#reply for your life! reply for the hills!

[robolvrr]

behind closed doors. ੈ♡˳

optimus prime x afab human reader warnings: nsfw.

he is fascinated.

it took a great deal of convincing. not him, but you - over mass displacement. you argued that with all the warnings from ratchet the purpose of such mechanisms should only be applied for tasks of importance.

optimus, as stoic as he can be now, could only hide his smile behind the battle-worn mask. "you are of importance", he said, such a simple reply. yet, he watched as you gaped like a goldfish, flustered beyond belief.

the prime had seen many a spectacle. overgrown forests bursting with life. deserts as dry as the sands of beachy hills and glacier cooled mountains under canopies of wind and snow. none could ever compare to humanity. so delicate and resilient, resourceful.

this adoration grips his spark in stride, especially when you finally get over nerves and slowly slip the velvet of your robe off a shoulder.

it's an intimate affair. skin and curve and softness, much closer than before. he's taller still, at least several feet. but now, he can gently grab your arms. squeeze his digits like scooping gold and watch entranced when the love indents form.

"optimus..."

a whine. he gingerly lets you go, still crowding your space. you show no actual discomfort and it's obvious by the time the puddle of fabric slips to your ankles, creating a halo around your feet. his optics, electric, take in the swell of your ass. your thighs, calves, biceps.

"the shower will get cold, my love."

now you are the one in a trance. so, you slide open the glass door, fingerprints leaving a kiss in the fog. your lover follows behind slowly, as if you might bound off like startled deer.

optimus wrangles his pondering by working the knots from your back instead.

the noises leaving your wet lips stir at his core. he feels perverted, watching your head tip back until the crown hits his chassis, spine arching beautiful as those modes of destruction and heroism glide down the front of your body.

droplets cling to your chest and drip down your chin. his fans, internal, click to a blast which is dampened by cascading shades from the shower-head.

"you look so small.. like this."

surprise takes your features by storm and his helm feels hot, not meaning to have said the thought aloud. however, when you part your legs to allow him to sponge lavender and honey suds with care, he can tell you find his sentiment charming.

he was so awkward with you at first.

now, the leader is wrapped tight around your fingers and you are wrapped tight around his. he can't help himself, thick silver of his middle digit pumping in and out. greedy where milky white coats and while his servos are still navigating, pleasing, you're practically drowning for him already.

you're cute. cute when you lift to the balls of your feet when he just can't take it anymore, array unlocking and spike rocking a steady pace that has you panting against porcelain.

when you aren't sounding dumb anymore, dribbling and babbling like you've lost your mind, you might laugh at the idea of the optimus prime being an ass-man.

it's a shameful vice when he switches positions. you're much bendier underneath warm drizzles, so you let him lift your leg just enough to hitch close to your hip so he can find that special angle that gets you singing. those "ah, ah, ah!"s when your flesh ripples, crushed ribbon beneath his grip.

and then you're crying, tangle of limbs while he sits. still full to the brim, strawberry pink coating your clit as he keeps close to you in a way you can't speak of beyond closed walls.

robolvrr 2024.

a/n: it has been so busy with holidays coming up! i am one tired gal. but i wanted to write a lil something (and i love this old tired man.)

[springwitch8]

venus, are you there? (agatha harkness x fem!witch!reader)

💜 reupload sorry i fucked up and i'm really sad about it 💜

summary: your patron goddess, venus, has been distant lately. you don't know what you did to upset her, but your life and your powers have been suffering in her absence. you visit the local mage, agatha harkness, about your problem. as you come to find out, it takes a special kind of ritual to provoke the goddess of love.

warnings: lesbian sex duh (18+), DUBCON (innocent!reader is really into agatha's "counsel" but oblivious to her sexual intentions until they're doing the deed), historic westview AU (before it was a suburb, it was a magical village), agatha's improv skills, no beta we die like lilia

notes: after much rumination on the AAA finale, i've decided that being a lifelong liar and diabolical villain can only make a lesbian hotter. centuries is a long time to live, and my brain has gone wild thinking of all the messed-up ways agatha must have passed the time. i imagine she had some fun with the women around her—giving them the attention and stimulation they needed, regardless of whether they knew it or not. gotta keep the bed warm between all the power-stealing and mass murder, am i right ladies?

"agatha harkness, mother of witches, watches over westview from her dwelling on the hill. any spell you can't cast, she will."

so the story went, passed around among the women of the village. if they were to be believed, agatha ran an apothecary out of her home, a one-stop shop of sorts for witches in dire need of guidance. the locals spoke about her with admiration, and the tales of her magical miracles were legend.

hardly a day went by without some talk of agatha's feats: how she unbound someone's great-aunt after the woman had been powerless for decades, or how she rescued a friend of a friend from certain death after a nasty broomstick accident.

---

venus, goddess of love and beauty, had been guiding you all your life. when you were little, you saw her sometimes in the flower-dotted meadow behind your house—a spectral angel, wrapped in pink silk with her hand outstretched to you.

now, though, venus had been silent for nearly a month. her altar was covered in offerings, none of which seemed to please her. you tried every trick under the moon to lure your patron goddess out of hiding, but nothing stuck.

with every failure, things felt increasingly... off. out of the blue, your jewelry degraded to the point that it looked cheap and rusty. you felt tired more often; your skin grew cold and dry. then, you started to feel venus's absence in your relationships. when you got into a huge fight with your best friend over a random misunderstanding, you knew you had to do something.

---

bouncing anxiously on your heels, you waited for agatha to answer the knocks at her door. there was something foreboding about her house in all its gothic glory.

the intricately carved door swung open and there she was, the fabled mother of witches. long brown waves cascaded over her purple-clad shoulders, wild tresses gliding over a silken cloak. you hadn't expected her to be so gorgeous. you'd always pictured the local legend as a crone.

"can i help you, sweetheart?" her voice was warm and lilting. you were almost too staggered by her darkly striking looks to reply, and agatha seemed to know it. her eyes sparkled with amusement, and the corners of her mouth tilted upward.

"um, i hope so," you finally managed before steadying yourself with a deep breath. "venus is my guide, but she's been ignoring me lately. all my gifts and devotions have been worthless; i still can't find her."

"hmmm..." agatha hummed in contemplation, her brows furrowed and fingernails tapping rhythmically against the doorframe. moments later, she ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. "what have you offered her? do you have a proper altar at home?"

"yes, and i've tried everything: fresh roses and myrtle, sea shells, wine, honey, chocolate..." you trailed off as you noticed the scenery around you.

agatha's walls were covered from floor to ceiling in magical materials and aids. she had jars upon jars of herbs, petals and extracts; woven tapestries of pagan deities and common incantations; various crystals suspended in place, arranged to form rune-like symbols; and a massive "death" tarot card in a frame lined with wilted flowers.

as you looked around her home, awestruck, agatha gently nudged you toward her couch. you sunk into the black leather and surveyed the coffee table in front of you, similarly cluttered with witchy items like candles, incense, and a cauldron. agatha stayed on her feet, pacing back and forth while she pondered your situation.

"how long has it been since you last sensed her?" agatha asked. you felt your face heat up when she turned her intense blue gaze to you. you could practically feel the power radiating off of her.

"about a month," you answered sheepishly, wringing your hands in your lap. a look of intrigue flashed across the witch's face and she stalked toward you. soon, she was standing behind the couch where you were sat, her hands firm on your shoulders.

"you're a pretty girl..." she thought out loud, and you squirmed subtly in place at the compliment. "servant of venus, and it shows..." her fingernails traced barely-there spirals on either side of your neck, and goosebumps spread across your skin. satisfied, agatha pulled away to resume her pacing. "got anyone special in your life?"

"i-i'm close with some of the other witches in town, and my grandma lives in the next village over—"

"not what i meant, honey," agatha purred and perched herself on the couch next to you. "who looks after your needs?" you didn't reply, staring at her quizzically. she tried again. "cute thing like you must have a gentleman caller or two, no?"

"not at the moment," you shook your head. "although there was a man who passed through westview a while back, a traveler. he courted me."

"and were you intimate with this nomad?"

"he only kissed me once, right before he left town. said he'd be back for me."

"how did it feel?"

"p-pardon?" you stammered, not expecting to be grilled on your romantic history today—let alone by agatha harkness, who grinned like a cheshire cat at your shyness.

"magic-wise, i mean. acts of affection can trigger power surges, especially for witches who follow venus... if she approves."

"i don't remember sensing anything out of the ordinary," you shrugged. "i wasn't expecting to feel a spark right away; it was just nice to be admired."

"i'm sure, but you're a disciple of venus. do keep in mind: she rules over love, not self-esteem," agatha took hold of your hand while she advised you, sending a chill up your arm. "i have a theory. when did you meet this man?"

"five or six weeks ago, i'd say."

"then it sounds like your goddess was displeased with your choice of lover."

"what, so she's just gone? i kissed the wrong guy and she gave up on me?"

"oh no, sweetpea, you just have to get her attention again."

"how can i do that?" agatha paused at the question, surveying the room in all its magical madness.

"do you still have power?"

"yes," you said, extending your palm toward her—only your magic wouldn't spark. it fizzled, emitting blots of pale pink, but you couldn't get your powers flowing fully.

"oh dear! looks like your magic's not flowing right. it's still there, promise."

"how can you tell?"

agatha narrowed her eyes and gave you a smirk that made you clench your thighs together. then she surged forward, cupping your face and kissing you deeply before you even knew what was happening.

agatha's kiss was hungry, purposeful. her tongue lapped at yours while her fingers sent purple caresses along your jawline. she took your breath away and set your body on fire all at once. to your disappointment, she subsequently pulled away.

"see, lovebug?" she beamed at the sight of you with hooded eyes and kiss-swollen lips. then, she held your open palm up to your light of sight. "you've still got it."

sure enough, the glow of your magic was there. it was weak, but it was there, swirling in the center of your hand.

"why don't you try lifting that spell jar over there?" agatha gestured to a small object on a wall shelf. "the one with the pink wax seal."

you aimed your palm at the spell jar and focused your energy, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't harness the telekinetic power to make it budge. you huffed in frustration.

"don't lose hope, angel," agatha rubbed your thigh comfortingly. "i know a ritual."

"you can bring venus back to my side? really?" you perked up in near-disbelief.

"would you be here if you doubted me?" she quipped back, forcing a conciliatory head shake out of you. "didn't think so. now take your clothes off."

"what?" your eyes almost bulged out of your head, but your thighs clenched together involuntarily at the thought of the older witch seeing your body. one predatory smile from agatha, and your mind was officially at war with your body. she stroked your cheek in mock sympathy, but you could see the amusement in her eyes. she gestured to the wall opposite you both, plastered with photos and illustrations of nude witches dancing under the moon and wading into the sea.

"precious few magical rites involve fabric, darling," agatha soothed. "it's an unnecessary barrier between your energy and the earth."

reluctant yet hanging on her every word, you relented and stripped for her. there was a pleased glint in her eye while she watched your body intently. you peeled off your clothes, giving her occasional anxious looks while you bared yourself.

"good girl," she cooed, watching you shift uneasily from foot to foot. your nipples hardened at a chill, and you could swear her eyes darkened in response. you blinked, and she was in front of you, her robes mere inches from your naked body. after another blink and a rush of purple, you found yourself in another room in the sprawling house—what seemed, at a cursory glance, like agatha's bedroom. "pardon the change of scenery; this is the most magically protected place in the house. now," she gestured to a king-sized, plush purple bed. "on your back, gorgeous. get nice and comfy so we can draw out your power."

"are you gonna have me meditate? or, ummm, astral project?" you asked in arousal and disbelief.

"sure, more or less," she chuckled darkly. impatient, she sent you floating to the center of the mattress with a purple mist. standing at the foot of the bed, she stared at you like you were her last meal. you heard a faint, sparkling whoosh and looked up to see tendrils of violet flying from her palms, a knowing grin on her face. when her magic latched onto your skin and began to stroke its way up your thighs, she piped up again. "can you feel that, sweet girl?"

before you could respond, agatha pounced. she caged your body with hers and dove for a sensitive spot on your neck. she suckled, and you gave a breathy moan that seemed to excite her.

she made her way down to your sternum with sloppy kisses, then turned her attention to your breasts—squeezing and caressing them while you both sighed in pleasure. her hands were rough and greedy and felt so good.

"is this, ahhh, part of the—" agatha cut you off by pinching your nipple between her fingers, rolling it while threads of her magic danced around the sensitive bud. when she closed her mouth around your other nipple, your back arched off the bed, and the three candles on agatha's nightstand spontaneously lit. you gaped at the witch above you in shock. "did i do that?"

"sure did, superstar. i told you this ritual would draw out your power," the older witch said with a smugly victorious smile. she gave each of your tits a kiss farewell before reluctantly parting with them. then, she planted a meandering path of energy-infused smooches from your chest all the way down to your lower belly. even the gentlest touches of her magic electrified your nerve endings, making you writhe under agatha in a silent plea for more, more, more. "oh dear, aren't you needy?"

"yes, yes please agatha, i need you to..." you trailed off upon seeing the expectant, self-satisfied look on the woman's face. the clouds of your desire parted momentarily, and you finally realized what exactly you were asking the mother of witches to do for you (to you). agatha had seduced you into her lair, reduced you to a begging mess. you decided right then and there not to hold it against her. "finish the ritual."

"how could i deny such a polite request from such a pretty girl?" agatha cooed before snapping her fingers, pinning your legs open with her magic. your ankles were bound to opposite corners of the bed by shimmering purple cuffs of energy. agatha grinned wolfishly as she situated herself between your spread legs. "alright, baby, just relax. let yourself feel."

you released a shaky breath and closed your eyes in preparation for agatha's touch. at the first stroke of her fingers through your folds, you felt magic crackling in your veins. you tried to stay on top of the wave of power that threatened to overwhelm you.

"goddess, you're dripping. that's a good sign," agatha drawled, her eyes fixed on her fingers as they lightly stroked up and down your pussy. with no warning, her pointer finger found your clit and pressed down, eliciting a yelp from you. when she began to draw firm circles on the bundle of nerves, you cried out, and the candles on agatha's bedside table rumbled like they were about to tip over. "that's my girl. feels nice when i rub you there, hmmm?"

"s'good, agatha, please don't stop..." you babbled breathlessly, your hips bucking toward her hand. agatha made a low growling sound and laid her free arm across your abdomen, pinning your lower body to the mattress. then, while you were still reeling from her manhandling, she slipped two slender fingers inside you. "oh!" you squealed at the foreign sensation, the sudden fullness. her digits probed your pussy, searching for something. you squirmed as her long fingers combed your fluttering walls. "ag—ahhh, i feel funny."

