanna fix me up next?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

you cooed, shaking your head as you rested a hand on his shoulder. “no way, babe. i like you just the way you are. damaged goods.”

he faked a gasp, clutching his chest as if you’d physically wounded him. “who said these goods were damaged?”

“your track record,” came a voice behind you.

you froze, your entire body stiffening at the familiar sound. slowly, almost as if you could delay the inevitable, you turned in your seat, dreading the sight you knew you’d find. and there he was. his expression was unreadable, a mix of calm and something far darker lurking just beneath the surface. those piercing blue eyes bore into you, not leaving yours for a second.

jj let out a low whistle under his breath, muttering, “well, shit.”

you forced a polite smile as you turned to face him, though the tension in the air was as palpable as the heat rising in the room. “hey,” you greeted, trying to diffuse the moment with your usual charm.

you leaned forward to give him a quick hug, a friendly one, but as your arms wrapped around him, you could feel the shift in his breath, the way it caught in his throat as he inhaled deeply. his chest rose and fell just a little too sharply, his lips brushing the side of your neck as you pulled back. that warm, expensive scent of yours seemed to linger in the air, and for a brief moment, you thought you might have made things a bit too personal between the two of you.

but then, you pulled away, turning to greet the others, pushing the awkwardness aside. topper and kelce were already there, practically vibrating with excitement. you smiled and reached out to hug them both. “top, kels,” you said warmly. “you guys want a drink?”

kelce’s grin stretched wide, his enthusiasm unmistakable. “shit, don julio? there’s our money maker,” he cheered, sliding into one of the stools like it was his own personal throne.

topper, on the other hand, didn’t look as enthused anymore. his eyes flickered, darting between you and jj, the conflict visible in the furrow of his brow. you caught the shift, but decided to address it in a way that wouldn’t rock the boat too much.

rafe’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp and demanding. “what’s the pogue doing here?”

jj raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin pulling at his lips. “don’t shoot, just came for a drink,” he teased, the smirk never wavering from his face.

topper shot him a look, one that practically oozed disdain, his tone a little too biting as he quipped, “yeah, we can see that.” he slid a glance at you, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “bar’s full of stools. sit somewhere else.”

the words stung, but jj shrugged them off with practiced ease as you threw an arm around his shoulders as if to claim him as your own for the moment. “you guys are way too sober,” you joked, giving them a mock warning. “be nice.”

jj’s eyes briefly met rafe’s, just a flicker of something passing between them, something loaded with a challenge. and for that brief second, it was like the world stood still, the air thick with competition. but then jj’s smirk widened, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you just a little closer to him. “some friends you have,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. “haven’t even complimented your dress.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, but he held his ground. he didn’t even know why he was angry, but the sight of jj with his arm around you was a slap in the face. he wanted to believe that it was because jj was a pogue, on kook territory, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that.

“the dress is beautiful, looks great on her, probably real expensive,” rafe said, his voice suddenly tight, eyes flicking pointedly to where jj’s arm was draped around you. “so get your dirty-ass pogue hands off it.”

the words hit hard, but you weren’t about to let the tension build any further. raising both your hands in a surrendering gesture, you rolled your eyes. “okay, rafe, enough. we get it, he’s a pogue,” you said, your tone light but firm. “just chill out.”

rafe scoffed, a bitter edge to his laugh. as he passed by you, he paused and slammed his shoulder against jj’s, the force enough to make the stool wobble. he shot a look over his shoulder, his gaze hard. “paparazzi’s out in front,” he said, his words dripping with something darker. “try not to get sloppy.” ouch.

the air grew heavier as the boys found their places at the bar, settling down on the stools opposite you. you could feel their eyes on you, heavy and lingering, like they were trying to decipher something beneath the surface. kelce groaned, and the sound was unmistakable—hunger, wrapped in something almost reverential. his eyes raked over you, from your heels all the way up to the way your hair cascaded down your back, messy but perfectly styled.

“she looks fly as hell,” he muttered, swishing his beer bottle absentmindedly. his gaze dropped lower. “legs like that could give victoria's secret a run for their money.”

topper scoffed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning to kelce with a sharp look. “dude, back off,” he snapped, though there was a flicker of agreement in his eyes. he glanced at rafe, who was quietly sipping his own beer, a glint of something darker in his gaze.

rafe rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. he slouched back in his stool, taking another swig from his bottle. “you guys are cracked out,” he muttered dismissively, but then he added something they weren’t expecting. “that’s a low-value woman.”

“what the fuck did you say?” topper shot up, his voice harsh, his fist slamming the bottle down onto the counter with a force that startled a few patrons nearby. the shock in his voice was palpable, and even kelce's usual laid-back demeanor had faltered.

rafe shrugged nonchalantly, his demeanor almost too calm for what he had just said. “you’ve read the articles. she likes the attention. jumping from one guy to another, type shit,” he said, his words clipped, colder than the beer in his hand.

kelce and topper exchanged a glance, their confusion turning to something more, but kelce was the first to speak. “she’s our friend, dude,” he said, his voice lower now, softer. he paused before adding, “and besides, what does that make you? hazardous waste disposal in your pants.” kelce dapped topper up, short and quick.

rafe scoffed, the sound harsh as he ran a hand through his hair, the aggression simmering just under the surface. he looked over at the two of them, a hint of mockery curling his lips. “shoot your shot then, top,” he taunted, raising his bottle in a mocking toast. “let’s see how you’ll feel when you see her flashing the paparazzi.”

topper’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly, but the tension wasn’t just between him and rafe anymore. he could feel it, the way the balance was starting to shift. and for a split second, you caught rafe’s gaze flicking over toward you. it wasn’t subtle, the way his eyes followed you, the way they locked onto the easy intimacy you shared with jj. the hand on your thigh, your smile—as if you didn’t have sex with him the night before. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, rafe seemed to tighten, like a rope pulled too taut.

before it could build into something more, rafe exhaled, the tension in his shoulders giving way slightly. his eyes softened for a brief second before his face hardened again, and he slapped a hand onto topper and kelce’s backs, breaking the thick silence.

“come on,” he finally muttered, the words almost too quiet to catch, his voice rough, but there was a finality to it. “let’s get laid.”

the night blurred together in a haze of tequila, smoke, and too many shallow breaths. the bottle of tequila was gone—an impressive feat, even for you—but the dull ache in your skull and the growing warmth in your chest only made you crave more. you’d been warned, right? rafe had said it, the same way they always did, but his words bounced off you like the cheap music playing overhead. you thought of him dancing with the girl, the way he smiled, fake and carefree. the kind of smile that had always made you ache before you started pretending it didn���t. the thing was, he was just like you, right? just another person trying to fill a hole, trying to make sense of it all. but there was no humor in it when you smiled at him from across the room, only condescension.

you turned your back on him and back to jj. he was leaning back in his chair, lazily flipping the joint between his fingers. the dim light from the courtyard highlighted the sharp lines of his face, the messiness of his hair, and the careless way he seemed to fit into his world. you didn’t think you’d ever met someone who wore chaos like that, but there was something almost magnetic about it. he caught your eye and smirked as he took the joint from his lips.

“oh, you shouldn’t have,” you cooed, leaning in and snatching it from him, pressing it to your own lips. you didn’t need his permission, not anymore. you hadn’t needed it for a long time.

“major pretty privilege,” jj teased, his voice low but amused. “totally would've kicked your ass if you weren't—” he let the sentence trail off as you took a long drag, eyes narrowing as the smoke curled between your lips and into the air.

you exhaled slowly, the smoke filling your lungs with a warmth that dulled everything else. “i’m a scandal away from a nose job,” you mused, half laughing as you watched him.

he grinned, raising an eyebrow as his hand casually rested on your thigh. “i wouldn’t be so quick to joke about that,” he said with a smirk. but there was something softer in his voice, almost like he was trying to keep the conversation light. it didn’t matter. it never did.

you leaned back, staring at the stars above you, but it was hard to focus on them. the weight in your chest grew heavier, suffocating, like the world was closing in. you hated how it felt. how much you wanted to simply not exist, to disappear, even if only for a moment. you wanted to leave your body behind, to step outside of this mess you called life and pretend you were someone else. someone who didn’t need any of this, someone who didn’t feel like they were drowning in the way their own heart beat.

jj watched you, the flickering glow of the joint between his fingers casting shadows on his face. “lost in thought, princess?” his voice pulled you back into the moment. “already tapping out?”

you forced a smile, shaking your head as you took another hit from the joint. “the night is young,” you said, your words a little more slurred now, but that didn’t matter. nothing mattered except the rhythm of the music and the way your heart felt like it was pounding in sync with the bass.

somehow, that was how you ended up pressed up against him in the courtyard, your body swaying with his, your hips grinding against his front. his hands were on your waist, holding you tightly as if he didn’t care about anything else. you could feel the heat between you, thick and intoxicating, and you didn’t even have to think about it. the rest of the world? it didn’t matter. you could feel the eyes of others on you—the way their gazes flicked over you and jj, maybe in appreciation, maybe in jealousy. it didn’t matter. all you cared about was this moment, this feeling of losing yourself.

jj groaned, his breath warm against your ear as his lips brushed the skin just beneath it. “you’re asking for trouble,” he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t quite place.

“i know what i’m asking for,” you replied, your voice low as you pressed harder against him. his hands tightened on your hips, squeezing in a way that made your head spin, your breath catching in your throat.

and yet, far away from you, there was rafe. his hands were wrapped around another girl, his eyes dark and distant. he didn’t know her—hell, he didn’t care to—but he had her close, like a shield, something to keep the world at bay. and still, his gaze drifted toward you, the same way it always did. you were just a magnet for him, weren’t you? the pull between you both was a constant, but tonight, it felt different. as his eyes locked onto yours, watching you dance with jj, something shifted. his stomach churned uncomfortably, the world spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. how could you be so shameless?

rafe’s thoughts turned bitter as his eyes flicked over your body, watching you grind against jj in a way that made his jaw tighten, but he couldn’t look away. you were impossible. you didn’t give a shit about the rules. you were different. how had you not crumbled under the weight of it all? you were spinning out of control, and somehow, that made you even more dangerous. he wanted to stop watching, wanted to tear his gaze away from you. but something inside him wouldn't let him. he couldn’t understand you. not now, not ever. and so he just watched. because that was all he could do.

the air in the bathroom felt thick with heat, suffocating, and charged with an electricity that had been building between you and jj all night. you barely had time to process it before you were pinned against the wall, his hands keeping your arms pressed against the cold tile as his lips moved urgently against yours. the sound of his soft grunt vibrated between you both as he kissed you deeper, a teasing hunger in his touch that matched the fire burning inside you.

you could feel the hard, insistent press of his dick against your knee, the way your body seemed to react of its own accord. without thinking, you pushed your knee upward, letting it graze against him, offering him just enough friction to make him groan lowly, his grip on you tightening in response.

the moment was stolen, heat building between you both in a whirl of urgency, until he suddenly released your hands, his arms lifting you up effortlessly. you gasped slightly as he placed you on the edge of the sink, his strong hands spreading your thighs, pulling your hips closer to his as his lips trailed down your neck. the sensation of his breath against your skin made you shiver, and you let out a soft whimper, your fingers finding refuge in his hair, pulling him closer.

his teeth grazed your neck in the most tantalizing way, making your head spin. “should’ve done this a long time ago,” he murmured between soft kisses, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, but there was a subtle hunger in his voice that made your heart race.

you tilted your head back, trying to steady yourself, letting out a breathless laugh as you tugged his hair, forcing him to look up at you. “yeah? should’ve asked nicely. i’m a nice girl.”

his lips curled into a wicked grin, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping lower as he spoke. “real nice girl. nice girls like you get rewards.” the sound of his voice, the heat in his words, almost made you forget everything else. you felt his hands press into your ass, squeezing, fingers teasing the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

but then, just as quickly as the moment had built, it all came crashing down with an unpleasant, distinctly loud sound—a harsh gag, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. you both froze, the spell broken, and for a moment, you felt disoriented as reality quickly snapped back into place. you heard the retching, the splashing of liquid against porcelain.