"i know, sweetie, just bear with me for a second here. you're taking it so well," agatha's free hand twitched and sent a bolt of tingling purple warmth to your clit, rewarding your patience. you gasped and bit your lip to keep from screaming. agatha wasn't even touching your bundle of nerves, yet you could feel her playing with it all the same. while agatha chuckled at your barely-restrained desire, her fingers found your g-spot. this time, you couldn't suppress a keening moan. "oooh, i like that sound. stay loud, lovely girl; let venus hear you."

she emphasized her words with a hard stroke of her fingertips against your special spot, and you shrieked. your hands scrambled for purchase somewhere, anywhere, and ultimately clung to two threads tied to the bedframe above your head. you didn't remember them being there before, but you figured it was one of agatha's tricks. had you opened your eyes, you would have seen the rosy color of the glowing strings and realized that you, not agatha, conjured them.

"are you close, baby girl? i can feel your magic pulsing and flowing," agatha whispered with a sultry wink. you clenched around her fingers and she cackled, pressing her violet-charged thumb to your clit and doubling the energetic stimulation there. you yanked at the pink restraints above your head and writhed pathetically at her touch. "if the ritual is true, you're about to experience pure ecstasy. say my name when you do."

it was all too much. her fingers twisted inside you and brushed your g-spot while her thumb rubbed vibrating, sparkling circles on your clit. a wave of white-hot bliss crested over you, and you cried out: "agatha!"

"princess," the older witch soothed as she continued her ruthless strokes. she looked around in awe as the room was bathed in blushing light, your just-recovered power shining in the afterglow of your orgasm. but agatha didn't let up. she wanted a replay of your precious, pleasured face. when you tried to wiggle out of her grasp, she scoffed. "don't pretend you can't give me another because you're going to, little witch."

she then ducked down to mouth at your clit while sneaking a third finger into you, curling to hit your most sensitive spots with vibrating energy. she took your button into her mouth and sucked vigorously, which sent you floating over the edge once more. again you screamed her name, but this time you also reached for her free hand where it rested on your chest. her fingers eagerly intertwined with yours, and your magic reached out for hers—a pink orb yearning for a touch of purple, charged hands held together by attraction.

"come back to me, superstar," the older woman coaxed as your orgasm faded. she smiled and guided your palm into your field of view. there it was, as if it had never dimmed: your power. agatha had fulfilled her promise. "told you so. i could have stopped after one, so that second round was just for me—you're stunning when you come."

"you... you did it. you got her back," you whispered in disbelief and gratitude. "thank you, agatha. i don't know how to repay you for this."

"oh, i can think of a few ways," she laughed, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "how about you show me what you can do with all that power, honey?"

you sat up and stared at her, confused. she took your glowing hand and dragged it over her upper thigh, exposed by a slit in her dress. you took the hint, swiftly using your magic to vanish her clothes just as she'd done for you. you waved her legs apart and teased your way through her folds, savoring the feeling of her arousal on your fingers. agatha huffed.

"that all you got, daughter of venus? not even gonna touch me witch-style?" agatha provoked. you sighed but gave in, your index finger sending a beam of pink stimulation to explore her from the inside. she gasped and bucked her hips at you frantically. smirking, you lowered your face down to her pussy and started worshipping her clit. while you sucked the bundle of nerves into your mouth, your hands snuck up to agatha's chest. you tweaked her nipples with magic-tinged fingers, and the triple stimulation made the older witch fall apart. "such a good, sweet girl... don't stop, angel..."

you kept working diligently until the witch groaned and pushed you away with a wall of violet. you sat back on your knees and gazed at her, dazedly waiting for any sign of approval. as soon as agatha recovered from her high, she caught you by surprise with a deep, heated kiss.

"you, my darling, are full of surprises," agatha booped your nose as she pulled away. "and look at you!" she cradled your hand and pressed her finger into the center of your swirling, rosy magic. "got your groove back. i told you i'd fix ya right up, and the ritual wasn't so bad, was it?"

"n-no, it was... thank you," you stammered, still reacting to the ritual. "how much do i owe you?"

"don't be silly, toots," agatha said melodically while she wrapped her arms around you and lay back. "i believe in karma. you'll pay me back in kind someday, sugar; don't sweat it today."

"what if she leaves again?" you whispered, feeling agatha's shallow breathing against the crown of your head as she snuggled you. she shook her head, and you felt her nose moving from side to side.

"shhh, sweetheart," she cooed, running her fingers up and down the exposed side of your torso. "that's what i'm here for. any more problems, you come to me. i'd happily make you feel good as new."

satisfied, you burrowed into agatha's hold and drifted off to sleep. with the object of her desire finally at her mercy, agatha was pleased too. she thought about her next move; she'd need to possess another man to pursue you and throw off your powers again. you'd probably get wise to it after the third or fourth guy, but what could you do about it? try to kill her? agatha smiled at the day's work and breathed in your scent, lulling herself to sleep.

[machisneedle]

hii, I just saw that you have open requests ^^Can I ask for a lighter x reader who has the personality or is similar to Clorinde 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I beg you. I hope it goes well for you 🙏🙏🙏Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes because I lost my glasses.

Hellooo, ofc I can !! Also your spelling is perfectly fine <3

Lighter x s/o with a personality similar to clorindes ・₊✧₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

✧ content: headcannon format , fluff , confessioning love , pre-relationship and current relationship.

Safe for minors to read !!

✧ I feel like his serious but also unserious mood would be a refresher for you , also helping you become more comfortable around him. For example , if you're dealing with something stressful , he'd be the type to try to keep you out of the house and even if it's just to hang out with Lucy or ceaser knowing your not alone makes him feel better.

✧ he'd definitely fall for you first. your strong and stoic front you put on is so intriguing to him because he's a serious person when he wants to be , but the fact he's NEVER seen you break that serious personality apart from a couple chuckles or when your trying to make Lucy feel better about something silly , it makes him want get closer to you. He also finds you badass as fuck but he'd never say it.

✧ when you finally realise you somehow like this man , you considered a complete and utter idiot. You're in complete denial , like how could I fall for HIM type thing.

✧ he is the one to confess 100% . He was confident , but he never thought you'd actually say yes to him. He was expecting you to stare at him like he was a creature from the hallow , so when you said yes he was actually taken aback by your word's , he totally hit you with a " yeah thats cool... cool " while he's internally screaming , before thinking about telling caesar and the others about it. He is a girl dad at heart ok.

✧ it might not be your cup of tea going out to his fights , but PLEASE do it at least once , this man will be yours for life if you do. Even if you sit there looking uninterested as normal because you finally gave into his begs, he'd be over the moon totally, not because you finally gave into going. He'd try to catch your attention by winking at you when you'd look his way , or if he was feeling extra like a little bitch he'd blow you a kiss being met by ur disappointed eye roll never got boring for him. When you find him afterwards dragging him home, he'd hit you with a " c'mon it wasn't that bad darlin " with that classic smirk on his face... let's just say he got a bonk on the head for that one.

✧ he sometimes found it hard to understand your emotions because of how closed off you could be. He would go to one of the girls about it and ask them what he should do , this man is a dumbass when it comes to love sometimes. He'd always be told to just go to you about it , so after a while , he gave in and went to you. It wasn't easy at first getting you to open up for him , but when you did , it made your relationship a lot better.

✧ at first, if anyone tried to hit on you, he'd be instantly at their throats, but there was one time he was grabbing something to drink while you sat and waited. He came back to a guy walking away uncomfortably looking like he was about to burst into tears , " What's up with him, huh ? " he chuckled , sliding you your drink. " he tried to hit on me, so I told him it straight. I wasn't interested. " You shrugged , " you don't say, " he replied. Ever since then , if someone hit on you he just let you give them that resting bitch face that made men run for the hills. Most men apart from him , personally found any face you pulled stunning .

✧ so , in summary you both have your Flaws mainly with communication , but you both try your best and that's all that matters <3

This is my first time writing lighter so sorry if he's abit out of character !! This request was really fun because I love clorinde

[arthurhillmastermind]

Anyone but him | Arthur Hill

“Same Building , same friends, zero patience for each other. For now.”

Kirstie stood in the doorway of her new flat, surveying the chaos of boxes stacked high around her. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the fresh coat of paint and the potential of the space, but the overwhelming mess felt like a mountain to climb. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead.

“Okay, let’s tackle this,” she said to herself, rolling up her sleeves. Just then, the door swung open, and Chris bounded in, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Look at you, all settled in! Ready to transform this place into your streaming paradise?” he teased, dropping a box beside her with a soft thud.

“More like a war zone,” Kirstie laughed, glancing around. “But I’ll take any help I can get.”

“Don’t worry, I’m here to save the day!” Chris proclaimed dramatically, hoisting another box from the car. “You’ve got snacks, right? This is going to be a long haul.”

“Of course! But you’ll have to earn them first,” Kirstie replied, mock-seriously, as she grabbed a box of kitchen supplies and headed for the kitchen.

They worked in comfortable silence, chatting occasionally about the best placement for her gaming setup and her hopes for her new place. The more they unpacked, the more Kirstie felt the weight of change lifting. She was excited about this new chapter in her life.

As Chris headed back out to grab another load, Kirstie decided to take a break and check her phone. Just as she was scrolling through her messages, she heard footsteps approaching. She glanced up, expecting Chris, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with Arthur, Chris’s roommate.

He leaned against the door frame, a casual but undeniably confident posture. His dark hair fell just above his eyes, and he had an expression that was equal parts amused and disinterested. Kirstie felt her heart rate spike—not from attraction, but from annoyance.

“Hey, new neighbour,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nice to see you’ve already made a mess of the place.”

Kirstie’s lips tightened as she fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s called having a life. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of lurking in your own flat.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by her retort. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your little party. Are you planning to invite anyone over, or is it just you and your boxes?”

“Is there a rule that says I need to have a social event just because I moved in?” she shot back, crossing her arms defiantly. “I prefer to keep my circle small, thanks.”

He chuckled softly, as if she were the punchline to a joke only he understood. “Guess you’ll have to get used to it, then. This building’s basically a reality show waiting to happen. You might want to invite the neighbours over eventually—might help with the loneliness.”

Kirstie felt irritation flare inside her, the casual condescension of his tone grating on her nerves. “You know, some people actually enjoy their own company, Arthur,” she replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Right, that’s why you’re talking to me,” he said, his smirk widening.

“Yeah, because I’m really enjoying this conversation,” Kirstie retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

At that moment, Chris re-entered the room, arms full of boxes. “Hey, Arthur! Stop flirting with Kirstie and help me out!” he called out, breaking the tension.

“Flirting? Please,” Arthur replied with a laugh, tossing Kirstie a knowing glance. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kirstie narrowed her eyes at him, but the smirk he wore only fuelled her irritation. “Thanks, Chris. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome,” she muttered under her breath.

“Anytime!” Chris grinned, oblivious to the tension simmering between them.

As Chris and Arthur moved to start unpacking more boxes, Kirstie retreated to the kitchen, shaking her head. She could already tell living next to Arthur was going to be a challenge. His sarcastic humour rubbed her the wrong way, and she had no idea how she’d cope with the constant reminder of his presence.

Once she regained her composure, Kirstie forced herself to focus on organising the kitchen. She’d show them both that she could make this place a home, even if it meant dealing with her obnoxious neighbour every step of the way.

The thought of streaming in her new setup felt invigorating, but she couldn’t shake the irritation Arthur had stirred within her. She resolved to keep her distance from him and focus on what truly mattered—her gaming and her audience.

As she organized the last few items, she could hear Arthur and Chris bantering in the background, their laughter echoing through the flat. It was a reminder that this was a new beginning, filled with challenges but also opportunities.

Kirstie took a deep breath, knowing she would find a way to navigate her new life—one sarcastic comment at a time.

After a quick unpacking session, Kirstie finally settled into her new home office, a cosy nook brimming with potential. The walls were painted a soft teal, and twinkling fairy lights were strung along the shelves filled with her favourite gaming memorabilia. A large, sleek desk sat against the window, adorned with a top-of-the-line gaming monitor, a mechanical keyboard, and a high-quality microphone positioned just right for her streams. She had gone all out for this setup, wanting her space to reflect her passion for gaming and content creation.

Plopping down into her ergonomic chair, Kirstie flicked on her laptop, the screen lighting up and casting a cool glow across her focused face. She adjusted her headset, making sure the microphone was positioned perfectly. Excitement bubbled in her chest as she logged into her game, her heart racing at the thought of sharing this experience with her growing audience. This was her first stream in the new place, and she wanted everything to go perfectly.

She glanced around the room, taking in the vibrant posters of her favourite games that adorned the walls, alongside her carefully arranged collection of plushies that had accompanied her through countless late-night gaming sessions. A neon sign above her desk flickered to life, spelling out “NO!” in bold letters—a fitting mantra for most of her live streams when a game wasn't going the way she wanted.

Today, she’d be diving into her latest gaming obsession, a thrilling adventure game that had captured her heart, and she was eager to share it with her viewers. Maybe she’d even drop a few updates about her new living situation and how it felt to have her best friend Chris living just above her.

As she adjusted her chair and readied her fingers over the keyboard, she felt a mix of excitement and apprehension wash over her. The stream would be a chance to connect with her audience in a new space, and she was determined to make it memorable. With a final deep breath, Kirstie hit the “Go Live” button, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through her as she welcomed her viewers.

“Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel! I’m super excited to share my new adventure with you all today. I just moved into a new place, and my best friend Chris, also known as ChrisMD or Christopher Michael Dixon is living right next to me, so things are bound to get interesting!”

As the chat flooded with emojis and enthusiastic greetings, she felt the comforting warmth of community wrap around her. She dove into the game, fingers dancing over the keyboard, and for the next hour, the world outside her office faded away. The game pulled her in, and she expertly navigated the challenges, sharing her thoughts and strategies with her audience.

Then, her phone buzzed on the desk, and she caught a glimpse of Chris's name lighting up the discord menu. With a grin, she accepted the call, and a moment later, Chris’s voice filled her headphones.

“Hey, Kirstie! Ready to show off your skills?” Chris's tone was upbeat, a playful tease woven through his words.

“Always,” she shot back, grinning at the camera. “But don’t get too comfortable up there, I might just win this one without any distractions.”

“Just don’t blame me if you lose!” Chris laughed, but Kirstie could already hear Arthur’s voice joining in the background.

“Yeah, Kirstie, you should really work on your gaming skills before you go live,” Arthur chimed in, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Kirstie’s eyes narrowed as she shot a glare at the doorway where Arthur stood, arms crossed, and that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “What do you know about gaming?” she snapped back, refusing to let his presence derail her focus. “Isn’t your expertise more about how to flex for the camera?”

“Please, at least I’m not just sitting here hoping my setup distracts from my lack of talent,” he retorted, leaning casually against the wall as if this was all just a game to him.

She could feel irritation bubbling inside her. “And what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be out making a TikTok or something?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes. “Funny you say that; I was just trying to figure out how to film your fail during this stream. It should be good for at least a few hundred thousand views.”

Kirstie's heart raced—not just from the game but from the challenge he posed. “You just wait, Arthur. I’ll show you what I’m made of,” she shot back, her determination refocusing her energy.

“You’re made of cringe. That's all you do, make people cringe” he retorts.

Kirstie’s smile faltered for just a moment. What an ass, she thought, rolling her eyes as she tried to keep her cool. “Right, because you’re the expert on not being cringe,” she shot back, the heat creeping up her neck. “At least I’m not just sitting here flexing my non-existent biceps for views.”

“Hey, at least my views aren’t just because my tits are out,” he retorted, and Kirstie felt her cheeks flush with anger. The chat erupted, a mix of laughter and shock, but all she could focus on was the annoyance bubbling within her.

Kirstie took a deep breath, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she shot a glare towards her screen, where Chris had just emerged with Arthur, their laughter spilling into her stream like an unwanted guest. Arthur leaned in the background against the wall, arms crossed, and a smirk plastered across his face, the very image of annoyance wrapped in confidence. She felt her irritation rise like steam from a boiling kettle.

——————————————————-

ITS HERE! finally im so excited for you guys to read. the hashtag to follow is anyonebutyoufic and it’ll find all chapters!

i would like to thank everyone who helped with this, you know who you are and i love you🫶🏼

Enjoy - ArthurHillMastermind

[frostsinth]

Your Heart's Got Teeth - Pt. 4

Part 1|2|3 - Masterlist

Here, have another part! More juicy. Language warning. Likes, reblogs, and comments are my writing fuel!

I've pretty much written this piece out to its end, just have to fill in the gaps between the scenes. Already plotting my next project... DM me suggestions if you want.

-----

“Jamie!”

“Curt!”

“Bal!”

The cries and shouts of glee filled the air, more and more names, more and more exclamations of relief, or joy, or love. I watched as each young man embraced his family. Watched tears well in eyes, watched souls shatter as the reality of what had happened settled on their faces. More than two dozen men in all, perhaps more. It had never been a large village, but now, it felt almost hollow. The men once prisoners now staggering about on legs they hadn’t properly used in weeks. Half the number the village had been prior to the attacks, not including the soldiers who had also entrenched themselves within the walls prior to.

None of them walked among the men now returning.

I stayed on the roof where I had been attempting to patch one of half a dozen holes. Watching the heartfelt reunions. Uncertain how to feel. The orc guards who had brought the men down the hill lingered at the edge of the village square, also watching. Though I had to admit, they looked a bit bored. Not begrudging or upset that they had to release the men, as I would have thought they might have been. I placed the hammer down, slipping back to the window and into the house. Suddenly feeling terribly, terribly useless and alone.

I snuck out the back, away from the crowds and reunions. There was no one there looking for me, I knew. And I wasn’t in the mood for being shuffled about to say some awkward welcomes or blessings to men I had only met maybe once or twice before in my life if at all.

I went to the edge of the square, noting a patrol of orcs lounging in their usual place. They looked up as I neared them, but made no move to stop me. I considered that, so different from previous days, and decided to test it further. Walking quietly towards them. Their eyes followed me, yet I passed them by unmolested. Out into the streets of the now decimated village. I breathed a sigh of relief when I was just out of eye shot, feeling a moment of glee fill my chest.

So the bastard had made good on his word. I felt my lips twitch. Without prompting… And with additions. My feet hurried as I realized my newfound freedom, limited though it was. I made my way to the village edge, past a few other patrols who only made note of my passage. Not slowing until I passed under the half ruined gate and the stone wall was behind me.

Now I stopped, turning my face up towards the sun. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath. It wasn’t much, I admitted. But it was something.

“Calliope!” Came the excited call, and I turned. Resisting the urge to sigh.

“Izu’lemi.” I replied as the lanky tween walked up with a crooked grin on his face. “You’re starting to make a habit of this.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Of what?”

“Appearing out of thin air whenever things around here suddenly improve.” I glanced over our shoulders, back towards the village’s main road. I noticed a few guards lingering along the remains of the wall, watching us, and resisted the urge to sigh again. At least there were no villagers around. “Are you following me?”

“No,” He said with a shake of his head, “My father had me clearing rubble from one of the stairwells, so that we can access the top of the wall again.” He pointed out the spot a few yards down. “I saw you walk by. Why, what happened?”

I crossed my arms, tapping the fingers of one hand on the opposite. “The men were released.”

“That’s good, right?” He mused. “Is that one of the things you asked father for?”

I paused a moment, the realization fully dawning on me. “… No. It’s not.”

“Oh.” The youth seemed to think about that for a moment, then shrugged a little. “Maybe he got tired of managing the guard shifts.”

I looked towards the hill, just visible above the rooftops, as if I could see the orc chief’s tent from here.

“I doubt it.”

More than likely he had other reasoning. One far more sinister. I wondered if perhaps he intended some other punishment, or thought to keep all the cattle together rather than separate. I tapped my fingers again, then looked over at the younger orc. Realizing belatedly he had spoken.

“What?”

“I said, what are you going to do first?” He repeated. “Now that you can leave the square?”

I turned towards the woods. “I need to go hunting.”

“I think you need permission.” Izu’lemi said. “Cuz it’s further than where we can see on top of the wall.”

“Right, how long will that take?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. You’d be the first to ask.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “I can ask for you. The kil’wan is friendly with me.”

“The what?” I asked.

Izu’lemi stratched the side of his head. “Ah… it means… umm.” His brow scrunched up. “Leader? But not like my father. Below him. The warriors listen to him, but he listens to my father.”

“Captain.” I reasoned, and he shrugged.

“Yeah maybe. But I can ask him for you.” Then his grin returned. “Maybe I can ask to be your guard!”

“Izu’lemi,” I sighed at his eagerness, looking down at the ground, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But-”

“You don’t owe me anything. Life debts aside,” I added quickly, raising one hand even as the protest formed on his lips, “I’m too old for you. You should marry someone you actually like.”

“But I do like you!” He argued.

I raised a brow at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He winced a bit at my sharp tone. “Well, maybe you should tell me.”

“I’m not the sharing type.”

Izu’lemi’s bottom lip jutted out stubbornly. “Then I’ll just follow you around. Until I figure it out.”

I almost groaned. “Don’t do that.”

His grin returned. “Then just tell me something. And I won’t have to.”

“Fine. I’m not marrying some kid.”

His face fell, which made a little pang of regret stab my heart, and his pouting lip returned. “I’m not a kid… and I’m not marrying you yet. I’ll be an adult when we do-”

“Izu’lemi-”

“You can call me ‘Izu’ if you want.”

“Izu’lemi.” I repeated firmly. “You are a kid. You not going to want to marry me when you’re not a kid. Just let it go.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Congratulations. You’re still a kid.”

“I’m not-”

“I’m thirty-three.” I interrupted. “When you’re twenty-three, I’ll be forty-three. When you’re forty, I’ll be sixty.”

He chewed at his lip. “… That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Because you don’t understand.” I sighed, putting my hands on my hips. “You will, I hope. Someday sooner rather than later.”

“You can wait for me.” He told me eagerly, and now I did groan. It was like talking to a brick wall.

“You’re as thick headed as your father.” I muttered. Then turned and headed back into the village. Resisting the overwhelming heaviness that settled on my shoulders as I passed beneath the stone gate.

“Where are you going?” Izu’lemi called.

I heard him jogging after me, and sighed again. “… I’ve got to see someone.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

He scoffed lightly. “Well, you need a guard.”

“Not within the walls.”

I saw him chew at his lip out the corner of my eye. “But I could come. Just to make sure no one bothers you.”

“Izu’lemi.” I spun on him, my face scrunched in frustration. “You want to learn something about me? I like to be alone. Alone alone.” I clarified as I saw him opening his mouth. “It’s better if I’m alone. I am not a nice person.”

“You’re nice to me.” He argued.

“Sometimes. Don’t make me regret that.”

He sighed, then reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “Ok… I’ll see you later, I guess.” He turned slightly, looking back at the wall. “Inu’u gave me a bunch of things to do. To help the camp. So I guess I’ll do that.”

“Good.” Came another familiar voice, and I groaned again. “You can do as you’re told.”

We turned together to face Jou’kiel as he approached, another orc at his shoulder that I didn’t recognize. I saw his eyes flicker over me, felt my heart flutter a bit. Suddenly remembering the softer way his face had looked the last time I had seen him. Wondering what he remembered from that night. He glanced at the other orc, grunting something in orcish which had them chuckling. I felt my ears burn hot and a scowl returned to my face.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Don’t you have anything nice to say?” He replied in Common, then gestured towards the square. “I thought you’d be more grateful.”

“Grateful you’re not a complete bastard?” I asked. “Grateful you realized you were being inhumane?”

He jerked his thumb at himself, returning my scowl. “Not human. Orc. Definition of ‘inhuman’.”

“Definition of idiot.” I retaliated. “I said ‘inhumane’. Barbarous. Brutal. Cruel.”

He shoved his finger at me, snarling a bit. “You should watch your mouth. And I thought I told you to stay away from my son.”

“Inu’u, you can’t order her away!” Izu’lemi cried, shoving himself between us. “She’s going to be my mate, whether you like it or not.”

“Oh save me the dramatics,” I half mumbled in a bitter tone, “I was just leaving anyway.”

“Good. Fall in a pit somewhere and stay there.”

“Go to hell and take your horde with you.” I shot back.

Then I turned and marched away, ignoring Izu’lemi’s farewell and the smattering of angry orcish that rose in the wake of my exit. I couldn’t resist a glance over my shoulder though. And found a pair of copper-yellow eyes staring after me. I straightened, pretending I hadn’t noticed, ducking around the next corner.

My feet knew the path well, even if the streets were not what they once were. It was the only place I would have visted regularly when coming to the village. Even with buildings crumbled in my path, even with orcs wandering the alleys between. Even without really thinking about it. I followed the same trail towards the back side of the village that I had a thousand times before. Feeling myself sink a bit into my thoughts, finding my feet slowing as I approached the old rickety fence off the beaten path.

The winter frost had kept the weeds from overgrowing during our containment in the square. And the site was far enough away from the nearest building that it almost felt as if the invasion hadn’t reached here. There was some errant rubble. A few burn marks where a stray fire might have made it before the cold, damp grass had prevented it from finding its way further. As I passed through the opening, I felt an eerie stillness settle over me. As if I had entered another world.

I walked past the other stones in the graveyard, to one in the back. Half hidden behind a scraggily tree. I reached out as I approached, lightly tracing my fingers over the top as I rounded the corner.

“Hey bud.” I said softly. “Sorry it’s been so long… I didn’t want anyone to know you were here. Hope you’ve been good.”

I rubbed my brother’s tombstone, absentmindedly clearing some dirt. My fingers lingering over the etching of his name. Remembering carving it myself as carefully as I could through thick tears more than five years prior. I slowly settled in front of the stone. Brushing aside the leaves. Trimming back some of the weeds.

“You’d have been excited.” I told him. “Having orcs here.” I smoothed my skirts down, staring at my hands. “And you would’ve thought it’s funny, that some kid wants to marry me.” I glanced at the stone forlornly. “I hope you’re having a good laugh, wherever you are.” I choked a bit, swallowing hard. “… I miss your laugh. I could use your laugh about now.”

I sniffled, then rubbed the back of one hand at my eye stubbornly. Swallowing again, and looking around. Wondering if any of the other villagers would bother coming here now that they could… Wondering how many fresh graves would be added once the ground thawed. Or if only tombstones would. Being that they had no bodies left to bury…

“I’m such an idiot.” I told the cold stone, my voice frightfully weak. “I should never have let that stupid kid go. I should never have… Ugh.” I rubbed at my face with both hands, feeling them shake as I did. “If the villagers ever find out that I’m…” I stopped, my voice breaking. “… I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me it’s not my fault. Even though it is. Gods above… I can’t believe how much I miss you sometimes.” I rubbed at my eye with the back of my hand again. “I miss your hugs. I miss your smile. I even miss the goofy jokes you made.” I choked again, my throat feeling tight. “… The villagers still hate me. They pretend they don’t, but maybe now that the men are back they’ll remember. That I’m angry and bitter and awkward.” I sighed, shaking my head a little. “They should hate me now more than ever, even if they don’t know why.”

I stared off towards the square, my face blank. My heart feeling numb and achy. Letting the cold seep into my legs through the frozen ground. Feeling the tips of my fingers fall asleep with the chill. The balls of my cheeks tingled with the cold too, and I felt the stinging of it at the tips of my ears. Still I sat for a long time. Wishing I could sleep, but unable to remember the last time I had been able to without the screams filling my ears. Without the guilt racking my chest.

I sniffled again, then rubbed at my nose.

“… You’d have liked Izu’lemi.” I said softly, still staring off at the village. “He’s a lot like you, in some ways… Maybe how you could’ve been, if things had been different.” I scoffed lightly, dropping my gaze to my hands. “Not at all like his father. The picture of big and stupid.” My heart skipped suddenly as I remembered Jou’kiel’s hand around mine. Remembered the smell of him as he had leaned across me. “… He’s annoying too.” I continued stubbornly. “And cocky. And arrogant… The man is like a barn; big, but full of straw and shit.” My lips almost twitched into a smile. “Gods only know how he does anything. So full of hot air, I’m surprised a stray needle hasn’t popped him yet.” I glanced back at my brother’s tombstone, falling quiet. Thinking for a moment. “… You probably would’ve liked him too.” I admitted. “You liked everyone. And Jou’kiel is…” I stopped again, then shook my head. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter does it?” I sighed, reaching out and laying my palm flat against the rock. “You’re just a stone now… though you’re still a good listener…” I dropped my hand and sniffled a final time. “I should get back. Before someone does something stupid… I owe them that. More than they know.”

I stood slowly, brushing my hands down my skirt, then running my hand over the stone a final time. Silently promising to come back soon. I didn’t say anything else though. I could never actually say ‘goodbye’ outloud. I stubbornly pretended I had never realized that, as I did every time I visited, and wiped at my face. Clearing my throat and straightening myself out.

Stomping back to the village with a scowl fixed back in place.

------

Some men had never come back, and some had found they had nothing to come back to. There was some prayers said, now that we could fully assess who was missing. But the pressing issue of being able to survive the winter took the majority of people’s focus.

With those men that had returned, it was faster to gather wood. Soon the forest line had receeded an extra few yards for all the trees cleared from it. The women gathered what they could from the bushes there as well, and were able to sow a few of the small fields within eyeline of the wall. A few old stores were pulled out of cellars from those houses and the ones further from the square. Some clay and thatch was gathered from rubble and source alike. A few chickens were re-captured and brought into the village, as well as other livestock that had escaped their pens and managed to survive the few weeks untended.

I set snares and traps at the treeline. Away from the lumbermen. I persuaded an orc at the wall to lend me his huge bow and arrows while he watched, and shot a few geese that had dared fly too close to the village. I missed my own bow. Their bow had been hard to wrangle, but with some jest and some broken pointers, the orcs had taught me the best way to manage it. They seemed amused, and perhaps a bit impressed with my skill as a hunter. I made a point not to linger.

Overall, I avoided orcs and villagers alike as best I could. Preferring to keep to myself as I always had. Waiting for formal permission to leave to hunt. Escort or otherwise, I itched to get as far from the village as I could. Wondering if I would be permitted to go to my cabin, or if I would have to make due with the hunting supplies I could garnish from the orcs.