“rafe?” you called out, your voice tentative, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. you stepped away from jj, quickly pulling the straps of your dress back up. “you okay?”

you found him hunched over the toilet, his face pale, sweat slicking his skin as he heaved. the sight of him was almost comical, in a way, but you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh. you rushed over to him, placing a hand on his back to steady him. he was breathing heavily, but still had enough energy to shoot you a look.

“peachy,” he grimaced, sarcasm dripping from his words as he threw up again.

you sighed, looking over at jj, who was still lingering by the doorway. he caught your eye, and you didn’t need to say anything. he gave a small, understanding nod. “i’ll call you,” he said, his tone soft, but there was a lingering playfulness to his words. you wanted to say something in response, something like “please don’t,” but the words stuck in your throat. the moment felt too fragile, too much of a mess for you to handle right now. rafe noticed the unspoken exchange, and his mood soured even more. he wiped his mouth, scoffing.

“real classy, man,” rafe spat, his voice hoarse.

you rolled your eyes, unfazed by his usual grumbling. “glad to know you're well enough to fight,” you shot back, grabbing a paper towel to wet it and gently wiping his mouth. he shook his head and pushed your hand away. “you gotta go home, man.”

“no way,” he muttered, groaning as he leaned back against the wall. “top and kels are still here. i’m not leaving.”

you tossed the paper towel into the trash, exhaling in frustration. “i’ll take them home too,” you countered.

he groaned again, looking like he might pass out right there. “oh, great, you're driving. so that's two felonies—drunk driving and kidnapping.”

you smiled coyly, stepping back. “you know a lot about felonies, do you?”

he waved you off dismissively, rolling his eyes. “whatever. do what you want.”

you stared at him for a moment, but his behavior still felt off. he wasn’t usually this combative, not with you. it was like he couldn’t decide whether to fight you or something else. whatever it was, you didn’t care. “prick,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. he didn’t respond, and you didn’t press him further. you weren’t in the mood for his antics anymore.

you sat behind the wheel of your corvette, the engine humming beneath you, but all you could hear was the muffled noise of the others in the backseat. the car felt too small, the air too thick, the silence between you all almost unbearable. you could feel the alcohol coursing through your veins, making your thoughts a little foggy, your senses dull. the weight of the situation was starting to settle, but it didn’t matter—you still had to get them home, and you could barely keep your eyes focused on the road.

“this is such a bad idea,” sarah muttered from the passenger seat, her words slurring just slightly as she leaned back, clutching the seatbelt. “you’re literally wasted.”

you shot her a look, shrugging carelessly as you kept your eyes on the road. you knew she was right, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. this was the least of your problems.

“you’re fine,” kelce said from the back, his voice louder than necessary, “i don’t doubt you, never doubted you.” he cut himself off with a gag, and you could hear the way his stomach lurched behind you.

god, they were a mess. none of them could handle their liquor, and here you were, playing the designated driver in the middle of a blackout night. you glanced at them in the rearview mirror, seeing them in the back, all sprawled out and disoriented. they looked like three little kids leaving a birthday party, unsure of where to go next, lost in their own drunken stupor.

“thanks for driving us home,” topper said, smiling at you, his head tilted back against the headrest despite the way his stomach was clearly protesting the ride.

rafe rolled his eyes and sneered from his seat behind you. “grease her feet while you’re at it,” he snapped.

topper turned toward him with a quick retort. “how about i break yours?” he slurred, half-smiling through the haze of his drunkenness.

rafe, wincing in pain from the aftermath of whatever he had consumed, sat up straighter. “bring it on, man,” he spat, still looking for a fight.

kelce groaned from next to them, exasperated. “shut up, macklemore,” he sneered at rafe, before turning back to topper. “you too, vanilla ice—” but he barely finished before letting out a shrill scream, his body jolting forward as you hit the gas, your car lurching forward onto the main road. the backseat erupted.

“man, let go off me,” topper grumbled, trying to push kelce’s hand away as he clung to his shirt for dear life.

sarah rolled her eyes. “i can't believe you have to babysit them,” she muttered, her voice dripping with frustration.

you didn’t reply, instead giving the steering wheel another firm grip as you swerved slightly, the backseat falling into even more disarray. the chaos from behind you was nothing but white noise as you tried to focus on the road. you couldn’t let your mind wander.

“nothing better to do,” you said, your tone flat, not caring about the joke.

rafe scoffed loudly from the back, clearly trying to provoke you. “what? lose your two minutes in heaven with the pogue?”

you didn’t respond, your eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror. rafe’s gaze met yours, and something dark flickered in his eyes—something you couldn’t place. you didn’t have time for it, though, the weight of his words sinking in despite your attempt to block them out. your knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. it wasn’t long before you reached the final drop-off point, and you dropped topper and kelce off at their places first. you could still feel the tension in the air, thick and uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem to matter to anyone.

when it was just you and rafe left, the silence between you both was more apparent. you turned to sarah, giving her a brief, tight hug before she slipped out of the car, but your eyes didn’t leave rafe.

"feel better, rafe," you said, your voice soft, a fake warmth in your tone as you held his gaze in the mirror.

he froze. he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. his eyes remained locked on you for just a moment longer before he gave a brief, wordless nod. the moment lingered. without another word, you pulled out of the driveway and made your way back home.

when you arrived, it was the same familiar emptiness. the house felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in around you. the silence settled in like an old friend, but one you weren’t sure you wanted to have a conversation with. sometimes, you’d pretend your mom was upstairs, tucked away in her room instead of on another work trip—if that’s what you could call it. sometimes, you’d talk to your dad, even though you knew he wasn’t going to respond. you’d still say “hey,” because maybe, just maybe, one day, he would answer.

but tonight was different. tonight, you didn’t feel like pretending. you didn’t feel like escaping. you made your way to the bathroom, needing the comfort of your routine. you wiped the makeup off your face, the familiar motions grounding you for a moment, but even the sound of the wipes against your skin couldn’t drown out the noise inside your head. you checked the mark that jj had left on your neck. it felt like a different lifetime, like a fleeting moment that you could barely remember now. but the silence. it was deafening.

you wiped the makeup off, but the tears came anyway, falling silently as you let the weight of the night hit you. it felt impossible to stop them, as if the floodgates had opened and you couldn’t close them. the tears fell in quiet streams as you stared at yourself in the mirror, a stranger looking back at you. you wondered what her name was, what her favorite color was. she looked younger, more natural, like time hadn’t worn her out yet, like she was still someone’s little girl.

you woke up to the harsh sunlight filtering through your curtains, a dull headache pounding in your temples like a steady drumbeat. the scent of stale alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of the night before, as your eyes fluttered open with a groggy resistance. you groaned, the pain in your head intensifying as you sat up slowly, trying to collect yourself.

it was always like this—late, a raging hangover, the world around you still spinning as if mocking your every move. you pulled the blanket around you tighter, wishing for another few hours of sleep, but the persistent ringing of your phone yanked you out of the haze. your hand fumbled for the device, the familiar vibrations like an intrusion into the fragile stillness you had been trying to create.

you squinted at the screen, the name blinking in front of you. you inhaled sharply, before reluctantly swiping to answer. “mom?” you called out, your voice raspy from the sleep, the headache still making it hard to focus.

“baby? hey, baby! happy birthday!” your mother’s voice was loud and cheerful, cutting through the background noise of what sounded like a party. you could hear the sound of waves crashing, glasses clinking, and the unmistakable hum of conversation. “hey, what’s going on?” she continued, trying to speak over the noise.

you felt a pit in your stomach. “nothing, just woke up,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes as you leaned back against the pillows, a dull ache forming in your chest. “how’ve you been?”

she laughed in response, the sound of her happiness so sharp and out of place compared to the hollow feeling gnawing at you. “just great, baby. you get the birthday money i sent you? only the best for my girl.” her words were bright, carefree.

you blinked, the mention of the money momentarily pulling you from your thoughts. “no, i’ll check, thanks, mom,” you said softly, not really hearing her anymore. you bit your lip, then hesitated. “have you—have you called him yet? to ask if he’ll come? for my birthday.”

there was a long silence, and for a moment, you wondered if she’d heard you. but then she spoke again, the change in her tone so subtle you almost missed it. “honey,” she started, her voice lowering just slightly. “honey, it’s just not gonna happen. said he had things going on, i’m sorry.”

the words stung in a way you hadn’t been prepared for. your chest tightened, but your eyes were dry—no tears would come, not today. not after all the times you’d convinced yourself it would be different. it was just another year of empty promises. another year of waiting.

“it’s okay, mom,” you said, your voice small. “no, i get it. he’s busy.” the words left your mouth, but they felt hollow, like you were trying to convince yourself of something you knew wasn’t true.

she continued, not noticing the shift in your tone. “hey, but i saw the news! you looked great in the dress, baby, i’ll send you another one—” she rambled on, her words falling on deaf ears. you didn’t hear her anymore, lost in the quiet thrum of disappointment that had settled deep within your chest.

you blinked rapidly, trying to push down the tightness in your throat, the dull ache in your chest threatening to spill over. “that’s great, mom,” you said quickly, forcing a smile that felt foreign on your face. “i gotta go. love you.”

before she could respond, you hung up. for a few moments, you just sat there, staring at the screen of your phone as if hoping it would change. maybe she’d call back. maybe your dad would come through. but you knew, deep down, that wasn’t going to happen. he wasn’t coming. maybe you shouldn’t have expected anything. maybe you should’ve extinguished that spark of hope before it could set you ablaze. but you didn’t. you never did. and it hurt more than you were willing to admit.

the car hummed beneath you as you drove through the familiar streets, the sound of tires on asphalt a low, constant rhythm. you had spent hours getting ready, the weight of the day pressing against you as you meticulously chose the outfit—a gold bodycon dress that clung to your curves, hugging every inch of your form, a golden strap resting around your neck shimmered in the fading light. you had layered the gold more subtly than yesterday, but it still caught the eye with its gleam, like a whisper of elegance in the dim evening light. your heels clicked sharply against the floor of your car as you shifted, checking your reflection one last time, the gold dress and matching shoes completing the look, but still, you felt incomplete. your hair cascaded down your back, and you’d carefully applied just enough makeup to cover the evidence of the tears you’d shed.

the drive to the estate was quiet, almost like the calm before the storm. by the time you pulled up to the house, the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, the deep hues of nightfall creeping in. you sat there for a moment, the engine idling as you stared ahead, thinking about the emptiness that seemed to grow inside of you the longer you sat there.

you finally exhaled, pushing open the door and stepping out. the cool air hit you, making the tightness in your chest feel a little more unbearable. as you walked up the driveway, your heels clicking on the pavement, you saw him—rafe—leaning against the porch railing, his eyes trained on you as soon as you approached. his usual smirk spread across his face, but it was tinged with something else, something more curious as he took in your appearance.

“a little overdressed for mass, aren't you?” he quipped, his voice light, though his gaze was anything but. his eyes moved over the gold dress, the way it hugged you in all the right places, and you could feel the weight of his attention on you like a physical thing.

you didn’t respond at first, not sure how to react to his gaze, which lingered on you longer than usual. a breath caught in your throat, but you pushed it away, continuing toward the door. you had more important things to do tonight than engage with him. you just needed to get through this—this night, this birthday, everything. rafe, however, wasn’t about to let you go so easily. as you reached for the door, he stood up, pushing himself off the railing to block your path.

“happy birthday,” he said, the words soft now, an unfamiliar sincerity in his tone.

you paused, looking at him, feeling the weight of the moment as his eyes searched yours. “thanks,” you muttered, your voice flat. “you, top, and kels gonna join us tonight?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as if the question was casual, but there was an edge to it.

he raised an eyebrow. “where to?”

you shrugged, playing it off, though the emptiness inside you made it harder to keep the facade up. “viva, around nine. no big deal.”

his expression shifted, impressed but masking it behind a sardonically raised brow. “not even i can get into that joint. guess the people love you,” he said, his tone more biting now.

you nodded, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what to do. you just stood there, your eyes caught in his. something about the way he looked at you, a mixture of curiosity and something darker, made you feel exposed, like he could see right through you.