I was getting more and more restless. It didn’t help that I still wasn’t sleeping very much. That I still stayed in the drafty attic of one of the most decrepit buildings in the square. So when the quickly raising voices reached me, I was more than willing to track down the source only a few buildings down from my own make-shift shelter.

I found two orcs shoving each other back and forth in one of the less sturdy buildings still mostly standing. A fact very evident considering one half of the building was completely gone. Leaving the brawl visible to the square. I heard the villagers shouting their protests, but the brutes didn’t seem to hear them. And the villagers weren’t interested in getting any closer to make sure they did.

I had no such qualms, and ducked through the remains of the doorway.

“Hey, dumbasses!” I shouted at them.

They paid me no mind, the largest grabbing the other by the shoulders, then slamming him against the wall. The whole building shook, and I looked up at the ceiling warily. I had to jump to the side a minute later as the two orcs toppled and rolled across the ground. Slamming into the opposite wall and sending a shudder through the remaining stone again.

I reached down, picking up one of the newly loosed stones, and chucked it at the biggest orc. He froze, shoving his opponent back. Looking over his shoulder at me.

“Knock it off!” I said.

I had their attention now, and they turned almost as one to address me. Slugging each other a final time before climbing to their feet. The biggest taking a lumbering step forward. Baring his teeth.

I pointed to the half crumbled ceiling, then gestured around to the building at large.

“You idiots are going to knock it down on yourselves.”

If they understood me at all, they made no sign of it. Another lumbering step, another angry snarl. The other orc gathered closer, shoving at the first as they rallied for space. Which had them shoved back heavily into the wall, and the building shook and groaned again. I glanced about warily, then back at the biggest orc.

“Are you stupid??” I demanded, then pointed to the door. “Go fight somewhere else!”

I barely dodged his swinging fist and staggered back a few steps. The pair shoved at each other, then advanced towards me. In my haste to avoid being struck, I had moved away from the door, and now found myself effectively cornered. Realizing that with each angry stomping foot, the building became more and more likely to collapse.

But the pair were obviously not of joint determination. They shoved at each other again as they approached, then fully spun at each other to roar. Slamming each other into the wall. Shaking the foundations again. Perhaps fighting over who got to kill me. I grabbed another rock, chucking it at them. Then another. They snarled, spinning back on me. One even went so far as to pick up a stone as well. I ducked and it crashed into the remains of the wall behind me, and I felt mortar fall into my hair.

“Idiots!” I snapped, making sure to manuver back towards the door. I moved to pick up another rock. Even craned my arm back to launch it at them in retaliation. Hoping to draw them out that way.

Something firm grabbed my wrist, halting the throw before I could fully swing it forward. Twisting and forcing the rock to drop from my grip. I kicked instinctively, and heard an irritated grunt. Then the offender swung me fully around towards them.

“By the gods,” Jou’kiel groaned, “Why is it always you?”

I wriggled in his grasp, my scowl growing. “They are obviously punishing me.”

He tossed my hands back to me, turning and speaking to the other orcs angrily in their native tongue for a moment. The orcs grunted almost as one, shooting me a disapproving look. Then turned and made their way out of the building.

“I don’t know who is worse,” Jou’kiel sighed, switching back to Common as he returned his attention to me, “You or Izu.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You act like one.”

“I act like a child??” I snapped. “You are the one stomping around in a tantrum all the time.”

He growled, stalking a few paces around me. “Why are you even here? This building-”

“Could come down at any minute.” I interrupted, which had him glancing around warily. “And your stupid warriors were playing with its frame. Asking for it to collapse onto innocents in the next building over.”

“You have no authority to force them out.”

“I have the right to keep us safe!” I argued. “None of you have brains enough to do it!”

His growl filled his chest, his face, and his brow dark. “Quiet yourself,” He warned, “Or I’ll do it for you.”

“What, don’t want your warriors to hear you being scolded like a child?” I quipped, not bothering to lower my voice. “Or don’t want your prisoners to see that you are an idiot?”

Jou’kiel leered over me, his scowl deepening. “Don’t push me, huntress. I have been civil-”

“Civil?” I interrupted angrily. “You call this civil?? Of all the arrogant, bull-headed-��

He grabbed my arm roughly as he bared his teeth, then stopped, shaking his head. Glancing around angrily.

“Come with me.” He hissed instead, already dragging me behind him without waiting for a response.

“Let me go!” I half shouted, trying to tear my arm free.

He dragged me out of the building, then down the street. I saw a few of the orcs raise their heads as we passed, saw a few eyes peek out from behind shuttered windows. I punched at his arm with my free hand, but found it hurt my knuckles more than it seemed to faze him. Deciding instead to try and dig in my heels. Both made little difference, and I staggered after him as he steadfastly plowed forward. Finally ducking into a building a few yards away and slamming the door behind us so hard the foundation rattled.

He tossed me free, and I glared up at him angrily.

“What is your problem??”

“YOU.” He snapped. “YOU are my problem, you foul, irritable, bane of my existence.”

I scowled at him. “What, for saving your stupid orcs from being crushed alive?”

“Not-”

“Or for saving your stupid son?”

His eyes darkened and he bared his teeth at me again. “Don’t.”

I tossed up my hands. “Maybe for making you realize you aren’t just ‘passing through’. That the people here aren’t just ‘unfortunate ramifications’.”

Jou’kiel stalked closer, glowering at me. “Do you really think yourself high and mighty?” He snarled. “So beyond repercussion?”

“Well, I’m certainly no prince.” I jeered.

He nearly shook, gesturing angrily with his hands. “You have no idea what I have done. What I have sacrificed. Don’t you dare judge me.”

“Should I let you judge me??” I shot back. “Should I just roll over and accept your boot on my back?” I waved my own hands about dramatically. “The poor little prince. He does suffer so.”

I almost jumped as Jou’kiel let out a roar, his jaw dropping wide and baring his huge teeth. Spittle shooting out as he shook his head and threw his arms wide. One massive stride and he closed the distance between us. Shoving me against the wall before punching it with his fist so hard mortar trickled down on us. I refused to give him the satisfaction of flinching, fixing him with an angry glare.

“Gods above!” He snarled at me, his Common more harsh with the effort of using it in his rage, his hands reaching as if to strangle me, “I don’t ever know if I want to KILL you or… Or…”

He stopped short, breathing so heavily his broad shoulders heaved. His copper eyes hot and blazing as they stared me down. I glared back at him, feeling my heart in my throat. My own chest fluttering with nerves. Feeling a sound heat rising in me, feeling goosebumps race across my skin. He was so close, his hot breath splashed across my face. His nose practically brushed mine, and his thick braids were like a curtain around us. Shielding us in our own private bubble. Away from time and place.

“Or what?” I dared press breathlessly.

He let out a hefty huff which had the ends of my hair shifting in its wake. I noticed him shift closer, noticed his big muscles seeming to quiver with restraint. His fingers twitching as he pressed his palms against the wall. I felt my own tense at the sight.

“Or what??” I snapped again impatiently, unable to stand the coil of my nerves, and he growled, “Or WHAT, you big, stupid-”

I jumped as he suddenly crashed his mouth against mine.

The kiss was quick, and harsh. Almost painful. Even when he tore away a breath later, I felt the shape of his mouth on mine. I fell back following it and let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. My lips feeling like they were on fire. He stood there, panting a little, his hooded eyes flicking back down to my mouth. His big tongue tracing the inside of his.

My hand had come up instinctively with his movement, as if to push him away. But now, I felt it rest against the bare skin of his collar. Felt my breath sputter and skip. Felt my heart race and my face flush. He shifted slightly, and I shifted with him. More attuned to his body than I was my own. I tilted my head back, my hand inching up to trace along his thick neck. As if it had always been there. Feeling the anticipation building between us as the realization of our shared interest spread.

Then it snapped. And he plowed back in, breaking the tension with his mouth against mine once more. I responded eagerly this time. Grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into me. Feeling his hand go from the wall to my waist to curl my body against his. He bowed over me, encompassing me with his girth. Pinning me back to the wall a moment later as his lips greedily sought mine. His tusks pressed against my cheeks as his mouth worked against my own, and as I felt his thick tongue roll out I brought mine to meet it. Straining deeper, wider, to accommodate him. To suck in his heat as desperately as he sought mine. Feeling his hands grope and tug and pull. Bruising soft skin, pinning me first to his body, then to the wall, then back against his body as we writhed against each other.

I fed him a gasp as his hands caught under my thighs and he hoisted me up. Carrying me two steps to the left to plant my buttocks on a table there. It groaned as he leaned over me. Tearing our mouths apart only to bury his against the skin on my neck. There was a deep rumble of desire in his chest that rippled through me as he tugged my legs to either side of him. Submerging himself in my flesh. Kissing, licking, biting. Pushing the top of my blouse down to find the sensitive parts there. Feeling the hairs of his beard trail over my collarbone then between my breasts.

I wrapped my arms around his head. Running my hands over his braids. Squeezing my thighs around him. Letting my head roll back to allow him better access. He gave another rumble of pleasure, his groping hands eliciting another small gasp from me as his mouth worked across my skin. He pushed my skirt up further, pulled me closer to the edge of the table. Pressing himself against me through his furs.

I tried to shake my head. Tried to pull myself out of the heat that had engulfed me. Blinking rapidly and trying to draw in one deep breath amid the panting fever.

“Jou’kiel,” I breathed finally, my voice weak with want.

He growled against me. Leaning away at last only to plunge back to my mouth. I couldn’t help losing myself for a moment again there. Pulling him down with my hands cupped against the back of his head and neck. Relishing in the taste of his hot breath.

But a sudden rush of guilt filled me like a cold bucket of water. I turned away, pushing him back a little. He growled again, kissing my cheek, my jaw. Biting lightly at my ear.

“Jou’kiel,” I said again, more firmly.

He nibbled at my skin. “I like when you say my name.” He rumbled, his Common harsh with his arousal. His words hot against my flesh. “Especially with your cunt pressed against me.”

I let out a breathy huff. Struggling not to let myself be drawn in to his tidal wave again. Feeling the guilt slowly wrapping choking fingers around my lungs. I shook my head.

“We can’t.” I managed finally.

He pulled back sharply. Staring at me in surprise. His hands stilling, his heat ebbing.

“… What?”

I shook my head again. “We can’t do this.”

He ignored my hands attempting to push him further back for a moment. A small scowl forming in the corners of his mouth. Looking as though his brain was not fulling connecting my words with any meaning yet.

“Why the hell not?” He said finally.

“Just…” I struggled, fumbling with words. Then shoved him angrily. “Just get off me!”

He did step back. Dropping his hands. Staring at me a bit dumbfounded. He looked around, as if the answer he was looking for might be in the room with us. I rubbed my own hands across my face, trying to cool the heat still lingering.

“… Did you not… was this…” He looked back at me, confusion lining his face.

I dropped my hands, sighing. Trying unsuccessfully to fix my skirts still half bunched around my hips.

“We can’t let this happen again.” I told him. Finally sliding forward and dropping to my feet. Finding my legs a bit shaky.

“… So you did like it.” He reasoned. “You did want it.”

I refused to look at him. “It doesn’t matter.”

A low growl formed in his chest, and he shook his head. “Can’t stand the thought of sleeping with the enemy, is that it??” He shoved the nearest unfortunate item, which happened to be the table, and it slammed against the wall loudly, “Can’t bear the idea of your cunt being wet for me?”

I slowly fixed my blouse, my hands shaking. My heart aching in my chest. I blinked back tears, still staring at the ground. Then I set my jaw angrily.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I grumbled.

He glaried at me with a fiery look in his eyes. “Don’t lie to yourself.” He shot back.

“I don’t need some stupid idiot groping me.” I snapped. “Go fuck one of your whores and leave me out of your horny rutting.”

That made him scoff, and he tossed up his hands angrily. “You think I need to pay to fuck??”

I scowled. “Obviously you ran out of coin to come sniffing after me.”

“You’re the irritating little bitch with the wet cunt.” He sneered. “Or maybe you realized you couldn’t take an orc even if you didn’t hate us?”

“Get your head out of your ass.” I said bitterly. “Or go drown in the river. Either way, just get the fuck away from me.”

His hands balled into fists. “You vile, wretched twat.” He growled. “If you think-”

“Just shut up and leave me alone.” I interrupted, spinning my back to him to stalk towards the door. My exit belittled by the strange softness of my voice.

He gave a grunt, but it sounded dismissive. I was happy to find my legs obeying me as I made my way to the door. Pulling it open and ducking out before I lost my battle to keep it all together.

To be continued...

[marinehero]

Stares off into the distance. Garp believes in Luffy so much. Believe isn't even the right word, he knows. He knew Roger. He knows if there's anyone who's going to do it, it's Luffy. He knew it early on and it terrified him. Just as he knew Roger's sotry, he knows how this story ends. He's terrified. He loves his grandson. He knows who he works for. He knows the powers in charge. But Luffy kept proving the world wrong again and again and again and even he couldn't deny anymore that if there's anyone who can make it and survive, it's Luffy. He's so damn proud, he always has been. Luffy's going to be the one and he knows it to be a fact as given as the sea.

[astonmartinii]

day five: santa community service | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem single mum!reader

max swore in a press conference and now he's a mall santa with an itchy beard

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 893,092 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: don't swear kids.... on a serious note, i had so much fun meeting the amazing kids of amsterdam (and delivering some gifts)

view all comments

user2: ummmmmm who is that woman ????

user3: that's what you've taken away from FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION MAX VERSTAPPEN BEING A MALL SANTA IN PUNISHMENT FOR SAYING FUCK

user4: ummmm yeah she's snug as a bug in a rug in the back of max's car that's REAL FUCKING INTERESTING

landonorris: why no picture of you as santa... pussy

maxverstappen1: gotta leave some girls for you haven't i mate?

landonorris: well by the looks of the third slide you've already got a girl so it's free range for me right?

maxverstappen1: third slide?

maxverstappen1: OH FUCK

maxverstappen1: she's never going to speak to me again now

landonorris: well you've just sworn again so maybe you'll get more community service and meet her again

maxverstappen1: i'm not dumb i got her number but like now she's going to see this and think i'm a freak :(

landonorris: you'll have to whip out that max verstappen charm again i guess

maxverstappen1: life is a prison

user5: NO ONE POST THE PICTURES OF MAX WITH THE KIDS IT WILL DO IRREPARABLE DAMAGE TO MY OVARIES

user6: i need dad max more than air at this point

danielricciardo: what is this depression session in the comment section maximus - you're a catch even with the creepy instagram etiquette

maxverstappen1: i had to do so much work to convince i wasn't a dork while in a FULL SANTA COSTUME and now i'm not even at step one i'm at step minus 100000000

danielricciardo: that's not very christmas spirit of you maxie

maxverstappen1: life is unfortunately not a hallmark movie so like she'll be a normal person, see that i've posted a pic of her sleeping to my 13 million followers and run for the hills

danielricciardo: okay humble brag

maxverstappen1: DANIEL HELP

danielricciardo: i think you'll be just fine

maxverstappen1: well thanks for nothing - USELESS

user7: oh so max gets generational headloss in all settings

user8: he's so real for that tho

user9: if this doesn't sort itself out i pray for george russell

georgerussell63: ???

user10: he is going to take it out on you ❤️

georgerussell63: oh fuck

maxverstappen1: @fia get him

yourusername

liked by landonorris, user11 and 2,457 others

yourusername: went for the mall santa and met her hero, how will i ever top this now?

view all comments

user12: FOUND YOU

yourusername: this is very creepy who are you

user12: oh i'm just a humble f1 fan who watched max verstappen crash out over thinking he fumbled you

yourusername: fumbling me? has he seen himself?

user12: oh girl i've just stalked your entire account your face card is insane

yourusername: i do not know what that means

user13: YOU HAVE A KID ????

yourusername: yes?

user13: so we could feasibly get step dad max - DILF MAX?

yourusername: are you people okay?

user13: he's down bad for you queen you gotta get in there

yourusername: excuse me?

user14: WAIT - you don't have a husband right?

yourusername: no...

yourusername: wait why am i replying to you people?

landonorris: how did they find you first i put so much effort into my investigation

oscarpiastri: you annoyed max until he gave you her name?

landonorris: RIGOROUS

yourusername: you people have a lot of followers, what are you doing here?

landonorris: max is your daughter's hero and you don't know me?

yourusername: damn that's an ego

landonorris: excuse me ?

yourusername: idk maybe my daughter loves max because he's plastered everywhere in the netherlands - she watches the races with my friends

landonorris: we drive the orange cars

yourusername: oh she hates yall

yourusername: i might have to block you two

oscarpiastri: I DID NOTHING IT WAS ALL HIM

maxverstappen1: ummm hi!

maxverstappen1: I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T THINK I'M A CREEP

yourusername: why would i think you're a creep?

maxverstappen1: NO REASON

maxverstappen1: so that coffee?

yourusername: okay .....

yourusername: i was going to text you but yk kids and she's addicted to the games and has held my phone hostage

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 702,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & yourusername

landonorris: didn't leave monaco fast enough and now i'm stuck third wheeling - AND lola still hates me :(

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user16: CAN WE SLOW DOWN WE'RE GOING SO FUCKING FAST

yourusername: isn't that kinda their job?

user16: oh you gagged me there, congrats queen

user17: okay well now i'm obsessed with them and i need to know why lola hates lando so much

landonorris: she's a hater - just like her mother

maxverstappen1: y/n is allowed to hate you. in fact i'll support her in all of her hating i don't care

landonorris: i literally stayed for an extra day so we could all do something fun for christmas and HERE WE ARE

yourusername: i don't hate you lando, but i have to support my daughter in her dreams

landonorris: SHE SAID HER DREAMS WERE HER EXPLODING MY CAR WITH HER MIND

yourusername: LOL

landonorris: that is not 'LOL' that's attempted murder - i'm going to put your child in jail

maxverstappen1: woah lando that's too far

landonorris: and telepathic murder isn't ?

maxverstappen1: first of all it's telekinesis and second of all - lola can do what she wants

user18: oh boy he got attached quick

yourusername: this is nothing compared to lola

maxverstappen1: what? i love my biggest fan

danielricciardo: well fuck me i guess

maxverstappen1: yes

danielricciardo: max! y/n is right there (text me later)

maxverstappen1: oh wait ewwww

maxverstappen1: i meant get fucked.

yourusername: you can complain about third wheeling all you want but i'll deal with it if you keep taking these cute ass photos

landonorris: it's torture being an artist 💔

maxverstappen1: we also paid for everything lando, you can deal with watching your best friend being in love

landonorris: we're best friends ???

maxverstappen1: i'm your best friend - you're third at most

landonorris: ????

maxverstappen1: 1. lola 2. y/n 3. lando (maybe)

yourusername: awwwwww you're so sweet darling

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 14,859 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i support the fia's wrongs because they brought you to me

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user19: okay miss girl this is cute but i will NEVER let the fia live

yourusername: oh this is their one pass, next time i'll unleash lola's telekinesis

user19: tell lola that we thank her for her service

user20: but please don't blow up lando please

yourusername: she said orange cars - sorry osc

landonorris: what about a red car?

yourusername: oh she likes charles so no chance

charles_leclerc: taste 💅

maxverstappen1: i guess i'll let them off just this once because i love you

yourusername: you're so generous

georgerussell63: wanna forgive me as well

maxverstappen1: why would i do that?

maxverstappen1: also we're declaring our love for each other do you wanna GET THE FUCK OUT

georgerussell63: lola is talking about blowing up f1 cars with her mind i don't want to be a victim

yourusername: oh she won't blow your car up

georgerussell63: phew

yourusername: she'll bite you in person

georgerussell63: CRIKEY

georgerussell63: well i guess you guys can go back to declaring love now ...

yourusername: thanks i guess?

yourusername: love you maxy, i'm so glad we met you

maxverstappen1: i love you more, i love having both of you in my life

user21: this was very fast but this is also very cute

user22: i think we gotta get lola on sky sports - maybe she'll bite the british bias out of them

yourusername: do NOT threaten her with a good time

yourusername: however, i will say, lola doesn't actually bite she's very well behaved and just has a bit of a feral way about her

maxverstappen1: but it's so adorable :(

hulkhulkenberg: so ... paddock play dates

maxverstappen1: WE'RE THERE

yourusername: that would make the paddock a lot less intimidating for me

hulkhulkenberg: my daughter also prays on the downfall of everyone but me so they'll have that in common

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,245,038 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: maybe santa is real ... love of my life was top of my list this year

view all comments

user25: idk about you guys but i've never seen him happier

user26: after this season i'm so glad the christmas break has treated him so well

user27: i can't wait for the rest of the grid to think he might let up now and then mad max get released first corner in melbourne

maxverstappen1: whatever i gotta do to get that winners trophy for lola

yourusername: this is the happiest holidays we've ever had, you've made my dreams come true and truly are the best person i'd ever want around lola. i love you <3

maxverstappen1: i wouldn't want to be with anyone else now, you guys are it for me x

maxverstappen1: now come downstairs i'm strategically placed underneath the mistletoe

yourusername: there's mistletoe?

maxverstappen1: .... the christmas fairy must of put it up ?

yourusername: you know you don't need an excuse to kiss me right?

maxverstappen1: hehehehehehehehehehe

user28: wow he's such a loser i love him

yourusername: he's * my loser and * he LOVES ME

yourusername: sorry that was rude

yourusername: but he's so worth showing off

maxverstappen1: i can't wait to show you off to the world on international tv - i gotta mark my territory

yourusername: as if i would ever look anywhere but at you

landonorris: fine! you guys are cute! i'm taking all the credit for connecting you two

maxverstappen1: and just how did you do that?

landonorris: i found y/n's instagram duh!

yourusername: actually @user12 found my instagram

user12: omg shout out

maxverstappen1: i also had y/n's number the whole time...

landonorris: CAN YOU GUYS JUST LET ME HAVE THIS? IT'S CHRISTMAS?

yourusername: you got us socks for christmas ??? (thanks tbf)

landonorris: ALL MY BUDGET WENT TO LOLA'S PRESENT I HAD TO GET ON HER SIDE

maxverstappen1: you mean the mini MCL36 that she's been glaring at since she opened it?

yourusername: i think she's practicing her telekinesis for 2025 ❤️

landonorris: FUCK

yourusername: she just wants maxy to win lando, you can't deny her that

landonorris: i can feel her puppy dog eyes through the phone

maxverstappen1: i'll do anything to win for her - ANYTHING. merry christmas xx

landonorris: that's so threatening

yourusername: that's so romantic

fin.

note: ENJOY

[fushiguro-megloomy]

strawberry wine

[part 2] pairing: modern au!viktor x artist!reader prompt: “if somebody were to kiss me, i’d want that person to be you” tags: you're jayces childhood bff, no use of y/n, alcohol, heavy kissing, drunk kissing, basically just a bunch of buildup towards a smutty fwb part two???, viktor being a menace wc: 4k notes: AU where nobody is sick or dying yay! also i think i managed to keep this pretty gn!reader but any future parts will be afab/fem art is from pinterest, dividers from chachachannah & webc00re

You never meant for things to get this far. You told yourself it was just a little fun, harmless and fleeting—nothing more. You had a career to focus on, friendships in the balance. But now, here you are, pacing the living room carpet thin, your cuticles raw from nervous chewing, and your thoughts spiraling into places you swore they’d never go.

It feels juvenile, almost laughable, like some smitten teenager waiting by the phone and sneaking kisses in shadowed corners. You were supposed to be above this, weren’t you? I mean, as a grown adult you should know how to keep it casual, uncomplicated. 

But nothing about this is simple anymore. Not the friendship. Not the secrets. And certainly not the way your heart betrays you every time his name crosses your mind.

It definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Moving back to the city hadn’t been on the bingo card for this year, but here you were. Your life had been tucked away in the quiet of rural landscapes, where your art had room to breathe—endless skies, rolling hills, and the kind of solitude that made inspiration flow without any distractions. But your career had expanded, and with that expansion came the relentless pressure of galleries, art buyers, and a future that demanded more from you than that peaceful escape ever could. 

So, the city had called you back. Concrete towers, crowded streets, the city offered more. Shows. Opportunities. Jayce. The only thing about this cold, steel jungle that still felt like home. Jayce—your childhood friend, your constant in a world that had never stopped changing. Thrown together since you were practically in diapers, he was the one piece of your old life that had somehow survived the years and distance between you two. And now, after what felt like an eternity, here he was, sprawled across your tiny couch, looking too comfortable for someone who was just supposed to be a guest. The apartment was a bit small, as city apartments tended to be—packed between towering neighbors—but Jayce’s presence was the only thing about it that felt remotely like home.

"You know," he said, half-lounging. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You didn’t look up from your canvas, your brush already dipping into the paints like second nature. “Who?”

“Viktor” 

You paused, only long enough for your brush to hover midair before you flicked your gaze in his direction. “Ah, yes. The famous business partner.”

Jayce’s grin didn’t falter, but there was something softer behind it now. “Yeah, something like that. But seriously, he’s a good guy. Brilliant, actually. You two would get along.”

You didn’t reply at first. Instead, you let the brush finish its arc, eyes back on your work, moving with the rhythm of a familiar task. “mhm” you murmured, distracted by the way the strokes of paint were bleeding together. “If he’s anything like you, how bad can it be?”

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. His voice took on that soft  tone he reserved for moments when he really wanted to get his point across. “I’m serious, okay? I want you two to meet. You both mean a lot to me, and I think you’ll really hit it off.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt a weight behind his words, pushing against you with silent pressure. “Yeah? I’m sure it’ll happen, then.”

Jayce’s eyes lit up, a flash of triumph in them, like he’d just won some small but important battle. “You’ll see. I’m telling you—when you meet him, you’ll click. I know it.”

You leaned back in your chair, releasing a slow exhale, the kind that said everything without saying anything at all. A nonchalant nod was all you offered, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of saying more. “Fine. Fine. I’ll meet him. But don’t make a whole thing out of it.”

Jayce chuckled, and there was an odd note of relief in the sound, like he’d just been granted some unspoken permission. “No big deal, I swear. But you’ll see. You two are more alike than you think.”

-

When you finally did meet Viktor, Jayce was practically vibrating, his energy as unsubtle as ever. It had been after one of your gallery openings, a night you’d half-dragged yourself through on fumes and politeness. Your heels had barely cleared the threshold of his apartment before the faintest twinge of suspicion began to creep in—something about the way he hovered, grinning like a man with a secret.

“You deserve a good meal after tonight,” Jayce had said, ushering you in with the kind of charm that usually preceded one of his schemes. “Thought you’d want to celebrate somewhere that doesn’t reek of overpriced wine and small talk.”

You rolled your eyes but let yourself be corralled, the promise of food outweighing the odd note in his voice. His large apartment, at least, was familiar territory: warm, cluttered with bits of tech and sentimental junk from years past, the faint scent of whatever candles he refused to admit he hoarded lingering in the air.

And then you heard it—the low murmur of another voice, sharp-edged and vaguely amused, drifting from the kitchen.

Jayce froze, his grin faltering for a split second before it reappeared, brighter than ever. “Oh, right,” he said, far too casually. “Viktor’s here.”

You blinked, narrowing your eyes at him. “You conveniently forgot to mention that part.”

“Come on,” he pushed, throwing an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward the source of the voice. “It’s no big deal. Just dinner. You’ll like him, I promise.”

And there he was, perched by the kitchen counter with a faintly perplexed look on his face. He was slimmer than you’d expected, pale and sharp-featured, with hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in days. His amber eyes flicked up to meet yours, narrowing slightly as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that had just been placed in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, his accent lilting and crisp, “so this is the infamous artist.”

You shot a glare at Jayce, who was already heading for the stove with the kind of forced cheer that made it painfully clear he’d orchestrated the whole thing. “You owe me for this,” you muttered under your breath, stepping further into the kitchen.

Viktor’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk appearing. “And here I thought I was being ambushed. Seems we’re both victims of his enthusiasm.”

Jayce turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, his expression utterly unrepentant. “You’ll thank me later.”

The dinner was simple but undeniably good—Jayce’s doing, of course. The man couldn’t let anyone step into his apartment without insisting they be properly fed, and tonight was no exception. Roast chicken, buttery vegetables with rice, warm bread that filled the space with its yeasty aroma—it was the kind of meal that made you feel at home even when you weren’t.

Conversation flowed easily around the table, mostly carried by Jayce, but Viktor wasn’t exactly quiet, either. He had a way of chiming in at just the right moment, his dry humor landing squarely between Jayce’s more exuberant anecdotes and your own occasional contributions.

“You mean to tell me,” Viktor said at one point, leaning back slightly in his chair, “that Jayce still hasn’t learned to cook rice without burning it? After all these years?”

Jayce, halfway through explaining some disastrous culinary attempt from his youth, turned to glare at him. “Excuse me, this rice was cooked perfectly.”

“It was fine,” you agreed, though the memory of a slightly crunchy bite or two made your lips twitch in amusement.

Viktor’s amber eyes sparkled as he gestured broadly. “Oh, fine! A glowing review, truly. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jayce groaned, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Viktor said, raising his glass in a mock toast, “here I am. Invited to dinner. Again.”

Jayce just rolled his eyes and went back to his story, leaving you to glance at Viktor with a small smile. He caught it, of course, and gave a little shrug as if to say, what can you do? For all his sharp humor, he was easy to talk to, his wit balanced by an underlying warmth that kept him from coming off as too cutting.

Which was why you were only mildly surprised when the spoon incident happened.

Dinner was winding down, Jayce had disappeared into the kitchen to fuss over coffee, leaving you and Viktor to handle the cleanup.

He moved with a surprising ease, balancing a stack of plates in one hand, his cane steady in the other. It was a casual sort of competence, as though he’d long since adapted to whatever limitations life had handed him. You hadn’t thought much of it, impressed by how naturally he maneuvered, until the soft clatter of a spoon hitting the floor broke the quiet rhythm of tidying.