“we’ll be there,” he added after a moment, something less than a smile curling at the edges of his lips. it wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t mocking either. just something different. you smiled back, but it was small, uncertain. you nodded, stepping past him and into the house. the air felt colder inside, the silence pressing against you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

you made your way upstairs, your heels clicking on the hardwood as you walked toward sarah’s room. the door was slightly ajar, and when you pushed it open, you found her sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone. the moment she saw you, her face lit up with a smile that could have rivaled the sun, and before you knew it, she was up and wrapping her arms around you, pulling you in tightly.

“happy birthday, baby,” she whispered, burying her head in the crook of your neck, her warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside. “we’ll make it your best, i promise.”

for a moment, you let yourself melt into the embrace, letting the love and care from her soak through you. but as she pulled back, her hands taking yours with a smile, her eyes caught sight of something. her expression shifted, the smile fading as she noticed the wetness in your eyes.

“baby, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, her voice suddenly laced with concern.

you shook your head, trying to push the tears away, but they came anyway. you squeezed her hands tightly, the words barely able to escape your lips. “he’s not coming, sarah,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you felt the weight of the truth hit you. “my dad’s not coming.”

her face fell instantly, her arms wrapping around you again as she pulled you in closer. “it’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered over and over, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “i got you, you’ll be okay. you’re alright.”

but the words didn’t stop the tears. they spilled freely now, hot and relentless, as sarah held you tight, her presence the only thing anchoring you in the moment. you let yourself cry, the weight of everything you had been holding in finally coming to the surface.

unbeknownst to either of you, rafe stood frozen just outside the door, his back pressed against the wall as he listened. he bit his nail, his gaze fixed on the ground, but his mind was far away. the sound of your sobs tugged at something inside him—something raw, something human. and in that moment, he understood. no one acted out for no reason. no one. and now he knew why you did.

the night air was thick, heavy, as you stepped into the car. rafe was already in the passenger seat, his posture rigid, jaw tight. you settled into the driver’s seat, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around the steering wheel. the silence between the two of you was suffocating, the kind that crawled under your skin and festered, making every breath feel labored. you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, his profile sharp in the dim light, his eyes staring ahead, unseeing, yet somehow deeply observant.

the quiet stretched on, and neither of you moved to break it. the air felt like it might crack under the weight of unspoken words, until finally, he did. “we don’t have to go to the club tonight,” he said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the stillness like a knife.

you turned your head slightly, your brow furrowing as his words hung in the air between you. he didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. you knew exactly what he meant. why go? why waste your birthday in a haze of liquor and music, knowing you’d wake up tomorrow with nothing but a pounding headache and a hollow ache in your chest? why numb yourself, knowing it wouldn’t work?

“i can’t,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost fragile.

he nodded, understanding in a way that made your stomach churn. it wasn’t that you wanted to go. it wasn’t even that you needed to go. but you couldn’t not go. you couldn’t sit in the house and let the quiet consume you, couldn’t face the crushing reality of what the day symbolized. rafe opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but the back door opened before he could. sarah slid into the seat, her presence immediately filling the space with a warmth that felt like a lifeline. she reached over, placing a comforting hand on your thigh and offering a smile—gentle, knowing, as if she could read every thought swirling in your head.

“it’s gonna be okay,” she said simply, her voice soft yet steady, like she believed it enough for the both of you.

and somehow, it was enough. you felt your lips twitch into a small smile, a flicker of gratitude in your chest as you nodded and turned the key in the ignition. the engine roared to life, and the car hummed beneath you as you pulled out of the driveway, the night stretching out before you like a promise and a threat all at once. the drive to the club was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine and the muted chatter from sarah’s phone. by the time you reached the club, the neon lights were already casting their glow across the pavement, painting the night in shades of electric blue and pink. kelce and topper were waiting near the entrance, their figures silhouetted against the vibrant backdrop.

kelce was the first to approach, a wide grin on his face as he spread his arms dramatically. “it’s yo’ birthday, so i know you want to ri-i-ide out,” he sang, his voice teasing as he reached out to pull you into a bear hug.

you rolled your eyes, swatting at his chest as you laughed despite yourself. “you’re an idiot,” you muttered, but there was a warmth in your tone that hadn’t been there before.

topper was next, stepping forward with a nervous smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. he hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, his hug softer, more tentative. “you look really, really good,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “happy birthday, doll.”

you pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your expression genuine, if a little tired. but as you met his gaze, you felt the weight of another stare burning into your back. rafe stood a few steps behind you, his posture tense, his fists clenched at his sides. his jaw worked as he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and topper. the look on his face was unreadable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

he could feel his blood boiling, the vein in his neck throbbing as he watched you smile at topper. he doesn’t get it, rafe thought bitterly. he doesn’t understand.

topper couldn’t see you the way rafe did. he couldn’t pick apart the pieces of you that you tried so desperately to hide, couldn’t reach into the deepest, darkest corners of your mind and pull out the things you were too afraid to face. topper didn’t know you like rafe did. he didn’t understand you. and the worst part? there was nothing rafe could do about it. not here, not now. so he shoved his hands into his pockets, his jaw tightening as he followed behind the group, his eyes never leaving your back as you made your way into the club. the music hit you like a wave the moment you stepped inside, the bass vibrating through your chest as the lights flashed in time with the rhythm.

the bouncer led your group through the heart of the club, weaving past packed tables and the glowing bar, where patrons leaned in to shout orders over the pounding music. the vip section was tucked into a quieter corner, though still pulsating with energy. elevated above the main floor, it offered an unobstructed view of the dancefloor below, with plush, leather seating that curved around a sleek glass table illuminated by soft, golden lighting. bottles of premium spirits and mixers lined the backlit shelves behind the bar like trophies, and the hum of wealth and exclusivity hung in the air.

kelce let out a low whistle as he plopped onto one of the couches, sprawling out like he owned the place. “man, i feel my trust fund going through withdrawals just standing here,” he quipped, nudging topper, who laughed as he leaned back, his eyes scanning the room.

you couldn’t help but smile at their antics as you took it all in. the place was opulent, a temple to indulgence and excess, and for a brief moment, it was easy to forget the ache in your chest. the bartender approached your section, a polished man in a crisp shirt and tie, his movements smooth and practiced.

you straightened your posture and glanced around at the group, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “so,” you said, clapping your hands together lightly. “what are we drinking? my treat.”

the others stared at you, surprised. sarah raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. “shouldn’t we be treating you?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

you waved her off with a dismissive gesture. “as if, guys. this place is expensive, it’s fine,” you replied, brushing off her words as though they were nothing.

but rafe’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he watched the interaction. it wasn’t fine. he could see it so clearly—the way you were trying to bury your pain beneath lavish distractions, throwing money around as if the hole in your wallet could somehow fill the one in your heart.

you didn’t wait for their protests, turning to the bartender with a confident smile. “chilled bucket,” you began, your tone even and composed, “we’ll do grey goose, nolet’s reserve, and some vodka sodas.”

as you reached into your purse and handed him your credit card, his eyes flicked over you appreciatively, lingering on the way your gold dress shimmered under the dim lights. “real big fan,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “dress is amazing, miss archibald.”

you forced a polite smile, nodding briefly as he walked away with your card. kelce and topper exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity, but rafe wasn’t laughing.

“that’s almost a grand you just spent,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the music.

you turned to him, your expression neutral. “it’s okay,” you said softly, as though repeating it might make it true. “just for tonight.” but he saw through you. he always did.

to everyone else, it might have seemed like you were simply indulging in the luxury the night demanded. but rafe knew better. he’d seen this pattern before—women in his orbit spending money as a salve for something deeper, using extravagance to mask emptiness. he’d always dismissed it as shallow, as meaningless. there was nothing to search for beneath their bold lipstick and sun-kissed skin, no hidden depths to uncover. but not with you. there was something beneath the surface of your carefully curated façade, something raw and real that you couldn’t quite hide. and it gnawed at him, this feeling of wanting to understand you, to know the truth of who you were behind the gold dress and the polite smiles. he didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

as the bartender returned with the drinks, setting them on the table with practiced ease, you picked up a vodka soda and raised it in a silent toast, your eyes flicking between the group with a small smile. “to tonight,” you said, your voice steady, though your eyes betrayed the storm brewing inside. everyone raised their glasses in response, cheers erupting as they leaned into the moment. but rafe stayed quiet, his gaze lingering on you, wondering if he’d ever get close enough to see the truth beneath the gold.

the energy was contagious, almost. the ambient bass thumped through the plush leather seats, rattling glasses on the illuminated table. laughter spilled freely, a mix of light-hearted giggles and drunken cackles, as the liquor flowed and the group reveled in the luxury surrounding them. the air smelled of expensive perfume, vodka, and the faint, metallic tang of ice.

kelce leaned back, swirling a tumbler of gin, his cheeks flushed as he tried to make topper laugh. topper, already several drinks in, leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, his hair sticking to his forehead. sarah sat close to you, her hand lightly brushing yours as she twirled the remnants of vodka in her glass. you cracked open a vodka soda, the sharp hiss of carbonation cutting through the din of music and conversation. the moment the can opened, it sprayed everywhere, misting you and sarah. you squealed, recoiling as droplets of chilled liquid dotted your arms and face.

“oh my god!” sarah gasped, laughing as she frantically patted at her dress.

“sorry, sorry!” you cried, giggling uncontrollably as you grabbed a napkin to dab her arm.

“you are so buying me a new outfit,” she teased, but the twinkle in her eye told you she didn’t mean it.

the group erupted into laughter, kelce pounding the table with his fist. “what is this, amateur hour?” he mocked, earning a playful shove from topper.

“don’t act like you’re not next,” you shot back, shaking your head as you grabbed the vodka bottle from the bucket. the liquor was cold against your palm, the condensation dampening your hand.

in the background, act a fool blared through the speakers, the lyrics blending seamlessly with the buzz of conversation. rafe sat apart from the group, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were trained on you. his gin sat untouched in a crystal glass, the ice melting slowly. while everyone else laughed and joked, he watched you with an intensity that set him apart, his jaw tight as you brought the vodka bottle to your lips.

you leaned toward sarah, your movements slightly sluggish, your words slurring as you said, “i have to tell you something.”

she raised an eyebrow, giggling at your serious tone. “what’s that?”

you sighed dramatically, gesturing around the room. “i’ve gotten everything i’ve ever wanted, but i have one wish.”

sarah’s laughter softened into curiosity as she tilted her head. “i’ll grant you three,” she teased, her voice warm and affectionate.

you leaned closer, resting your chin on her shoulder as you whispered, “you and me. we’re thirty, living in california. we have a beach house in italy. these boys,” you waved dismissively, your free hand gesturing toward the guys. “…are just placeholders. we live together.”

sarah blinked, her expression shifting as her smile faltered. something in your voice, in the quiet yearning beneath your playful tone, struck a chord. she frowned, her eyes glistening as if tears were just a breath away. “i’ll drink to that,” she murmured, leaning over rafe to wrap her arms around you. the embrace was warm and comforting, sarah’s laugh mingling with yours as you passed her the vodka bottle. she took a swig, grimacing slightly as the sharp burn hit her throat.

across the table, kelce and topper exchanged a glance. “they’re not about to make out, are they?” kelce whispered, grinning mischievously.

topper slapped his arm, rolling his eyes. “shut up, man.”

rafe finally moved, setting his glass down with a soft clink. his voice cut through the noise, steady and authoritative. “hey, hey, hey, okay,” he said, leaning forward and grabbing the vodka bottle from sarah’s hand. he set it down firmly on the table. “you’ve both had enough to drink. settle down.”

you turned to him, your eyes glassy and your lips curling into a small, defiant smile. “you haven’t had enough,” you whispered, leaning against his shoulder.

the contact sent a jolt through him, his spine stiffening as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt. your proximity was intoxicating, your breath brushing against his skin as your words hung in the air like a challenge. for a moment, he was frozen, caught off guard by the way you disarmed him so effortlessly. his pulse quickened, but he didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe as your weight rested against him.

topper, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening. “alright, that’s enough,” he muttered, reaching out to pull you upright. but rafe didn’t move, his gaze locked on you, his hand steady on the vodka bottle as if anchoring himself. something unspoken passed between you, a charged silence that neither of you dared to break.

the night was teetering on the edge of chaos, the atmosphere thick with liquor-fueled exhilaration and the sharp tang of tension. the flashing lights from the dance floor illuminated your golden dress, reflecting in the swirling haze of smoke and sweat. the crowd moved as one, their energy magnetized toward you and sarah as you spun her under the pulsing beat. the music thumped louder, and the bartender, noticing the rising excitement, wiped down the counter with a quick slap of his rag. he gestured toward the two of you, his grin wide as he motioned for you to step up.