“Ah,” Viktor said, glancing down at the rogue utensil with a faint frown as he set down the plate stack. “Of course.”

You paused mid-step, glancing between him and the spoon. “Need a hand?”

He tilted his head, his expression a little too innocent. “If it’s not too much trouble. You know, the leg and all...”

“Oh, for—” Jayce’s voice floated from the kitchen, half-annoyed but not quite committed to intervening.

You sighed, setting down the napkins you’d been folding. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got it.”

But just as you crouched down, Viktor shifted. A casual tap of his cane sent the spoon skittering across the floor, its metallic clink faintly echoing as it landed farther away.

You froze, staring at the spoon in disbelief, then turned your gaze to him slowly. “You’re kidding.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering across his face. “What?”

“You just—”

“What?” he repeated, wider-eyed this time, his free hand gesturing vaguely toward his cane. “I’m handicapped.”

Jayce reappeared in the doorway, a coffee pot in hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face. “Viktor.”

“What?” Viktor said again, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I am!”

Jayce muttered something unintelligible as he poured coffee, his focus shifting between you and Viktor like he couldn’t decide which one of you deserved his scolding more. Meanwhile, you straightened, crossing your arms as a grin tugged at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you said, stepping across the room to retrieve the spoon—again.

“Very generous,” Viktor agreed, his tone breezy. “Honestly, it’s quite inspiring. Jayce, you should take notes.”

Jayce groaned, setting the coffee pot down with a little too much force. “You’re both ridiculous.”

But you were already laughing, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. As you returned the spoon to the table with a pointed look, Viktor gave you a small, almost triumphant smile. And maybe, you could see what Jayce meant when he’d said you’d get along.

-

The first time you realized you might feel more than just friendship for Viktor was when you noticed the way your sketches had started to change.

It had been weeks—maybe even a couple of months—since that dinner with Jayce, when you had awkwardly danced around each other, getting to know one another. The initial weirdness had faded into easy companionship, and you found yourself spending more time with Viktor than you expected. You hadn’t quite noticed it happening, but somewhere along the line, you’d become an unintentional trio. Jayce had been bursting with barely-contained glee at how easily the two of you seemed to get along, and it made your chest warm, knowing how much that mattered to him. It felt... right, this newfound ease between the three of you, a quiet sort of harmony that made you smile more than you expected.

But as the days passed, something shifted without you realizing it. You were at home one evening, flipping through your sketchbook, the soft pastel dust smudging the edges of the pages as your fingers moved. The forms you’d drawn were abstract models, capturing shapes and shadows in a fluid, organic way. It wasn’t anything new—nothing that stood out. But then, you stopped.

There, in the shadows of the page, you saw it.

The subtle arch of a jawline. The curve of lips that you knew too well. Even the moles, small and almost unremarkable, but there they were—on the page, right beneath your fingertips. You blinked and flipped to another sketch, only to see it again. A line here, a shadow there. It wasn’t him exactly, but it was.

To the untrained eye, maybe it wouldn’t have been obvious. Hell, maybe even to you on any other day, it might’ve gone unnoticed. But now, in the quiet of your studio, the shapes were almost unmistakable. The soft angle of his nose, the way his eyes looked when he was thinking too hard, the way his smile would pull up on one side when he was being particularly smug.

You frowned, setting the sketchbook down, your hands hovering above it as if it had betrayed you. Was this some kind of coincidence? Or was it something more, something you had been avoiding realizing? You’d never consciously set out to draw him, but there he was, tucked into the lines and curves of your art like an uninvited guest you hadn’t known you were entertaining.

It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Of course it was just... coincidence. But even as you tried to convince yourself, there was a small, unspoken truth sitting in your chest, heavy and undeniable, and the first time you realized Viktor might see you as more than just a friend was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it hit you all the same.

He mentioned a piece you’d shown him, his tone thoughtful. “You’ve been doing something different lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s a change. It’s...” His gaze flickered to yours, then dropped back to the floor, but the brief flash in his eyes sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “...more. More than what you usually show.”

The words themselves were harmless, even complimentary, but it was the way they hung between you that made something inside you stir—something you couldn’t name, not yet. You didn’t think much of it at first, but the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary made your breath catch. The way the corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile, not teasing, but... fond.

It was a simple thing. A fleeting moment. And yet, it lingered in your mind as you retreated to your apartment, your thoughts whirling with the possibility that Viktor—your friend, the one you had so casually laughed and bantered with for months—might be seeing you differently, too.

The shift was subtle, but it was there. And it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

-

Everything came to a boiling point one night at your apartment. You’d ventured into town earlier that day, mostly for a change of scenery, and happened upon a small farmers market. You couldn’t resist grabbing a few bottles of strawberry wine, its sweetness and fruity undertones practically calling your name. Jayce had scoffed at it when you got back, claiming it was too sugary to have any real punch. “There’s no way I’ll even get drunk off this,” he’d muttered with a dismissive wave.

An hour later, he was sprawled out on your pullout, snoring softly with a stupid grin plastered across his face. You and Viktor stood nearby, both trying—and failing—to suppress your amusement at how quickly Jayce had succumbed to the wine’s effects. For all his size, Jayce was a surprising lightweight.

“I swear, every time,” you said, laughing quietly.

Viktor, leaning against the doorway, gave a soft chuckle. “Some people just don’t know when to stop.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing over at the slumbering man. “Guess we let him sleep it off.”

“Let him have his beauty rest,” Viktor teased, his voice light as he nodded toward the bottles. “We can always finish it ourselves.”

So you did, winding up on the roof with the cold night air around you. The worn-out couch up there had seen better days, but it was still enough to settle into and talk, a simple quiet comfort settling over you both. The soft glow of string lights and the silvered moonlight made the world feel like it was wrapped in a quiet hush despite the never ending sounds of the city. You both settled into the couch, the cushions sinking in the middle, which pushed you just a little closer to Viktor than you'd anticipated.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was easy, like you had spent years in it. You noticed how close you were sitting now—your thighs pressed together, and when you passed the bottle of wine, your fingers brushed his. A small spark of awareness ran through you each time, and you tried to ignore it, feeling your face warm despite the cool air.

The wine was sweet, fruity, and a little stronger than you expected, especially when you found yourself reaching for another sip and another, the soft buzz in your head gradually growing stronger.

By the time the bottle was halfway gone, you were both leaning more heavily into the couch, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how little wine was apparently needed to bring Jayce to the brink of passing out. You felt... lighter. Almost giddy, as if the laughter that came so easily was spilling out along with the alcohol. And Viktor, sitting just beside you, didn’t seem to be immune to it either. His face was flushed in the soft light, his lips curling into an easy smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning back and feeling the warmth of the couch soak into your bones, “I don’t do this enough. I’m so... wrapped up in work and life and... I just forget to relax.”

Viktor tilted his head, eyes slightly narrowed as he watched you. “Relaxing can be overrated,” he said with a smirk, the words a little slower than they’d been earlier. He took another drink from the bottle, his thumb brushing against the glass in an unconscious rhythm. When he passed it to you, your fingers brushed once again, and you lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

“Well, maybe for you,” you chuckled. “But, for me, it’s like... it's like a luxury, I guess. You know? I don’t remember the last time I just sat with someone and... and didn’t feel like I had to be somewhere or do something.”

“You eh–... don’t have to worry about that here,” Viktor said quietly, his voice light, with that usual teasing edge. But something was different in his tone, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the air seemed to shift, the quiet between you stretching into something almost… charged.

You took another sip, your hand a little unsteady now. The whole situation felt absurd—awkward, even, yet strangely intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. Your gaze drifted toward his lips without thinking. It was brief, but enough to send a flutter through your stomach, and suddenly, your mind couldn’t focus on anything but that soft, confident curve of his mouth. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was something else entirely, but you couldn’t seem to think straight anymore.

Viktor shifted closer again, and the couch beneath you groaned as it sank with the weight of it. The space between you closed, and you could feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours shoulder to shoulder, like the alcohol spreading through you, making your pulse quicken.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His presence was a solid thing beside you. His eyes were locked on yours, studying, but still so calm. You could feel the punch of his gaze on you, like it was seeping through your skin, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the wine now—you could feel it all over, heat blooming beneath your skin, making you fidget slightly.

“Sometimes… you get caught up in what you’re doing, and you forget about everything else,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the way your nerves were tightening your chest. “I’ve been focused on my career and—god, I’ve probably been a little… I don’t know, closed off.” You laughed lightly, but it was nervous, unsure of where this was even coming from. But suddenly all your senses were barraged by him, his smell, his eyes.

“I just—I haven’t thought about it. Relationships, I mean. Not in a long time. I don’t know if I’m even ready for anything like that. Not now, not with everything I’m doing.” You trailed off, self-conscious, suddenly feeling like you were saying too much, rambling without stopping. The words seemed to just slip out of you, tumbling over each other.

You took another shaky breath, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to make yourself stop, but you couldn’t. It was like you were helpless.

“And, I mean, if anybody were to kiss me…” You faltered, realizing too late just how much you were giving away. Your pulse quickened, your thoughts jumbled as your mouth just kept moving. “I would want that person to be you.”

The air between you thickened, the silence stretching long and heavy. Your heart pounded in your chest, a nervous rhythm that drowned out everything else. You waited for him to say something, to break the tension that was suffocating you. But there was nothing. Just the weight of his gaze on you, steady and searching.

When you finally dared to glance at him Viktor's expression was unreadable. One thick eyebrow was cocked slightly, and his mouth hung open just enough to suggest he was about to say something, but didn't. He was so close but somehow the distance between you felt infinite.

You opened your mouth to say something, to fill the silence, but before you could speak, his hand moved, his fingers brushing against your jaw in the gentlest touch. The sudden warmth of his palm made your breath catch, and before you could even fully process it, he was pulling you in. His lips met yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters, as if the moment itself was delicate. But that softness didn't last, between the buzz of alcohol, the closeness, the heat between you—it all blurred together. The kiss deepened, quickly turning urgent, hungry. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the bottle slipped from your grasp, its clang against the concrete floor echoing in the quiet of the rooftop

You didn't care. You were too lost in the feeling of him against you, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of need. The kiss grew messier– clumsy, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. You could taste the faint sweetness of wine on him, the mix of flavors making everything feel dizzying overwhelming.

You found yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, as if trying to merge your bodies together, desperate for the contact, for whatever it was that had been building between you two for so long. 

-

The next day was a harsh slap of hangover reality. Your head pounded, your mouth was dry, and every time you glanced at Viktor across the room, your stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

Jayce, of course, was none the wiser. He chatted away over breakfast like nothing had changed, blissfully unaware of the shift that had unraveled everything you thought you’d had under control. And you? You were wholly committed to keeping it that way. It was a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fleeting, drunken thing—something you could both quietly bury and move on from.

At least, that was the plan.

Until it happened again. And then again.

Now it feels like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter, until you’re not sure if you’re going to unravel completely or snap under the weight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But here you are. And you don’t know how to stop.

©lilsworks 2024

[monster-disaster]

I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well

Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals

You should have seen this coming.

You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.

Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.

Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.

"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.

"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.

"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.

No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.

No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.

And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.

When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.

"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."

You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.

Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.

And none of you have to wait for long.

The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.

Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.

"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.

The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."

Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.

For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."

For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.

"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.

You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?

"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.

"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.

You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.

He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."

A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.

"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.

"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.

You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.

His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.

"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."

Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.

"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."

Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.

"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.

Both of you know you don't really have any other option.

The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.

"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.

"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."

You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."

The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.

The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.

The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.

"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.

"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"

"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.

"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"

His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."

"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"

His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.

"What?"

The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.

That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?

When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.

"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.

You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.

_

As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.

Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"

The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.

"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."

"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.

"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.

He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."

"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.

The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.

"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."

"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."

"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.

"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.

When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.

"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.

"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."

"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.

"Diman, little morsel."

Diman.

You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.

When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.

They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.

"You know what to do with them, right?"

"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."

You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.

"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."

You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.

Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.

_

"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.

After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.

Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."

You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.

You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.

"Come on, then."

The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.

For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.

Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.

"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."

"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"

"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.

"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.

With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.

When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.

You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.

"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.

You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"

He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."

"Yeah. I saw."

Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"

"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.

"And it should bother me because...?"

"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."

"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.

"But it’s still your home," you reason.

Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."

Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.

"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"

Diman frowns. "What?"

"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.

"So?" His tone is indifferent.

"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.

For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.

He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."

It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.

Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.

"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.

"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."

"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.

You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.

Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.

As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.

He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.

_

You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.

"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.

"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."

"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."

Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.

"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"

Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"

"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."

"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.

"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.

The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."

You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."

While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.

"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.

"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.

Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."

"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."

He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"

His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.

Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."

You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."

He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.

"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.

"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."

Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"

"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"

He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.

"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."

The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.

"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."

You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.

_

“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.

At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.

In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.

A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”

His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.

You shake your head once more.

Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.

“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.

Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”

Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.

To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”

And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.

That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.

_

"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.

Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."

You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."

"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."

You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.

"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.

Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.

But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.

You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.

As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.

While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.

As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.

One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.

The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.

You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.

When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.

Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.

You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.

Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.

With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.

First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.

The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.

You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.

You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.

Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.

You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.

Diman will come back. He has to.

As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.

It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.

You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.

“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.

Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.

“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.

“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I was waiting for you,” you reply.

“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.

Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.

“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.

You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”

For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.

"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."

"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.

"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."

As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.

By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.

"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"

"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"

He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."

You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."

His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."

"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.

Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.

"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.

"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."

You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.

As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.

"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.

You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.

"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."

"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.

As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."

Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"

"You prepared my food so many times."

"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.

"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"

Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.

His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.

Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”

A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.

"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."

With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.

His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.

"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.

Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.

And when he does, you forget how to breathe.

Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.

"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.

His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.

When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.

He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.

“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.

“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.

He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.

The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.

The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.

Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.

And...

and...

He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.

The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.

“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”

His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.

Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.

When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.

"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.

"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."

"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.

"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."

As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on his side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vise.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

next >

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[favefandomimagines]

Daylight (r.c)

Summary: it takes Rafe some time to realize what he has

AN: this is very one tree hill code with JJ being very Lucas Scott esque lol and this was PURELY self indulgent, no one asked for this

Y/N Routledge sat on the edge of her bed, feeling like she could throw up at any second. The little plastic stick in her trembling hand bore the answer she had been dreading and hoping wasn’t true. The bold letters stared back at her like they were mocking her.

Pregnant.

Her mind raced. It felt as though the world had tilted off its axis. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight. What now? Who could she possibly confide in about this? How could she even begin to explain? The answer wasn’t simple, not when the father was Rafe Cameron.

For a year, their relationship—or whatever it was—had been a secret. Late-night meetings, whispered words in the dark, stolen moments when no one was looking. There had never been an official label on it. Rafe had made sure of that. “Labels complicate things,” he’d said, and Y/N, hopelessly drawn to him despite every red flag, had agreed.

But now? Things were complicated anyway.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. The door swung open, and there stood her brother, John B, looking confused and concerned.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, leaning against the frame. “You’ve been in here for a while.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She shoved the pregnancy test behind her back, but she wasn’t fast enough.

“What’s that?” His eyes narrowed, the easy-going brotherly demeanor replaced with something sharper.

“Nothing,” she blurted out, but John B wasn’t buying it.

He took a step closer. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

The lump in her throat grew too large to ignore, and before she knew it, the words came tumbling out. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

For a moment, John B just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a long exhale, he sat down beside her.

“Okay,” he said carefully. “I’m not gonna ask who the father is. That’s your business. But whoever it is, he deserves to know.”

Y/N looked down at the floor, her chest tightening. “I don’t even know how to tell him,” she admitted. “What if he doesn’t want this?”

John B reached over, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Then you don’t need him. You’ve got me. And the rest of the Pogues. We’ll figure it out. This kid's gonna have a pretty cool life, Y/N. I promise.”

Y/N nodded her head. “I’m so scared, JB.” She whispered. John B nodded his own head before he pulled his sister in for a tight hug.

“I know you are. But you’re gonna be okay. I’m here.” He told her gently.

||

Later that evening, Y/N stood nervously outside Tannyhill. Her palms were clammy, her stomach a mess of nerves. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say a thousand times, but now that she was here, the words felt like they dried up in her throat.

When Rafe opened the door, his blue eyes scanned her face, immediately sensing something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” he asked, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. “I need to tell you something.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed. “Okay…”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, her voice shaking.

For a moment, he just stared at her, his face unreadable. Then, as the realization sank in, his expression darkened.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, Rafe. I’m serious.” Y/N replied.

He ran a hand over his buzzed his hair, pacing the room. “I… I can’t do this right now,” he said, his voice rising. “I’m trying to get my dad’s business back on track, and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant?”

Y/N felt the sting of his words like a physical blow. “I didn’t plan for this, Rafe! But it’s happening.”

He turned to face her, his eyes cold. “Maybe you should just do it alone. I’m not raising a kid with a Pogue.”

That cut deeper than anything else he’d said. Tears burned in her eyes as she stared at him, her heart breaking. “Really? That’s how you feel?” She asked, her voice unsteady. “Yeah, that’s how I feel. Did you really expect we were going to play big happy family?” He snapped.

Y/N let out a teary scoff before her impulsive thoughts took over. She stepped closer to Rafe, the palm of her hand connecting with his cheek, the sound of the slap echoing throughout the foyer. Without another word, Y/N turned and walked out the door.

||

One year later, and Y/N had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. It wasn’t an easy feat, but Y/N had John B and Sarah. Taking their roles as aunt and uncle way too seriously.

Now, Y/N cradled her one-year-old daughter, Isla, as the Pogues gathered on the beach. The little girl was the spitting image of her father—Rafe’s blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes. It was a constant reminder of the man who had walked away.

But Y/N wasn’t alone. John B, Sarah, JJ, Kiara, Cleo, and Pope had rallied around her, becoming Isla’s extended family. JJ, in particular, had taken to the role of honorary uncle with enthusiasm, and Isla adored him.

As JJ held Isla over the waves, her tiny giggles filled the air, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“Look at you, kiddo,” JJ said, spinning her gently. “You’re a natural beach bum.”

From the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed a familiar figure further down the shore. Rafe was there, flanked by Topper and Kelce, his gaze locked on her. Then, his eyes then shifted to JJ and Isla.

He’d have to be an idiot to deny that that one year old was his. Y/N had kept the baby and now he was feeling an influx of emotions. Anger, regret, jealousy. Jealous that another man was raising his child, jealous that another man was in his place.

Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. JJ walked back to Y/N, handing Isla to her with a smile. Y/N couldn’t help but smile down at her daughter. But then she remembered who was watching them. When she whispered something to JJ, he turned and saw Rafe, his expression immediately hardening.

JJ said something else to her and Y/N walked back towards the rest of the Pogues. Rafe and JJ were now walking towards each other, JJ not messing around when it comes to Isla and Y/N.

“You need to leave her alone,” JJ said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s my daughter,” Rafe snapped. “I have a right to know her.”

JJ scoffed. “You don’t get to decide that. Y/N does and you left her. You told her you weren’t raising a kid with a Pogue. You don’t deserve a second of her time.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Just because you’re playing house with my girl and my kid doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.” JJ laughed bitterly. “I’m not with Y/N. I’m just picking up the slack from the coward who abandoned them.”

Rafe stood there, seething with anger and regret, as JJ's words lingered in the air. But before he could say anything more, Topper yelled his name.

||

Later that night, Rafe pulled up to the old Maybank property that was now the Pogues sanctuary. He hadn’t prepared a single thing to say to Y/N. He knew there was a very high possibility that she would slam the door in his face.

What he said to her that night was harsh. He knew that and he knew he couldn’t take it back. He knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer the door. Rafe could hear the laughter and the music playing from the other side.

John B was the one to pull the door open, Isla in his arms. Rafe’s breath caught in his throat upon the sight of the little girl. “What are you doing here?” John B asked. “I’m uh, c-can I talk to Y/N?” He stammered.

Y/N’s brother looked at the man with furrowed brows, not used to seeing him in such an insecure, uncertain state. John B hated Rafe for what he did to Y/N, but Isla deserves a father. No matter how that happens.

“Y/N!” John B called. He turned away and walked back down the hall and soon Y/N appeared in the doorway.

“Can we talk?” Rafe asked. Y/N was hesitant; their last conversation did not go well obviously. “Um, sure. We can talk down at the store.” She answered.

The two walked silently down the dock to the bait shop where Y/N knew no one would be eavesdropping on them.

“Rafe, before you say anything, I didn’t want this to be how you found out. I didn’t want it to come to this,” she said quietly, her voice trembling but steady. “But you can’t just expect me to pretend like you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t want this baby. You walked away. You made your choice.”

Rafe flinched, her words cutting deep. He opened his mouth to argue, but something stopped him. The way she held Isla, the way Isla smiled at her mother, the warmth between them—it hit him all at once. What he had lost, what he could have had, and how foolish he’d been to let pride and fear dictate his actions.

“I—” He paused, swallowing hard. “I screwed up. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to be the kind of man you needed.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, but she didn’t look away. “You had a choice, Rafe. We both did. You made yours. I made mine.”

He took a step forward, his gaze falling to the water, as if he were gathering the courage to say what needed to be said. “I was wrong. And I know it. I’ve been trying to fix everything else, but I didn’t even try with you… with Isla. I was too damn proud. Too scared. But I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want to be a part of her life. I want to be a part of your life.”

Y/N blinked, the warmth in her chest slowly spreading, though the ache of everything that had happened still lingered. “It’s not going to be easy. We can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“I don’t want to,” he said softly. “I want to start fresh. As a father. As someone you can count on.”

A long silence passed between them, the weight of the past still hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Y/N nodded. “Okay. But you need to prove it. You need to show me you’re in this. All in. For her. For me.”

Rafe’s heart pounded, but he could see the flicker of hope in her eyes. Hope he thought he’d lost. “I will. I swear I will.”

||

The sun was shining brightly over the beach house, casting a golden glow over the yard where Isla’s second birthday party was in full swing.

The Pogues, along with Rafe, were scattered across the yard, setting up and getting ready to celebrate the little girl who had brought so much joy into their lives.

John B and Pope were hanging colorful decorations from the trees and the porch, adding the final touches to a vibrant banner that read, “Happy Birthday, Isla!”

Sarah and Kie were carefully bringing out a pile of birthday gifts, wrapping paper and bows sparkling in the sunlight.

Meanwhile, Isla was darting around the yard, laughing as JJ ran after her, pretending to be a superhero.

JJ scooped her up in his arms, making jet engine noises as he spun her around, keeping her distracted so she wouldn’t see the presents waiting inside.

Rafe stood off to the side, leaning against the window frame of the house, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him. His heart swelled as he watched Isla giggle, her little feet kicking in the air as JJ swung her around like a plane.

Her laugh was like music to his ears, a reminder of how much he’d missed and how far he’d come since that day on the beach.

Y/N, who had just finished setting the cake down on the table, noticed Rafe standing there, his eyes soft and full of affection. She smiled to herself and walked over to him, sliding her arm around his bicep as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“What’s got you all smiley?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but teasing.

Rafe looked down at her, a look of gratitude and tenderness crossing his features. “You,” he said simply. “Isla. You letting me back into your life and into hers.”

Y/N’s heart melted, and she lifted her chin to look up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him softly, the kind of kiss that spoke of everything they’d been through and everything they’d built together.

As they pulled apart, John B appeared at the doorway with a grin. “Alright, JJ, it’s time for cake and presents!”

JJ, who had been in the middle of a game of "airplane" with Isla, immediately scooped her up again, making exaggerated flying noises as he carried her inside. Isla squealed with laughter, her little arms flailing in the air as JJ pretended she was a plane about to take off.

As they entered the living room, JJ passed Isla off to Rafe with a grin. “Special delivery!”

Rafe smiled and crouched down to gently set Isla in her chair. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head, a tender moment of fatherly affection. Isla beamed up at him, her tiny hands reaching up to grab his face, a look of adoration in her eyes.

Y/N stood beside them, watching with a heart full of love as Rafe straightened up and looked at her with a smile. This moment was everything they’d fought for—a family, together, stronger than ever.

As Isla sat at the table, her little hands covered in frosting as she tried to grab a slice of cake, Rafe took a seat next to her, helping her scoop up a piece. Y/N joined them, wrapping an arm around Rafe’s shoulder as she placed a kiss on Isla’s cheek.

The room was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and joy as everyone gathered around, ready to celebrate Isla’s special day. It was simple, but perfect. They were a family now, not just by blood, but by choice. And in this moment, surrounded by love and happiness, they all knew they’d found something rare and precious.

John B raised his glass, a grin on his face as he toasted, “To my niece Isla, the brightest light in all of our lives.”

Everyone joined in, lifting their glasses in unison, as Isla clapped her little hands, excited by the attention.

“Cheers!” Rafe said, glancing over at Y/N with a smile that said it all.

Y/N smiled back, squeezing his hand. “Cheers.”

As the cake was passed around, Isla sat contentedly on Rafe’s lap, covered in frosting and giggling with pure joy. And in that moment, as they all looked on at the little girl they had all come to love, Rafe and Y/N knew this was exactly where they were meant to be—together, as a family.

[slayfics]

Katsuki gets caught being sweet to you.

You started to finally catch your breath being at the top of the hiking trail Katsuki had dragged you out too.

"Alright there, it's just us up here so tell me already. What the hell has been going on?"

"That's why you brought me out here?" You asked.

"Just tell me already, stop being so damn stubborn." He pried you impatiently.

"I told you I'm fine Bakugo, just busy like everyone else." You replied.

"Don't give me that shit. Do you think I'm stupid? The other extras are too dense to notice but I can see how exhausted you've been this whole week. So just tell me- what's going on," He said.

"You didn't need to drag me out here on a hike in freezing weather to do this, you know," You said, slightly irritated at Katsuki continuing to push you.

"Ugh- will you stop stalling and talk already," He yelled, causing you to let out an annoyed sigh. Katsuki put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the view, his demeanor softening slightly. "You can talk to me, you know," he added, his voice lower and kinder than before.

You stayed looking at the view for a few more moments trying to figure out how to unpack everything that had been stressing you out. It wasn't like some big thing, but a summation of a bunch of little things that were beginning to become too challenging to manage.

A cold breeze blew by causing you to shiver. You wondered why Katsuki had insisted on bringing you up this mountain to talk to you. He could have pestered you in your dorm where it was warm.

Katsuki stole glances at you occasionally then focused back on the view not wanting to intimidate you too much from his glare. Hiking always helped him to clear his mind and gather his thoughts when they seemed too loud. He thought maybe it would help you too, and being away from all your classmates might make it easier for you to talk to him. At the very least it made it easier for Katsuki to be more vulnerable with you. He found it too daunting to express himself fully with all the attention of his classmates around. It was much easier being only in your company.

You took a deep breath, "I guess- it's just been hard to balance everything recently," You finally spoke, breaking the silence. Katsuki made it easy to open up to, as he had no problem sitting in silence for long extended periods. Others in your life felt the need to fill that silence with useless chatter which always prevented you from sitting in your emotions and being able to formulate them into words.

You took in another breath feeling a lump in your throat form. You hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about what was going on for fear of opening up the flood of emotions and not being able to stop. Now here it was. You didn't want to cry on this fucking hill.

Katsuki patiently waited while you gathered your thoughts.

"It's just been so much and I've been barely keeping up. It's- been getting to me recently. I've been forgetting things I shouldn't. Being unusually upset at things that aren't that big of a deal- and I just- it's dumb." You cut yourself off afraid to say anymore.

"It's not dumb. Don't hold that shit in, it's not healthy," He said encouraging you to keep talking.

You sighed, "I just... know that it could be way worse, and I've been through way worse so- I feel so irritated at myself. What I'm going through now isn't something I can't handle. I know that. So why do I feel so fucking exhausted with everything," You replied wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

"Hmm," Katsuki grunted, processing what you said. "You know, it's ok to be tired, and- to not be perfect. You can't just deny yourself from feeling overwhelmed because it could be worse. If you're exhausted now then those feelings are real- and it's ok to have them," He spoke.

You looked down at the view watching the distant cars pass, "Thanks," You managed to say taking another deep breath.

"You shouldn't wait to handle them until they explode either. Trust me, I know what that's like," He said, causing you to let out a small giggle. "You're too damn hard on yourself you know that?"

You let out a full laugh, "Oh that's pretty good coming from you. You're the pro at having too high expectations for yourself," you laughed.

You and Katsuki were wrapped up in your conversation causing you not to notice approaching classmates in the distance. Mina and Eijiro had also decided to come up the hill after class and spotted both of you in the distance.

"That looks like we shouldn't interrupt," Eijiro said.

"Yeah," Mina agreed. "But maybe... we could get a little closer to make sure everything is ok?" She said, pulling Eijiro into the bushes to spy on you and Katsuki. Eijiro was highly against the plan but was unable to protest for fear of you two hearing.

"Yeah I know I have high expectations for myself... that's why I know what it fucking looks like when you're being too hard on yourself. So- tonight I'm coming to your dorm and, I'm making sure you get to bed at a reasonable fucking time."

Mina's eyes widened as she looked at Eijiro, "Coming to their dorm?!" She whispered, and Eijrio covered her mouth, silencing her.

"You mean Grandpa time at 9 p.m.?"

"Shut up! 9 p.m. is late as hell! You damn idiots just don't know how to have a good sleep schedule! Look I'm making sure you get some sleep and tomorrow I'm taking you out. So- figure out where you want to eat, I don't care where. And I'm not letting you say no you need a break," Katsuki replied.

"You don't have to do that Bakugo."

"Of course, I don't have to but, I want to. So just shut up and let me take care of you ok. You better not be afraid to order enough food this time either! I'm buying so- just get whatever you want, alright?"

"Ok ok," You laughed, feeling your mood brighten.

"Next time, just tell me when you're having a bad day or something. Stop making me drag it out of you. I- worry about you, you know? Now let's go back to the dorms. I see you shivering," He said, beginning to walk back down the hill.