“come on,” you said, your voice cutting through the music as you pulled sarah toward the bar. her protests were faint, drowned out by your infectious confidence.

with a laugh, you guided her up onto the counter, steadying her with a firm grip on her hands. the cheers around you erupted into a frenzy as you began to move, your body swaying and rolling in perfect rhythm with the music. the lights caught every facet of your dress, sending shards of gold cascading across the room. sarah followed your lead, her movements growing more fluid as you guided her hips with your hands. she blushed under your touch, her laughter blending with the roar of the crowd. you leaned into her, arching your back just enough to draw more cheers.

the vodka bottle in your hand sloshed slightly as you crouched low, balancing effortlessly on your heels. tipping the bottle over the edge of the counter, you poured a stream of vodka toward the eager mouths below, eliciting more hollers and applause. the crowd drank it up, their cheers climbing to a fever pitch as you returned to your feet, twirling sarah into another spin.

the boys were transfixed. kelce leaned against the table, his grin wide as he shook his head. “i got a hundred riding on this night ending with an ambulance,” he slurred, though his eyes lingered on you.

topper, already three sheets to the wind, chuckled. “man, she’s something else,” he murmured, his gaze locked on your form as you danced. he leaned back, smirking as he added, “i think i’m gonna ask her out tonight.”

kelce let out a loud cheer, raising his glass in mock celebration. “see you at the gym, top.”

but rafe sat rigid, his jaw tight and his glass clutched too firmly in his hand. he drained the rest of his gin in one sharp motion, his knuckles whitening as he reached for the bottle to refill.

when topper caught the expression on his face, his grin turned into a taunt. he tilted his head, feigning innocence as he asked, “something to say, cameron?”

rafe shrugged, pouring another drink without looking at him. “do what you want,” he said, his tone low and biting. “it’s your funeral.”

topper’s smirk faltered, his drunken bravado shifting into something darker. “what the fuck’s your problem?” he demanded, leaning in. “mad you don’t get the girl for once?”

the taunt hung in the air, baiting rafe in a way that was impossible to ignore. his grip tightened on the neck of the bottle as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with venom. “not as mad as you’ll be when i tell you that we fucked,” he spat.

the silence that followed was deafening. kelce froze, his eyes wide as he glanced between the two, anticipation crackling in the air. the music continued to pound, but it felt muted, the tension between rafe and topper swallowing everything else. topper’s expression darkened, his fist curling at his side. then, without warning, he lunged forward, his punch connecting with rafe’s jaw with a sickening crack. he stumbled back, toppling over the couch as the room erupted into chaos. the cheers turned into gasps, all eyes snapping to the commotion in the section. but rafe wasn’t down for long. he was back on his feet in an instant, his jaw set and his eyes blazing.

“is that all you got, bitch?” he barked, his voice carrying over the music as he launched himself at topper, tackling him to the ground.

kelce, still lounging on the couch, doubled over in laughter. “stop the violence,” he slurred, pulling out his phone to record the fight. “white trash.” he added with a cackle, his voice barely audible over the shouts and scuffle.

the fight had turned vicious. topper lunged again, his fist swinging hard enough to make the crowd around them flinch. he caught rafe across the cheekbone, the sharp smack of skin on skin cutting through the music. “take it back!” he shouted, his voice raw with anger.

rafe stumbled but didn’t go down. his lip split, blood trickling to his chin as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. he smirked, that infuriating smirk that always made topper see red. “why, top? gonna shed a tear or two?” rafe taunted, his words slurred but sharp.

topper grabbed the front of rafe’s shirt, pulling him close. “say you lied!”

rafe laughed, low and mocking. “why would I? you really think you’ve got a shot with her? come on, man. she’d chew you up and spit you out.”

kelce, leaning back on the couch, was practically howling with laughter as he filmed. “oh, this is gold. gonna do numbers on snap.” he slurred, zooming in as topper shoved rafe back, only for rafe to retaliate with a fist to his jaw.

the bouncers at the edge of the chaos exchanged amused glances. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, nudged his partner. “fifty says the tall one in the blazer goes down first,” he said.

“nah,” the other replied, shaking his head. “that one—rafe, right? he’s got crazy in his eyes. i’ll take the other guy.”

the blows became sloppier as the alcohol took its toll, but the rage between the two burned hot and bright. rafe tackled topper to the ground, the two of them grappling as the crowd shouted and jeered. that’s when you noticed. your attention, previously fixed on sarah and the music, shifted to the commotion. your heart sank as you recognized the figures on the floor. “jesus,” you muttered, pushing through the crowd. “what the fuck are they doing?”

kelce turned to you, grinning as he kept filming. “oh, you know boys, always roughhousing,” he cackled, his words thick with gin.

you shot him a glare before grabbing a nearby vodka soda, cracking it open with a sharp hiss. without hesitation, you stepped into the fray, tipping the can over their heads. the cold liquid drenched both of them, startling them into stillness. “what the fuck?” rafe spat, blinking up at you as the vodka dripped down his face.

you glared down at him, your chest heaving. “are you done?” you snapped, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to his feet. “we’re leaving.”

rafe tried to resist, but your grip was firm, and his drunken state left him little room to argue. the crowd parted as you pulled him through, cameras flashing as you emerged into the cool night air. outside, the chaos faded into quiet, the muffled thump of the music barely audible. you stopped by a bench, releasing rafe’s arm as you took a shaky breath. the night air bit at your damp skin, and you sat down, your pulse still racing.

he stood there for a moment, staring at you. then, slowly, he sank down beside you, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“i’m sorry,” he said, the words soft and unexpected.

you turned to him, your brows furrowing as you took in his bruised face. his eyes were glassy, his lip swollen, but his expression was sincere.

“i’m sorry for everything,” he continued, his voice rough. “for being an ass, for decking topper. i did it because i’m wired that way, okay? you just—you left that morning. you were gone, just like that. i woke up, i could still smell you, you and your stupid perfume. and i turned around, and you were gone, like i was waking up from a dream that was never meant to be.”

his words hit you like a blow, your chest tightening as you struggled to respond. “i’m sorry,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible. “i can’t stay. you know i can’t.”

he shook his head, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i’m not him,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “i’m not your dad. i’m not gonna leave.”

and just like that, the dam broke. tears spilled down your cheeks, and you hated how vulnerable you felt, but rafe didn’t. he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as your body shook with sobs.

“you spend this time with a scab, and you expect it to heal,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “but how can you do that if you keep picking at it?”

he pulled back, his fingers tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze. “anybody who’s had the pleasure of knowing your name just to lose you—they’ll regret that for the rest of their lives. and he will, too. but i’m not him. god, i could never be him. i could never let go of someone like you. i’d spend the rest of my life searching for you if i did.”

his words cracked something deep inside you, and when his hand stroked your cheek, trailing to the underside of your jaw, you didn’t pull away. his lips met yours with a fervor that made your breath hitch, his desperation coursing as though he feared you might disappear at any moment.

when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, relief flooding his expression when he saw you were still there. “i love you,” he murmured, the words so quiet you almost missed them.

you shook your head, your voice trembling. “i’m damaged goods, rafe.”

but he kissed you again, silencing your protests. When he pulled back, he whispered, “you could never be damaged, not you. and even if you were, even if you kept falling apart, i’d keep putting you back together. over and over again.”

his arms tightened around you as you cried, his grip unwavering, as if you were gonna disappear—and as far as he was concerned, it was possible. he needed it to last, just in case. just in case this was fate being cruel, god laughing at him from afar, ready to snatch you away again. he’d let you slip away once, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

the silence of your home was deafening. the weight of everything lingered, pressing heavily on your chest as you sank onto the couch. your dress clung to your damp skin, and you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands. for once, you didn’t talk to yourself, didn’t pace the room pretending you felt safe, didn’t toss and turn, praying for someone to come home and tuck you in. you just sat there, letting the stillness wrap around you like a heavy, unwelcome blanket.

“you’re biting off more than you can chew,” you muttered finally, your voice cutting through the quiet.

but this time, you weren’t talking to yourself. you weren’t talking to the father who’d never respond.

from below you, rafe’s voice came soft and steady. “you’re not gonna push me away,” he said, kneeling in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. his fingers traced light, soothing patterns on your skin, grounding you. “not again.”

a small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as your hands fell from your face. your fingers reached out instinctively, cupping his jaw, your touch feather-light. “sorry, was i doing that?” you teased, though your voice wavered.

rafe stood slowly, towering over you, his presence commanding as it was comforting. his hand brushed your hair back from your face, his eyes searching yours. “you can keep doing that,” he murmured, his voice low and unwavering. “because i’m not going anywhere either way.”

you couldn’t hold back the small smile that broke through, your face still streaked with the remnants of tears. “you’re not gonna like what you see, rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a vulnerability you hadn’t let anyone see before.

his thumb stroked your cheek, his hand warm and steady as it cupped your jaw. “do your worst,” he said softly, his gaze unwavering.

you stood, brushing past him, your steps slow and deliberate as you faced away. “i liked it,” you began, your voice fragile yet resolute. “the attention, the drinking, all of it. i could make it through my days of pity parties and waiting for something that was never going to come because i could pretend—pretend to be someone else, even if it was just for a few hours.”

rafe’s eyes never left you, his breath steady, waiting. “and who did you pretend to be?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that rolled down your cheek as you turned back to him.

you exhaled shakily, the words breaking as they left your lips. “i’d pretend like i was still someone’s little girl. just for a little while.”

his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and his lips pressed against yours with a tenderness that felt foreign, new. the kiss was sweet, patient, the kind of kiss that made your heart stutter. it was soft, unhurried, but beneath it was something so much more different that what you were used to. you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as if letting go meant losing him. he didn’t falter, didn’t break away. Instead, his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. he turned, sinking back onto the couch with you in his lap, his lips never leaving yours.

his breath was warm against your skin as he whispered, “you can hide as much as you want. i’ll run away and hide with you.”

a genuine smile broke through your defenses, the first in what felt like years. it wasn’t forced or fleeting—it was real. and it was because of him.

you kissed him again, this time with more urgency, more heat. his hands roamed your back, steady but hungry, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you. his fingers found the zipper of your dress, pausing for a moment as if asking permission. you nodded, your breath hitching as he pulled the zipper down, his hands brushing your skin as the fabric slipped away. you tugged at his shirt in return, your fingers fumbling slightly, but he helped you, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

his hands, warm and firm, cupped your waist, his touch reverent as his lips found yours again. “god,” he murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with emotion. “i just wanna feel you—really feel you. not what you show the world, not the mask. just you.”

your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, letting the dress fall away from your shoulders, the fabric pooling around you. he kissed you deeper, his hands exploring, but gentle, as if he knew the fragility of your trust. your body responded, leaning into him, the heat between you growing as the fabric of his pants rubbed against your bare thighs.

his mouth trailed down your neck, kissing a soft line to your collarbone, and you shivered, your hands tightening on his shoulders. he pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for reassurance. you nodded, your breath coming in gasps as you whispered, “yes, rafe—yes, i want this, i want you.”

his eyes lit up, a warmth that spread through you like a warm embrace, and he kissed you again, this time with an intensity that made your knees go weak. his hands moved to unhook your bra, the fabric slipping away to reveal your bare tits to the cool air. he took his time, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders, as he trailed towards your breasts, his touch light and reverent, as if he was worshipping every inch of you.

you felt exposed, but not in the way you had with others. with rafe, it was different. you felt seen, understood—like he knew the secrets etched into your soul and loved you for them. as his kisses grew bolder, so did your desire, your hands sliding down to unbuckle his belt, to push his pants aside. your heart hammered in your chest as your skin met his, the sensation electric, as if the air around you crackled with energy.

his hand slid up your thigh, and you felt him, hard and eager against you, and for once, you weren’t afraid. you weren’t just giving in—you were choosing this. choosing him.

his thumb brushed against your center, and a soft moan escaped your lips. his eyes searched yours, and when he found what he was looking for—consent, trust—his hand slid further, pushing aside the last of your barriers, watching the way your panties slid off the flesh of your thighs with desire in his eyes

you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, the urgency growing as his fingers moved with a gentle skill that had you arching into his touch. your breath came in ragged gasps, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on the feeling of him, of this moment, of the way he was making you feel.

his other hand found your cheek, turning your face to his, and he kissed you again, his eyes never leaving yours as he entered you, slow and sure, filling the emptiness you’d felt for so long. the sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure, but with rafe, it was different—it was healing. you let out a moan as you held onto him, his dick pushing into you, splitting you in a way that had his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin, as he began to thrust into you, the rhythm steady and soothing, his eyes never leaving yours. your breathing synced with his, your bodies moving together as if they’d always been meant to, and in that moment, you forgot about your father, your issues, the weight of the world. there was only rafe. he let out a groan as he lifted your legs, pushing them back, leaning forward to take advantage of the angle that had his dick throbbing.

his voice was a whisper in your ear, “i love you, baby,” and the words sunk into you like warm rain, washing away the doubt, filling you up until you felt like you might burst with the emotion.

your eyes snapped open, and you stared at him, your breath catching. “you love me?” you breathed, your voice trembling with hope.

his smile was gentle, his eyes full of love and tenderness. “more than anything,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth as he thrusted into you. “more than i thought possible.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, your walls crumbling away. the love you’d been so afraid to admit washed over you, mixing with the pleasure of his touch. your hips moved with his, your bodies finding a rhythm that was as natural as breathing. his hand moved between your legs, his thumb brushing against your clit with a precision that had you gasping, your nails digging into his back.

you felt your orgasm building, the tension coiling in your stomach, your muscles tightening around him. rafe noticed, his eyes darkening with passion, his breath coming in harsh pants. “come for me, baby,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “let go—i’ve got you.”

you did, letting yourself fall over the edge, the pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. rafe followed, his movements becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. your bodies shuddered together, the intensity of your release leaving you boneless and weak. when he came inside you, there was no panic, no yelling, no running. he was still there, and so were you.

afterwards, he held you close, your heartbeats syncing as your breaths grew steadier. the room was filled with the scent of sweat and sex, but it was comforting rather than suffocating. rafe’s hand stroked your hair, his kisses tender and gentle as they trailed down your neck and along your collarbone. you leaned into him, feeling safe and loved in a way you never had before. the silence was no longer a prison but a sanctuary, a space where you could breathe and just be.

he could have this, he could enjoy it, knowing that you wouldn’t disappear when the morning came. not this time.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: take a shot whenever topper and kelce exchange a glance pls i giggled writing this

[k1mbe3rly]

i absolutely love your writing!

can i request an nsfw alphabet for namgyu?

omg thank yewww🩷🩷

Nam-gyu NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Nam-gyu is def the type to just lay there after sex, maybe a towel or two but after that he’s so done for, so tired.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part about you is your thighs, he likes to grip (especially when he’s eating you out) and lay on your thighs a lot

His favorite body part about him would prob be his hands, he knows you like them especially with the rings on😩

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

When nam-gyu cums his favorite place to cum is inside you or on your ass, he loves getting messy with cum, either your cum all over the place or his

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His dirty secret is wanting a threesome with thanos, or just watch you get fucked by him

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is experienced, lowkey feel like he was that player type so he knows what he’s doing

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

def doggy style, he loves to see his hips crash against your ass and likes to watch his dick go in and out of you, but he also does like to see your face so maybe a mirror or missionary

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I’ll say in the beginning of sex he’ll maybe just do one joke than get into it

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Maybe just small hairs not completely shaved but mot TOO hairy as well

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Nam-gyu is very INTO the moment he honestly takes sex very serious for him cause that’s like his addiction besides drugs.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon

He does jack off every once awhile but obviously when you’re not there to help him with his boner

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

he def likes to pull hair, degrade you, and spank you maybe even light slapping on the face

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bed, the bathroom, the floor, the living room, the kitchen, the walls, honestly anywhere

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

just by looking at you he can get hard by imagining things and also by you trying to tease him

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

probably like hard core hitting, or like gun play

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he loves receiving head a lot but he would also eat you out anywhere

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Nam-gyu IS NEVERRR gentle. It’s always fast, rough, hard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he is SO down for quickies, he loves fucking you anywhere, he just loves the thrill of maybe getting caught, and also has an excuse to go even rougher, “I’m just trying to hurry up”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He does take risk, honestly doesn’t care where yall are, he would take the risk just for a quick fuck

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

OOF hunni.. he can all day and all night, this man doe NOT stop or wants to stop, but originally 5-6 rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn’t really use toys but he does own a vibrator

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he does tease a LOT, especially in public

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s not very vocal but maybe just groans and growl

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would wake you up to fuck you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s about 6 inches..? 7 when he’s hard

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

ermmm high enough, he does fuck you a lot so he does crave more sex than NORMAL people

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s fr into a deep sleep, right after he pulls out he’s already half asleep.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Rules

Summary: Joel wants you pregnant. And you want to have Joel's baby. And not even a big council meeting would stop the two of you from getting what you wanted.

Pairing: Raider!Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Rating: E

Warnings: Raider!Joel who has his own little community, smut (public sex, unprotected sex), massive breeding kink, dirty talk, established relationship (kind of), unspecified age gap (around 15 years prob), massive exhibition kink, someone dies because he looks at reader for too long, so guns and death, mentions of drugs, Joel picks reader up and carries her away but this is fiction so Joel has super powers to carry anyone he likes anywhere because I say so

A/N: three fics, four days. I am going to hibernate into my horny jail now. Boop!

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It was getting dark and he still wasn’t back.

He told you he had the council meeting today, but you were running out of time. Every minute getting you farer away from the window you needed him to hopefully grant him his biggest wish. 

Making him a Dad. 

According to your calculations your fertile window for the month was closing and you needed him. 

Joel and you found each other almost a year after the outbreak. You, alone since you fled your college on outbreak day, stumbling towards the abandoned Ikea store in search of just something to drink or eat, Joel stepping in front of you before you could even reach the door, his hand wrapping around your neck, making you look at him as he questioned what you were doing. 

Even years later you felt like he was sent to you from a higher power to safe you. 

To feed you. 

To own you. 

To fuck you. 

You became his wife, not even a month after joining his little group, that now was bigger than ever before, people living in all the abandoned department stores around, living under his protection. 

You were his only wife, even though he allowed all his men to have as many wives as they pleased. 

He was pretty possessive about you, and you over him. Sure, you couldn’t actually do anything against him taking another wife if he wanted to, but he assured you from the beginning that he was a one wife kind of husband. 

And he demanded the same in return, not that you had a problem with that.

Joel was known to be a fair but ruthless leader. He had no time for bullshit and he didn’t give second chances. 

The power he wielded had become one of your biggest turn ons, fascinated how with a flick of his fingers, his men would dispose of every problem, every person he did not trust. 

There weren’t many rules around here. 

Listen to everything Joel says.

And don’t look at you the wrong way.

Something that you had to admit was hard when he was fucking you out in the open hallway. 

Most of his men knew not to look at you too long, no matter if it was in passing or when Joel was fucking you in front of them. 

You would look too, but you weren’t the one who would lose their cock or life for it. 

Glancing at the clock you knew your fertile window was closing. He had fucked you twice today already, but you didn’t want to waste more time. 

Standing up from the bed you took your clothes including your underwear off, grabbing a wrap dress he had found for you years before, wrapping it around your body. Pulling on some high heels he loved to see you in, looking at yourself in the mirror you gave yourself a small smirk, before you opened the door, waiting for your assigned guard of the day to step away from the door, before you started to walk towards where you knew Joel held his meetings. 

„This is becoming a real fucking problem. A problem I pay you for to get rid off. What the fuck is taking so long?“ Joel hissed, his jaw twitching as he sat at the edge of the table, legs wide spread, a glass of whiskey in his right hand. 

He had been stuck in this room with twenty of his men and nothing was going according to plan. 

It was moment like this he really missed Tess. She’d have this shit done weeks ago.

„More clickers than we planned for. We hope we’ll be done by the end of tomorrow,“ Sam, one of the men who had been with his group the longest assured, and Joel sipped on his drink. 

„I want the whole building cleared by the end of the week. Then I want you to extend the outer wall around it. We need more fucking space so we can extend the drug lab. Frank is expecting a new drop by the end of the month in exchange for more ammunition,“ he reminded them. 

„I’ll take care of it personally,“ Tommy said, who was sitting to his right, looking at him and Joel gave him a quick nod. 

„There are to many fucking assholes trying to get into this settlement. Too many to handle. Might be time to stop for a while,“ one of his other advisors spoke up but Joel wasn’t listening to anything after that, cause he heard the familiar clicking of your heels before the door opened and you walked in. 

A vision in purple silk, giving him a big smile as you walked into the room, the men around him staggering to their feet to show you their respect. 

„Please, don’t let me interrupt you. In fact, ignore my presence at all,“ you hummed, giving Tommy a quick peck to his cheek before you turned away from the table and straddled Joel’s lap, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. 

The conversation behind him opened up again, Tommy taking over while Joel stared at you. 

You made quick work of releasing the bow that held your dress together, letting the fabric part, his hungry eyes all over your naked body. One of his hands cupped one of your tits and you smiled at him. 

„Whatcha up to baby girl?“ He asked, already hardening in his pants. 

„Need you to cum in my wet little pussy again. Need you to fuck it deep inside of me so I can give you your baby,“ you leaned in, nibbling at his earlobe. He groaned as he tilted his head, his eyes closing for a moment as you kissed up his neck, his hands now both under your dress palming your ass roughly. 

When his eyes opened he found one of his newer men, Tom, looking at you, his eyes widening for a moment when he saw Joel had caught him, looking away quickly. 

„First strike,“ Joel’s voice boomed and you moaned before you kissed him, your hands in his hair, Joel’s eyes on Tom who had had the nerve to look at his wife. At you. 

Everyone knew the rules.

They look at you for too long, they die. He had lost a lot of men that way, but he didn’t fucking care. 

Your fingers were working on his zipper when the conversation in the room picked up again, one of the other men talking about the greenhouse and what shit they needed in the future. 

Boring. 

Joel grunted when your fingers wrapped around his cock, helping you pull his pants down a little so you could pull him out of his pants and he leaned down, sucking at you tits. 

„You gonna fight our kid for my milk huh,“ you teased and he bit into your nipple, making you moan. 

„Gotta get you pregnant first, baby girl,“ he sucked a bruised just above your right tit while you pumped his cock in your fist. 

„You gonna make me shoot all my men if you tease me like that one day,“ he grunted, bringing one hand between your legs, three fingers slipping inside of you with ease, a smirk coming to his lips. 

„My dirty little whore,“ he whispered against your ear and you gasped, your back arching against him, your dress falling down your shoulders, exposing your naked back to the room. 

Not that you cared. 

You loved when he fucked you in front of other people.

„Put your little pussy on this cock, baby girl,“ the fingers that had just been inside of you pushing into your mouth as you lifted your ass so you could line his cock up, sinking down on him slowly. 

„Fuck baby,“ you moaned and he leaned back in his seat, both of his hands now on your ass as he looked up at you. 

„Make yourself cum on this cock and I’ll fuck your ass later,“ he said and you whimpered as you began to ride him. Moving your hips on top of him, your hands on the armrests of his chair for leverage. He slapped your ass, hard, and you cried out. 

He watched you satisfied as you fucked yourself on his cock, before his eyes found someone behind you. 

„Don’t bother Elijah, his wife is super fucking pregnant. Find me tomorrow morning, and I’ll go,“ Joel said, still clearly listening to the conversation happening in front of him. You clenched around him and he looked at you again. 

„You get so fucking wet for me like this. Maybe I should always let you fuck me in my meetings. Would make them a whole of a lot more enjoyable,“ he hummed at you and you smiled. 

„You’d loose all your men within a week,“ you grinned, turning your head to look at Tommy. 

„Except Tommy,“ you hummed and the man looked at you, giving you a wink. 

„Tommy is family. He can look all he wants,“ Joel said and you winked back at Tommy before you focused back on Joel and began to bounce on top of him. The sound of skin slapping against skin and you moans filling the room. Joel played with your tits, pinching your nipple as you clenched around him. He pulled you against his chest, fucking up into you, his mouth against your ear. 

„Cum for me and I’ll fuck you on the table. And I’ll let everyone look when I put a fucking baby into your belly,“ he whispered and you moaned loudly as your orgasm washed over you, only realising that he had picked you up and sat you down on the table, when he had pushed your back down against the cold surface and began to drill his cock into you. 

„Watch how I fuck my slutty little wife full of my fucking cum,“ he grunted out with every thrust and you stretched your arms over your head, your tits moving with every hard thrust of Joel’s cock into you. 

„Joel,“ you moaned, crying out when he slapped your clit. 

„Gonna fuck you so full, you’ll be dripping all the way back to our rooms,“ he groaned, his eyes on you. 

„Shit baby,“ you whined and he groaned. 

„Watch,“ he grunted and you looked down, his cock pumping into you, your cum all over his cock, fucking you so hard the table was moving over the floor. 

„Shit,“ he moaned, his thrusts getting sloppier until he twitched and filled you with his cum, pumping it deeply into you. 

Still out of breath you gave him a dozy smile that he mirrored, before his eyes darkened, his gun in his hand the next moment, raising it up to shoot someone behind you. 

„Inform Tom’s family that he won’t be back,“ he said to no one in particular before he reached for you, helping you sit up. Apparently Tom had in fact not stopped looking at you before Joel gave his permission to look. 

He pulled the fabric of your dress back over your shoulders, his softening cock still inside of you, before he picked you up. 

„Meeting is dismissed,“ he called over his shoulder, before he carried you back towards your rooms. 

Where he fucked you once more to make sure it would finally take. 

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part one)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

At first, you cut your neighbor some slack. Over freshman welcome week, you figured it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to be quiet.

But it’s Thursday of week two, well past quiet hours, and the bass of his music is nearly making your bed shake.

You assumed the guy you’ve heard but haven’t seen yet would settle down once classes were underway. So much for that.

You have a lecture early tomorrow. It’s past midnight and his music and loud conversations are still drumming through your wall.

You’d call the resident advisor, but you’d rather talk to him yourself so not to risk any bad blood that could form from you snitching on him. You sigh, get out of bed, and decide to finally face him.

Rafe takes another hit of his joint, leaning back in his desk chair while three of his frat buddies talk about the past week of rushing.

He just got accepted into his top choice frat and he’s elated. And if he proves himself, he’ll be able to move into the Sigma Chi house next semester.

He probably will never get used to living in such a small room compared to the mansion he grew up in, but at least the frat house will be an upgrade.

“Dude, I think someone’s knocking,” Blake says, slapping Rafe’s knee.

“Oh, shit,” Rafe laughs, high out of his mind. He pauses the music and ambles out of the circle he’s been sitting in.

When he opens the door to see a girl in pajamas looking up at him, her arms crossed and her lips pinched, he’s taken aback for a second. Damn, you’re pretty.

“Hi,” you say, failing to force a smile at the man towering over you. The smell of weed hits you instantly. “I live next door. I wanted to ask if you could please keep it down?”

He grimaces as his unseen friends jeer behind him. You notice the Greek lettering on his t-shirt. A frat boy. Of course.

“You’re in trouble, Rafe!” one of them taunts.

He props a big arm against his doorframe, his blue eyes trailing down your body.

“Were we being loud?” he teases, purposely playing dumb. He’s obviously wasted. And is giving off strong fuckboy vibes.

“I have an early class tomorrow,” you try to explain. “Can you at least keep the music off?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“Listen… Rafe, right?” you say. He nods, his grin still so fucking smug. You tell him your name. “I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s fun, but-”

“That’s kind of what you’re doing,” Rafe interrupts. The way your face screws up when you’re pissed off is too cute for him to stop fucking with you.

“Don’t you have a frat house you can do this at?” you finally snap, gesturing to his t-shirt.

“You telling me I can’t be in my own room?” Rafe says, annoyance starting to prick at his skin.

“Not if you’re gonna keep people up,” you say.

“Turn around.”

“What?” you snap.

“I wanna know if I can see the stick up your ass from here,” he says.

His friends explode in laughter and he looks back with a wide smile.

“I fucking hate frat boys,” you mutter more to yourself than to him. Rafe brings a hand up to his chest in mock offence. “And you’re not allowed to smoke in your room,” you add.

“You gonna tell on me?” He cocks his head, his hair falling over his forehead.

“Yeah, actually, I might.”

A man appears behind Rafe with a charming smile.

“Okay, okay,” he drawls to you, gesturing to dap Rafe up. “We should get going anyway.”

“Nah, man, you don’t have to,” Rafe says, immediately disappointed that his fun is ending.

“It’s late,” he says. The man nods at you with a smile.

“Blake,” he introduces himself to you. “Sorry about the noise.”

“Thank you,” you say through gritted teeth, wishing Rafe had half the manners his friend does. He shuffles past you, followed by two other guys who say their goodbyes to Rafe.

“Happy?” Rafe mutters, all the playfulness from his tone now gone.

“Thrilled,” you say, turning to get back to your room.

The next afternoon, you’re on the phone with your friend, Liv, as you make your way back to your dorm room after a full day of classes.

She’s trying to convince you to come to a party at a frat house tonight. You’re exhausted after a long day, but she’s right that you need some fun.

“I can’t be out long,” you say on the phone, pushing your key into the lock. “I’m tired. And honestly, already kind of stressed out over school.”

“Maybe you’ll meet a guy who’ll take your mind off things,” Liv suggests. You snort.

“The last guy I hooked up was such a disappointment,” you tell her. You try to twist your key. It won’t budge. “I almost faked my orgasm, then was like, it’s not even worth it.”

Liv laughs.

“They should know when they suck,” she says.

You wiggle your key, your fingers starting to hurt.

“Exactly,” you say. “Plus, he wanted to try this position and… I don’t know, I felt too nervous to do it. It was just a failure all around.”

Finally, your key twists and make it into your room, clueless to the fact that Rafe heard everything.

That night, you’re at the Sigma Chi house, two drinks in, when you spot your neighbor playing beer pong across the room. Shit. You’re sure this is his frat.

You already told Liv about your encounter with Rafe, so you nudge her and point him out.

“That’s my fuckboy neighbor,” you say.

“You didn’t mention how hot he is.”

“Wait until he opens his mouth,” you tell her, earning a laugh.

Honestly, Rafe does look good. He fills out his t-shirt so well, his backwards hat pushing his hair out of his handsome face.

Rafe glances around the crowded room and catches you staring at him. Even though you irritated him the first time you spoke last night, heat fills his body once he realizes your eyes are on him.

You quickly look away.

Despite how much of a tight-ass he thinks you are, he’s glad to see you tonight. What he overheard you say on the phone a few hours ago has been weighing on his mind. And his ego.

He finishes up his game of beer pong and the alcohol rushing through his system convinces him to find you and ask you what he’s been mulling over.

“Are you lost?” a voice says behind you.

You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s ducking down so you can hear him over the music. You glance back at Liv, who raises her eyebrows and turns away to give you privacy.

“Or do you actually know how to have fun?” he asks. You sigh as you glance back at him.

“I do, without the expense of people’s sleep,” you reply, a sarcastic smile on your face. “Crazy concept, right?”

“I figured it out,” he says. “Why you’re such a tight-ass.”

“I am not a tight-ass,” you reply.

“It’s ‘cause you can’t get off. I heard you,” he says. He sees embarrassment wash over your face. You know exactly what he’s referring to. “And I’m the loud one?”

You look away, regretting that you didn’t stop to think your voice would float into his dorm room. Fuck.

“Does that actually happen?” Rafe asks. “Girls fake orgasms?”

Your eyes dart up to meet his and you scoff a chuckle.

“Yes,” you say. “What, you didn’t know that?”

Rafe shakes his head. Admittedly, he’s been wondering if any girls faked cumming with him since he overheard you. It’s kind of a blow to his ego.

“Ouch,” you laugh, regaining your confidence. “Let me guess. You thought you had a perfect track record.”

“How can you tell that a girl’s faking it?”

You take a sip of your beer and he can’t help but notice the enticing way your lips look glossed with moisture.

“Every girl’s different,” you say. “But for the most part, you can… feel it. You know… down there.”

You’re glad you’re drunk for this conversation. You doubt you could have it sober.

“How?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I’m not helping you with this,” you say. “Especially after you were such a dick to me.”

Rafe smirks, looking down. You notice he has really cute dimples. Shit. The fuckboy is charming you.

“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I have an idea.”

“You can have those?” you ask.

“I heard you say you were nervous trying a new position,” Rafe says, ignoring your chide. You look down in unease again.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says. You look at him again, speechless over how forward he is. “We can help each other. You show me how to make a girl cum and how to know I actually did it. And I’ll let you practice whatever you want with me until you feel confident.”

You freeze for a second. Is he seriously suggesting you two fuck… to get better at fucking?

“Oh, you’ll let me?” you say, his proposal admittedly making your stomach numb with anticipation. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Rafe says with a shrug. You realize he’s being totally and unabashedly serious. “What? Do you need time to think about it?”

You take another sip of your drink, the cold beer spilling down your throat.

He is insane. But he’s also attractive. Charming. Confident. Would it be so crazy to start hooking up with him?

You’d have the guarantee of an orgasm, without wondering if the guy you’re with cares enough about getting you there, and you’d get practice so you don’t feel as insecure next time you’re with a guy you actually like.

“I’m in, only if you promise to actually respect quiet hours from now on,” you finally say.

“Great sex isn’t a good enough deal?”

“Who’s to say it’ll be great?”

“So, I have to tiptoe around my own room,” he says, his temper flaring.

“If you consider not blasting music at night tiptoeing, then yeah,” you retort.

If Rafe wasn’t sure of it before, he is now: you’re hot when you’re pissed off.

“Fine,” he relents. He’ll probably be moving out next semester anyway. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens a new conversation. “Text yourself so I have your number.“

You hand him your cup in exchange for his phone. You send an eggplant emoji to your number. He takes a sip of your drink and you scowl.

“Are you that selfish in bed, too?” you say.

“You can let me know,” he quips. You roll your eyes at him and take your drink, giving him his phone back. Rafe chuckles when he sees the emoji you sent yourself.

“I will,” you promise. “I’ll call you out on everything you do wrong. If you can take it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Tonight?”

Wow. He’s eager. It’s kind of thrilling that he wants you this badly.

“Maybe,” you say. “If I’m not too tired when I get home, I’ll text you.”

Rafe’s chest tightens with excitement. His hot, mouthy neighbor is actually doing this with him.

“Sure.” Rafe juts out his bottom lip, nodding, as if this conversation is completely normal. He’s so casual about it. This feels unreal.

You give him a small smile. Probably the first genuine one you’ve offered him. Okay. You can admit to yourself that you’re looking forward to hooking up with him.

You stay at the frat house for another hour, hanging out with Liv and a few other friends you made, before you make it to your dorm just before midnight.

After changing into pajamas, and the nicest set of bra and panties that you own, you text Rafe: i’m home if you want to come over.

About ten minutes later, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see Rafe standing with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray sweatpants.

You’re sure he knows how good he looks when you notice the outline of his length. He did this on purpose.

“Eager,” you say. “Were you already home?”

“I was quiet, huh?” he boasts, stepping into your room. He takes a second to soak in your space, eyes travelling over the way you’ve decorated.

“What the fuck? Your room’s bigger than mine,” he says.

“They’re all the same size.” You settle on your bed, glad he’s so comfortable about this, not making it awkward at all. Truthfully, the beer has worn off, and you’re kind of freaked out.

But this is what you’re doing this for. So you can stop being so nervous about sex.

“I’ll show you my room and you’ll see for yourself,” Rafe says. You watch him pace across your space to study the photos on your wall.

His eyes travel over the snapshots of you with your family and friends, your smile bright and pretty in every image.

With Rafe’s back turned to you, you take in the way his broad shoulders stretch out his white t-shirt. By the slight curve in his back, you can tell he’s not just lean, but muscular, too.

“How long are you expecting this… arrangement to go on for?” you ask.

“Until we’re both satisfied,” he says confidently, turning to meet your eyes.

“So, you’re aware you won’t be coming out of this with a girlfriend, right?” you assert.

While Rafe is attractive and charming, he’s also rude and narcissistic. You don’t want him to think you’re interested in him in that way. This isn’t a romance.

“Oh, yeah,” he huffs. “I’m not gonna be in college tied down to one chick.”

You scoff. Yup. Definitely no romance here.

“Maybe don’t call a girl a chick,” you say. “At least not to her face.”

“Right,” Rafe says with an easy laugh. He slowly steps towards you, his eyelids heavy as he looks down at you. “You have nice tits.”

You feel your skin burn, looking down at your chest in your tank-top. Rafe hardens the longer he looks at you.

“How sweet,” you say flatly.

Rafe smirks and sits down next to you, getting right to business as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and smells like aftershave.

He’s a good kisser. But you expected as much. By his confidence and the fact that he prepositioned you the way he did, you can tell he’s experienced with girls.

You feel his hand slide up your body and squeeze your breast. You sit back, disjointing your lips.

“Slow down,” you tell him. “Do you always go right into groping a girl like this?”

“Yeah?” His brows furrow.

“Okay, some might like it,” you say. “But most want foreplay. You have to give me some time to get turned on.”

“Aren’t you already?” he asks. “We’re kissing.”

“We’ve been at it for like, a second, Rafe. Just because you’re…” You look down at the tent in his sweatpants. “Ready, it doesn’t mean I am.”

“So, what should I do?” he asks.

“Just… don’t rush,” you say.

Rafe nods and leans into kiss you again, his hand cupping your waist this time. He doesn’t usually like kissing that much, typically wanting to jump right into sex, but the way your tongue runs over his is actually sort of nice.

A few moments later, his fingers dip to pull your top off. When Rafe sees you in your bra, he swallows hard. Why does he feel like this is his first time seeing a half-naked woman?

Probably because he’s being graded, he realizes.

“Wow,” he breathes. You look down, scratching your neck. “Damn, you do get nervous.”

“What?” you say.

“When a guy says wow, take the compliment,” he states.

You shyly shake your head and pull him in for another kiss to brush past the moment. He catches on, pushing you back.

“I’m teaching you shit, too, remember?” he mutters. “Don’t be shy. You’re hot.”

“Alright,” you groan, tugging at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He smirks and obeys, hoping he at least partly got through to you.

When your eyes roam Rafe’s bare torso, your heart pounds harder.

You continue making out, and he eventually slowly unhooks your bra. He peels it off and slowly cups your breast, fondling and gently squeezing.

“Is this too hard?” he asks.

“No, it’s - it’s good,” you sigh. You remind yourself this is supposed to be instructional. “You should… um…”

“What?” he asks against your lips. “Stop being shy.”

“Play with my nipples,” you say, cheeks burning. “Some girls like that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He looks down at your chest and softly pinches you, then rubs his thumb back and forth. “Good.”

Rafe is entirely hard now, your praise making him ache to be inside you. But he’s here to learn. He needs to go slower.

He dips to put his mouth on your chest, his lips locking around your nipple. You let out a shaky moan and he knows he’s doing something right.

Big hands gently press against your hips to push you onto your back. You settle on your firm bed, hands roaming over his smooth back.

He shifts to give your other breast the same amount of attention, coating your nipple in his warm spit. You bite your lip, feeling your stomach tighten in arousal.

“Can I go down on you?” he rasps.

You meet his eyes. Rafe realizes just how pleased you look already. It’s really gratifying.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He eagerly pulls down your bottoms and panties in one move, losing his breath when his eyes take you in.

“Goddamn.” His voice is strained. You’re already glistening and he wants to put his mouth on you immediately.

“Go slow there, too,” you say. “Kiss my thighs first.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding urgently. It’s satisfying seeing him listen to you like this, considering he doesn’t seem to care for rules.

Your thighs are so damn soft against his mouth. He peppers kisses up your skin. It’s taking all his willpower not to start eating you out right now.

Your breaths are shallow as he leaves languid, tender kisses on you. You feel his fingers stretch your lips apart and hear him sharply inhale.

“Now?” he asks impatiently.

“Yeah. Lick everywhere,” you say, “but pay the most attention to my clit. You know where it is, right?”

“I’m not that fucking helpless,” he mutters. You can’t help but laugh.

He lowers his mouth onto you and you tremble immediately. He laps at you for a few seconds, a groan escaping his lips.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You taste really fucking good.”

“Do you always talk like that?” you ask.

“Yeah, is it okay?” Rafe says, suddenly tense.

“It’s amazing,” you admit. “Keep doing it.”

“Yeah?” he says with a smile. He points his tongue over your clit, wriggling it over your flesh.

“That’s good,” you tell him. “Make your tongue flat, too. Switch between the two.”

You feel him nod against you, avidly taking every tip.

“And suck a little,” you tell him. Rafe didn’t think he’d like being bossed around, but the way you’re telling him what feels good and making him better at eating pussy is rewarding.

He starts to suck at your clit and the way you moan tells him everything he needs to know. He sucks harder and your breath gets shaky.

Rafe is desperate to see how the inside of you feels, even if it’s just with his fingers. He shifts to slowly dip a finger in your cunt and glances up to look at you.

“Can I finger you?” he says.

“Yes,” you nod. “It’s good to ask. Start with one.”

He slowly sinks into you, stopping at his knuckle. You’re so tight.

“Shit, baby,” Rafe whispers. “I know you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good.”

Your head is spinning. You’ve never had a man talk to you like this before. This is what you’ve been missing out on, hooking up with guys who didn’t care about your pleasure? It feels unfair.

He adds a finger, curling into you and feeling you clench around him as he continues to work your clit. You look down to enjoy the sight of his head between your legs, the tips of soft dirty blonde hair tickling your skin.

It’s intoxicating, being taken care of the way you want to be.

Rafe’s jaw starts to get sore, but your noises give him the drive to keep going. Eventually, your thighs press against your ears.

“I’m gonna cum,” you mumble. “Don’t stop.” Rafe’s stomach twists with excitement, fully alert and eager to take mental notes.

Your breath stops, your muscles tense, and your walls flutter around him as you meet your peak. Sparks of pleasure fire throughout your body and you tug at the roots of his hair.

He keeps sucking and licking and pumping his fingers until you shuffle beneath him, overstimulated.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Good, that’s good.”

Rafe sits up, his lips wet with your arousal. You look happy, yet somehow kind of guilty. He makes a mental note to figure out how to make you unashamed for having a sex drive.

The way you’re panting is making him so fucking turned on that it hurts.

“I need to fuck you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’d say that. “Do you have something?”

He nods, pulling a condom wrapper out of his pocket. He takes his pants and boxers off at the same time and he springs out.

You never thought you’d think a cock could be perfect, but there’s no other way to describe it.

He leans over you, looking down as he lines himself up and slowly sinks into you. You watch him shut his eyes with pleasure, but when he opens them again, you look down at his body.

“So shy,” Rafe teases, his voice thick. “Make eye contact.”

You listen to him, meeting his eyes. It adds an entirely new level of pleasure and vulnerability, looking at each other while he starts to rock in and out of you.

He starts to thrust faster, revelling in the way your tits are bouncing with his force. His strokes are deep and powerful and you whimper over how nice it feels.

His balls feel tight already. He never cums this fast. There’s something about you that’s making his body react like this. But knowing you already orgasmed, he doesn’t let himself overthink it.

“Feels good?” Rafe asks with amusement in his tone. You moan in response. At least he doesn’t need to improve on this part.

He goes harder, losing his rhythm as he reaches his climax, trembling over you. The way he breathes through it is so unbelievably hot to you.

Once Rafe slows down, he collapses on top of you, his chest pressed against yours.

“How was that?” he mumbles.

“I don’t think your ego needs to get any bigger,” you say breathlessly. “But that was good.”

“Just good?”

You laugh. Okay, it was fucking mind-blowing. He doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Yup,” you say, patting his shoulder. “Let me up.”

“What - what could I have done better?” he asks, sitting up off of you, pulling out. “I listened to everything you said. I swear, I never cum that fast.”

You smirk. He’s desperate for the praise.

“Fine,” you say. “It was amazing, okay? Don’t let it get to your head, frat boy.”

It definitely gets to his head. You can tell by the way he’s smiling.

“What position did that guy want you to try? Wanna do it?” he asks. You shake your head in disbelief. He could probably go all night.

“Next time,” you say, exhausted, your muscles weak.

Rafe’s disappointed, but he doesn’t show it.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Next time.”

part two

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[soapybutt17]

The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

~

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

~

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

[burningembers91]

The Baby Shower - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature On Display A Game of Cat and Mouse Crime of Passion Rare Gunpowder and Lace Like a Dog Three Little Words

Synopsis: While attending your friend's baby shower, The Salesman can't help but think about what it would be like to have a family of his own. But how could he be a loving father, when the only person he's ever cared about is you?

He disliked social events, detested having to made idle conversation with people he didn’t have any interest in. The mindless small talk drove him to the brink of insanity, the idea of having to talk about cars, jobs, and how much people paid for their watches was enough to give him an aneurysm. He’d managed to avoid needless social interaction for most of his life, but now that he had you, necessity required he dip his toes into the world of dinner parties, social gatherings and idle chit chat.

As much as he loathed talking to anyone who wasn’t you, he loved you more, and he’d walked across broken glass if you told him to. “It’s only for a few hours,” you smiled, zipping up your form hugging dress. “I know you hate these things, but she is my bestfriend after all.” You knew how much he hated attending parties with you, and you felt bad for making him go. You told him that you didn’t mind if he stayed at home, but staying at home wasn’t an option for him. He needed to be close to you, a loyal dog sticking by his mistress. He couldn’t stand to be away from you, even for a minute, so he’d brave the party, just for you. Everything he did nowadays was all for you. “When we get back, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” you whispered, smirking at him slyly in the mirror.

He was instantly hard, the list of desires he had too long to play out in his head. You always let him take charge when you got home from a party, always allowed him to punish you for the mundane torture he’d endured surrounded by your friends. “You’ll regret saying that,” he smiled, coming to stand behind you, his hands trailing up your body to the delicate curve of your neck. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, a small moan of pleasure escaping you as his hand gently closed around your throat. “I’ve never regretted letting you punish me,” you whispered, you hand snaking behind you to gently grip his growing erection. You were locked in a stalemate, both you desperate to tease the other, to see who would break first.

“Why don’t you let me punish you now,” he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing the soft, sensitive skin of your earlobe. “I could let you attend the party with my handprints on your ass. Maybe I’ll make you walk around with no underwear on while I drip from that pretty little pussy of yours.” You were so close to relenting, to letting him have his way. But you didn’t have time to play now, you were already late. “You’ll just have to be patient,” you smiled sweetly, squeezing his aching bulge between your grasp a little tighter. He moaned into you, his face buried in your hair as your fingers worked him through his suit. Your touch was his drug, the one thing he craved more than anything in the world. “More,” he grunted, pushing himself further into your touch. His hips bucked against your hand; his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror as he chased his high. “Later,” you whispered, pulling your hand away. He groaned in frustration, his arousal evident through the fabric of his pants. “We need to get going,” you told him, grabbing your purse from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. “I can’t be late to my best friend’s baby shower.”

The party was just as dire as he’d expected, everyone laughing and chatting about the prospect of their friends’ becoming parents. He’d never felt paternal before, had never understood the fascination with bringing a child into the world. He did his duty, plastering a smile on his face, asking your friends about their jobs and their families. But then he noticed you, your hands proudly cupping your friends growing baby belly, the two of you lost in conversation. Something stirred within him, some carnal desire he’d never felt before.

He pictured you with a growing baby bump, your hands pressed to your lower back as you looked lovingly down at your belly. He imagined his hands cupping your bump protectively as you fell asleep each night, of placing soft, sweet kisses on your stretchmark covered stomach. You’d be a wonderful mother, so caring and kind. But what kind of father would he be? He wasn’t capable of loving anyone or anything other than you. He tried to push the thought from his mind, convincing himself it was just residual desire leftover from the moment in the bedroom. And yet the thoughts persisted. Thoughts of you bringing a baby home, of cradling the tiny life in your hands as you sat by the window. He was getting angry now, the incessant images of you caring for his baby weaving their way into the fibres of his brain. He couldn’t risk bringing a baby into the world, not when he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to love it.

That night, he was extra rough when he punished you. He forced you to your knees, fucking your throat with his aching, hard cock until tears streamed down your face. He bent you over the bed, spanking you until your skin turned red. He fucked you into the mattress, your face buried in the pillows as he took his frustration out on your tight, dripping core.

But after the punishment, when he’d returned to being your faithful little dog, the thoughts resumed. Thoughts of you growing his baby, thoughts of walks through the park with a stroller, of nighttime feeds and days out at soft play. The baby would be part of you both, your combined DNA. But he couldn’t choose what parts of him the baby inherited. Would they be as cold and callous as he was? Would they get kicks out of torturing and taking the lives of innocent people? Would they grow up to be just as evil as their father?

He didn’t sleep that night, his mind whirling as his thoughts consumed him. He stared down at you as you slept, your soft body pressed against his. He had no doubt you’d be a great mother.

But what kind of father would he be if he felt nothing for the life he helped create?

[soulren]

Go spend some time on male pattern baldness or male(AMAB) balding forums/subreddits and such. I did after realizing it is happening to me and the ammount of people who truly don't realize how BRUTALLY it tanks people's confidence and mental health is insane.

There's no cure to baldness by the way, and it can start at any time and there's no way to predict how fast or slow it will go. The only real working option is a daily pill that usually just halts it, but it can stop working or just slow it down or cause major side effects. To regrow you have to use a daily topical solution, or use a roller to wound your scalp. None of these are surefire by the way, and if you stop them you'll just lose your hair and whatever you regained. It's a daily involved thing that might not work and often at best just retains. The best drug, the one that occasionaly gives regrowth, also causes shedding at the start, and can have side effects from growing breasts to brain fog to EDsyfunction(sorry, censoring cause tumblr). Now, those are INCREDIBLY rare and almost never happen but it weighs heavily on the mind of those already spiraling.

But that's just background. What I'm here to talk about is the pure woe you'll see on those forums. People speak as though their lives are over, as though they've lost every chance of finding a woman(predominantly, there's a running idea in such places that women don't like bald men or like them less) or doing anything. You can read countless stories of people who describe that they no longer go outside, are now filled with anxiety and self-hate, have gone from extroverted to never showing their face. And some of these people are kids who lost their hair in high school or even before, or are holding as best they can to a very receded hairline and feel like there is nothing they can do.

And then there's something touched upon far less in those communities, but is important to bring up here; baldness and masculinity. There's the horror of knowing so much of society sees a bald guy as a very masculine guy, at seeing that the best advice for being hot and bald is "grow and beard and big muscles bro". Imagine now you're AMAB balding and nonbinary, or a trans woman who doesn't want to be on hormones.

Just genuinely take the time to look at those forums no matter who you are. Understand what these people go through, what I am currently going through. It is soul-crushing, spiraling, brutal. I have the dream of one day being like Brennan Lee Mulligan or Matt Mercer and starting to lose my hair made me feel like I could never. I felt like and still feel like I would have to be masculine, have to be a bro-y dude, have to look older than I was(I'm fuckin 22). It was the feeling that I could never dress feminine again, never present as a woman when I wanted to again, that I'd always be viewed as a bald guy before anything else.

This is an incredibly vulnerable post for me, and I hope it reaches you all as well in a kind and understanding mood. There's a tendency online for people to joke about baldness, to make fun of it, to treat it as a playfull silly thing but it fucking ruins lives, and it shouldn't. It happens to half the population's sort of bodies and very often. It should just be a neutral thing. You don't need long hair to be feminine, you don't need hair to be feminine. You don't need hair for anything. I guess I'm just saying in general that everyone should be kinder about balding, more understanding, and view it with as much import as they'd view the pixels between this sentence and the next. None at all, I mean.

And for those like me, very feminine guys who wanna keep that and don't want a beard and are terrified of balding, here's some names and I do hope others that see this will add more; Mr. Bruce (also in The Correspondents(band) Alex Ward in LA By Night Jason Carl in LA By Night Cecil Baldwin of Welcome To Night Vale Bob The Drag Queen RuPaul(in looks alone, I know about the whole fracking stuff but this post is about looks) tananasho on instagram Also your mannerisms and style of dress will convey femininity far more than your hair. Yea sure a front-on neutral shot of you may not and maybe you need makeup and stuff, and hell maybe a lot of people might reject you more but it'll just filter down to the people for you.

And to all you artists and writers and creatives; make more bald characters. Try it out. Feminine ones, masculine ones, all sorts. None of the copout nonhuman sort, just dudes and girls and mates and individuals who are all sorts of things and also bald. It might make a few of the people going through the various vortexes of pain that balding causes feel a bit better.

And to those noticing I did not adress female hair loss much here, that was intentional. I am AMAB and currently a nonbinary guy who goes by any pronouns but often likes to present as fem. I learned I was possibly losing my hair and lost two months of my life, no work or going or anything, to male hair loss forums and research and spiraling. Checking my hair twenty times a day, unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to think. And my situation was NOT unique, but it also did not give me any experience or understanding of female hair loss and what AFAB people may go through with that, so I don't feel knowledgeable enough to speak on it. Also living with baldness WILL get easier and you will find something that works for it, by virtue of simply living with it. Things get easier with time.

[keys-hellscape-1020]

Stoner!Tim Drake

A/N: to the one nonny who requested this I’m SO sorry I deleted your ask I feel so bad!

Stoner!Tim Drake x gn!Reader

Content warnings: descriptions of Weed, descriptions of getting high, Tim calls reader baby, descriptions of physical touch, mentions of dominant and submissive behavior, mentions of orgasm control, mentions of possessiveness,

————

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this man very rarely smokes blunts. He typically sticks to carts and sometimes edibles. If someone offers him a blunt he’s not gonna turn it down, but it’s not something he seeks out. He just thinks they’re too much work, plus he typically gets distracted by something else, leading to them burning out before he gets the chance to take the last couple hits.

He only buys the best of the best quality carts however, especially if he’s sharing with you. No half-assed shit for his baby. He also has an insane amount of them. You open his nightstand? Cart. His kitchen cabinet? A Tupperware with 2 different carts and way too many edibles to be considered normal. You go to clean his Red Robin uniform for him? He has 3 carts in his utility belt. When you ask him about why he has so many in his crime-fighting uniform he just shrugs and says “Different types of highs baby.”

He also seems to get high at the strangest times. He has a stakeout? He’ll get blasted. When asked why he says it helps him to focus on the task at hand. He runs out to pick up breakfast for you both? He’ll come back high. You don’t even know how as he was sober when he left and, at least to your knowledge, he didn’t take anything with him that could get him high. Yet here he is. Slightly red eyed and clinging to you.

Despite that if you ask him to be sober for something he will in a heartbeat. If you don’t want him to get high on your date nights, done with zero hesitation. You worry about him getting high on patrol? He’ll do it much, much less, without so much as a second thought. With his work as Red Robin he is all too familiar with how drugs can affect people so if it makes you uncomfortable he will limit your exposure to it as much as possible.

If you don’t mind however and even smoke with him? Be prepared for the best high of your life. You know when you feel like you might be able to take one more hit but you’re not sure if it’ll make you green out or not? Tim knows if it will. He has it down to a science. Tell him how high you wanna get and he will carefully watch you the whole night, instructing you on if you should take another hit or slow down for a while. Even when he gets blasted, he can still do it with perfect accuracy. It’s honestly really impressive.

Speaking of how he is when he’s high, he’s gotten uncannily good at hiding it. That’s part of the reason he gets high so damn often, most people can’t tell. Once you know him well enough however there are a few very minor signs you may be able to pick up on. For instance, he tends to fidget at a slower pace, or do different fidgets than he does sober. And those are the ones that are the MOST obvious. It’s safe to say he hasn’t gone to a Wayne industries meeting sober in years.

But when he’s in private and high? Oh boy he is SO clingy. Sober Tim is anxious and a bit conservative with his affection, especially early in your relationship, but get him high and he will be ALL over you. But only with your permission!

The first few times you get high with him he gives you the best pleading look he can muster before leaning in, lips a few inches away from your skin, so you feel the words more then you hear them. “Can we please cuddle baby?” It’s all you can do to nod dumbly in agreement. Tim lets out a relieved moan and all but falls against your side, hot breath still burning a hole in your skin.

However he’s also very easy to work up when he gets like this. You’re gently scratching up and down his back one second and the next thing you know he’s on top of you, gently grinding into you, almost like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear if he goes to hard. He whispers out a desperate “please baby. Need it so damn bad.” So breathlessly you’d be insane to say anything but yes.

The second he has your approval he’s frantically removing your pants, and shoving his mouth over every inch of your that it feels good on. Tim gets desperate and needy when he’s like this, and the one thing he wants right now? You to feel good. And without a doubt you will be feeling good.

Tim has every inch of your skin memorized in his mind, every movement that he needs to execute in order to make you feel good. That’s nice while he’s sober but it can almost feel a bit… rehearsed. Almost like he’s putting on a performance for a play. But when he’s high? That problem is completely gone. He still has all that knowledge of what makes you feel good but he’s not as afraid to tease or try out new moves. He’s not scared to get a bit lost in his own pleasure while giving you head, and it really makes everything feel that much better.

Speaking of getting lost in his own pleasure… he tends to lean a bit more dominant when he’s like this. A stark contrast to his typical submissive or otherwise pliant behavior in bed. He’ll grind into you, tease, make you beg. He likes to try out orgasm control, edging you until you’re practically in tears and then making you cum so hard you need to tap out for a water break. Don’t worry however, he’ll make sure his baby is always taken care of by the end of the night.

Also this man gets possessive while high. He’s already a bit possessive when sober, he just hides it very well. However when he’s high he’s less subtle. He’ll be clinging to you, unwilling to separate unless absolutely necessary. He also LOVES it when you wear his clothes, and the hickies decorating your neck, and chest, and pelvis, and thighs, and well most other parts of you show it.

All in all Tim can hide being high very well when he wishes. When he doesn’t have any reason to hide it though? Well let’s just say you’ll be in for a long night.