Mina squirmed again under Eijiro's hand, keeping her silent. Her eyes said it all. She was in disbelief at Katsuki's words.

"Here," Katsuki said, holding his hand out and offering it to you. "I'll warm your hand with my quirk," he said.

You grabbed his hand interlacing your fingers with his.

"Don't dare say anything about how sweaty my hands are!" He barked.

You giggled, "How many times do I have to tell you I don't care Bakugo. It's part of your quirk, and your quirk is amazing you shouldn't be self-conscious about it. Besides, I'm always happy to hold your hand," You said as you two walked down the mountain.

"Tch whatever," Katsuki grumbled looking away from you as a small tint grew on his cheeks.

Finally, when you and Katsuki were far enough down the hill, Eijiro released Mina.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!?" Mina exclaimed.

"Shh shhh," Eijiro pleaded.

"WHAT- He wants to take care of them?!? OH MY GOD! They are totally dating right?! That's what he said he's taking them out to eat! And he's sneaking into their dorm! Wait wait- when they held hands it sounded like that had before! AND AND BAKUGO WAS TOTALLY BLUSHING! NO WAY!" Mina said looking like she might pass out from all this information.

"Ashido relax, we shouldn't have heard any of that!" Eijiro replied.

"Yeah but but-" Mina exclaimed, her head spinning. "Who knew Baklugo could actually be so sweet! I can't wait to tell Jiro-" She said, pulling out her phone.

"NO!" Eijiro said, grabbing her phone from her. "Uh- sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh but- you can't tell anyone what we heard ok?" Eijiro said.

"WHAT?! I just heard Bakugo being the sweetest boyfriend ever and you expect me not to say anything about that?!"

"YES!" Eijiro yelled. "Look they both like their privacy and there is a reason they were all the way up here talking, Ashido. I think we should keep this a secret and let them do things at their own pace ok?" He said, handing Mina back her phone.

"UGH-" She exclaimed letting out a big sigh. "I guess you're right... but wow who would have thought Bakugo could be a decent person much less a good boyfriend." She said.

Eijiro just shrugged at her words, "I don't know he's not a bad guy like you all make him out to be you know."

"Wait! You totally already knew didn't you!" Mina said, slapping Eijiro's shoulder.

"Hey! I mean- Bakugo is my best friend you know, so yeah I did..." He answered truthfully.

"You suck! Keeping secrets like that from me!" Mina said playfully, waving a finger at him.

"I'm sorry, but it's their business you know?" He said.

"Yeah I understand, guess we should go back to the dorms too now," Mina suggested.

"Yeah it is pretty cold up here, let's go." He agreed as they both started to walk down the hill. "I don't have Bakugo's quirk or anything but- if you're cold you can hold my hand too if you want," Eijiro suggested.

Mina's face tinted a darker pink as she reached out and grabbed Eijiro's hand.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries

Picture taken from @everypanelofkatsuki, thank you for all your hard work! Go check them out if you haven’t!

[i-kai]

BAD IDEA, RIGHT? (l.hc)

— “yes i know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?”

dating lee donghyuck was every hopeless romantic’s dream. his late night serenades, affectionate touches, secret song dedications, and endless love letters were just some of the things that you — the hopeless romantic that got to live said dream — were on the receiving end of. everything seemed perfect, right?

until you received the worst message ever in your life two weeks before you made your debut. the four words, “we need to talk” made your heart drop from what felt like a skyscraper filled with all the sanity you had left.

after that, you’d never give your ex a chance ever.. again.. right..?

pairing: idol!haechan x idol!reader

genre: smau, exes2lovers, miscommunication, humor, angst, fluff

featuring: nct dream, iso (y/n’s group!), riize, aespa, nct wish

warnings: cursing!!! and a few dirty jokes here and there (only between the adults)

taglist: OPEN

★ PLAYLIST ★ bad idea right? by Olivia Rodrigo — run for the hills by Tate McRae — Fade Into You by Mazzy Star — NIGHTS LIKE THIS PT 2 by The Kid LAROI — get him back! by Olivia Rodrigo — All I Wanted by Paramore — exes by Tate McRae — Heavy by The Marías — Cologne by Beabadoobee — Strangers by Ethel Cain — Casual by Chappell Roan

author’s note: YAYYY new smau!!!! i’m excited for this one teehee i hope u guys are too 💜 leave a reply under this post if you wanna be on the taglist! (*´ω｀*)

TEASER

iso! 彡 happy family 彡 dreamies

OO1 — wanting him to suffer ≠ missing him

OO2 — can’t a woman have hobbies?

OO3 — girl whatever

OO4 — is it casual now?

OO5 — #nonchalant

OO6 — mother and father

OO7 — y/nlore

OO8 — that one friend that’s too isopilled

OO9 — military training

…and more to come!

[p0orbaby]

A Drop in the Ocean

summary: you buy barça for alexia

warnings: none

a/n: requested on the back of a similar one i wrote

word count: 1.5k

-

You don’t even think about it anymore, the money. The commas and zeros stopped meaning anything the moment they started adding up faster than you could count. You don’t remember exactly when it happened, just that it did. One day you were checking the balances on your brokerage account religiously, watching the stock tickers on your phone at breakfast, and then at some point—probably after that second meeting in Geneva or maybe the fourth trip to Dubai—you stopped caring altogether. The accounts became endless, infinite, numbers that only existed on a screen and held no weight in the real world. You could buy anything, do anything. You do.

You’ve bought Barcelona FC. For Alexia.

It wasn’t a particularly difficult purchase, and that’s what bothers you, how easy it was. You’d made a few calls, orchestrated a few backroom meetings with men in navy-blue suits who wear Patek Philippe watches but don’t know how to spell "integrity," and within weeks, it was done. The club—one of the most storied institutions in world football—was now, for all intents and purposes, yours. They were failing in every department that mattered, so it wasn’t hard to make them see reason. The board was crumbling under its own corruption and incompetence anyway, the men in charge having long ago stopped caring about anything other than their own salaries. They saw the numbers you offered and couldn’t sign the dotted lines fast enough.

You’re sitting in the back of your Bentley Bentayga—the V8 model because the W12 felt too much, like gilding the lily—watching the city of Barcelona pass by in blurred streaks of sunlight and shadows. You don’t drive yourself anymore; it’s not that you’ve forgotten how, but why would you bother when you can pay someone to do it for you? You’re sipping on an iced Americano from a local coffee roaster that isn’t La Colombe but isn’t Starbucks either—because Starbucks is for tourists and people who don’t care what real coffee tastes like—and tapping your thumb against the cool glass, counting down the minutes until you get home. Home isn’t the place you grew up, or even the first penthouse you bought in Barcelona—God, you’ve already sold that one off—but the sprawling villa in the hills that overlooks the city like a predator watching its prey.

You’d bought the house because Alexia liked it. You had taken her to see it on a whim, even though you knew you’d buy it regardless of her opinion. But she’d loved it, her eyes lighting up in that way they do when she’s genuinely moved by something, not when she’s just being polite or trying to please you. It’s rare, that reaction, and you’ve noticed it only happens when she’s either on the pitch or somewhere quiet, somewhere she can breathe. It makes you feel something, a tightness in your chest, almost a panic, like the world’s collapsing in on itself, but in a good way. If there even is a good way for that to happen.

Your phone buzzes, vibrating against the buttery-soft leather of your seat. You glance at it and see it’s a text from her.

Training's over. Home soon?

You smile, the kind of smile that makes the people around you uneasy, because they never know if it’s genuine or not. It is, but it’s small, fleeting, like everything in your life that isn't Alexia.

On my way. You send the reply quickly, almost too quickly, like you’re not supposed to care that much. But you do. You always do.

You met Alexia when you were young—stupid young—back when you still believed that success was something you had to fight for. She was everything you weren’t: grounded, focused, humble. Even now, with all the accolades and the Ballon d'Ors and the fanfare, she still feels *real* in a way you don’t anymore. She still eats cereal for breakfast sometimes, not some overpriced organic granola shipped in from the Swiss Alps. She’ll sit on the sofa in her sweatpants and watch trashy reality TV with you, her feet in your lap, like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like she’s not the face of women’s football, the woman everyone wants to be. You want to be her too, sometimes.

But then you remember: she’s yours. And you’re the one with the power, the one pulling the strings now. You’re the one who’s going to fix everything for her.

You think about the RFEF, the Royal Spanish Football Federation, and how utterly revolting they are, how they’ve mishandled everything about the women’s game. It makes you angry, but not in the way normal people get angry, not in that quick, fleeting way. Your anger is cold, calculated, the kind of anger that doesn’t make itself known until it’s too late. You’d called in favours—favours you didn’t even know you had—and now you’re restructuring the whole thing from the inside out. The old guard, the men who’ve spent years belittling and undermining women’s football, will be gone soon, and they don’t even see it coming. You’ll replace them with people who actually care, people who understand what’s at stake.

Alexia doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t need to. She already carries enough weight on her shoulders; you see it in the way she moves, the subtle slump in her posture after a long day. She’s been fighting this fight for years, but you can take it from here. You’ll make sure she never has to fight again.

When you finally pull up to the villa, the sky is turning that particular shade of burnt orange that only seems to exist in Spain. The driver opens your door, and you step out, the sound of your Louboutins clicking against the cobblestone driveway. You’re wearing something understated but expensive—a cream-coloured silk blouse from The Row, tailored trousers that cost more than most people’s monthly rent, and a watch that could fund a small country’s healthcare system for a year. You’ve always preferred quiet luxury, the kind of wealth that doesn’t scream but whispers, softly, in the background. Alexia likes that about you. At least, you think she does.

You walk through the front door—minimalist, custom-made, imported from Italy—and the scent of jasmine fills your lungs. Alexia’s perfume. She’s here.

You find her in the living room, sprawled out on the sofa, her legs up on the coffee table, still in her training kit. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, strands falling loose around her face. She’s scrolling through her phone, probably reading up on whatever the media is saying about the latest match, and she looks up when you walk in. There’s that smile again, the one that makes everything else disappear for a moment, just a moment, but long enough to matter.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft, like it’s only meant for you.

You cross the room and sit next to her, pulling her legs into your lap, your fingers automatically tracing circles on her shins. You don’t say anything for a while, because neither of you needs to. The silence between you is comfortable, familiar, the kind of silence that only comes when two people have been through everything together and still come out on the other side.

“I bought the club,” you say, casually, like you’re talking about picking up milk from the store.

Alexia looks at you, her eyes widening for a second before she catches herself. She’s good at that, at pretending nothing surprises her, but you know her well enough to see through it.

“You did what?” she asks, her tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“I bought Barcelona,” you repeat, leaning back against the cushions. “They were fucking it all up, especially with the women’s team. I’m fixing it. For you”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and you can see the gears turning in her head, trying to process what you’ve just said. It’s not that she doesn’t believe you; she does. It’s just…a lot.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says finally, but there’s no conviction in her voice. She knows as well as you do that you don’t *have* to do anything. You want to.

“I did,” you reply, your voice firm. “Because they don’t care about you. Not like I do”

She looks at you for a long moment, and you can see the conflict in her eyes, the push and pull of wanting to argue but knowing there’s no point. You’ve already made up your mind. You always have.

“Thank you,” she says eventually, and the sincerity in her voice catches you off guard. You’re used to people thanking you, sure, but it’s always perfunctory, transactional. This is different. This is real.

You lean in and kiss her, slow and soft, and for a moment, everything is perfect. You don’t think about the money or the power or the corruption you’ve spent years navigating. You don’t think about the board meetings or the backroom deals or the restructuring of the RFEF. You just think about her, and how she’s the only thing that makes any of it worth it.

When you pull back, she’s smiling, and it’s that smile again—the one that makes your chest tighten and your heart race in a way that nothing else does. Not even the money.

“Let’s go fix everything,” you say, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you already have.

[totheblood]

i still hear you. (prologue)

PAIRING: post tlou2!ellie williams x reader

SUMMARY: ellie stumbles upon your self-run town after her life is destroyed, except there's more to this town then what meets the eye. and it seems like there is more to you too.

WARNINGS: 18+ mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x

A/N: i've been working on this one for a while... i hope you enjoy! please send asks, reblog, and reply to this post <;3

WORD COUNT: 3k

"i still hear you laughing, but only for a minute"

Spring couldn’t come fast enough for Ellie. 

The cold still nipped at the exposed skin on her hands, ghosting the phantom limbs of the two fingers she was now missing. Everything was cold. The tip of her nose, her ears, and most importantly her heart. As she wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go, she knew there was one place she couldn’t go: home. 

Jackson was no longer a place for her. Joel was gone, Tommy thought she was weak, and Dina…Well, Dina wanted nothing to do with her. Dina had a lot she could blame Ellie for before Ellie left, but she never did. She stayed. And now, on top of all of that, Ellie had left one of the few people in her life who cared enough about her to stay. Spring could come tomorrow but it would forever be winter inside her. 

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she was going west. She couldn’t handle the harsh winters of the East Coast, and Wyoming stopped feeling like home before she left for Seattle. She thought about staying on the farm and living out whatever short life she was going to have there, but staying in that home painted with memories of “what ifs” would drive her crazy. 

So she packed enough supplies to last her a few months if she hunted her food and headed to the West Coast. The first few days were silent, she only encountered a few infected and found shelter in abandoned buildings. She lived off of expired food she found in vending machines in old universities and occasionally sang herself to sleep. 

On her tenth day, she found a car that lasted her about 2 days. Once it broke down, she just kept walking. Over abandoned highways and thick forests, she just kept walking. On day 17, she reached California and stumbled upon an eerily similar set of walls. It looked just like the gates at Jackson, except these were concrete and better built. They were much higher, and the gates almost looked… automatic. 

Ellie was hesitant. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she definitely wasn’t looking for another hometown to destroy. She approached the large walls cautiously, with her hands up and slowly. As she walked closer she was screaming, “I come in peace,” over and over again. She was almost 50 feet near the gate when she heard a girl's voice shout, “Don’t come any closer.”

She stopped in her tracks as the automatic gates began to open. Ellie expected an army of people with guns blazing, just how it was when she first arrived at Jackson, but when the gates opened there just stood you, grounded in all your glory, and a gun aimed right at her face. She wanted to laugh, but that just seemed sexist. 

Instead, you pressed forward, unwavering, with your gun aimed right at her. She didn’t step backward, or even breathe, she just stood there until you were close enough to her to make out all the freckles on her face and the slit in her eyebrow. 

“Who are you?” you spat at her.

“Ellie,” she breathed out, her hands faltering a bit. 

With your hand firmly wrapped around the cold metal of the gun, you inched forward again, pulling back the slide, a metallic click echoing in the silence. The gun was loaded, and you were letting Ellie know that you weren’t afraid to shoot. Her hands stiffened again. 

“What are you doing here?” Your tone was tough and the look on your face was enough to send Ellie running for the hills, but it also made her want to crack a smile. Your nose scrunched up as you spoke, and your lips were somehow not chapped in this weather. But Ellie didn’t smile, she was sure if she did you would put one right between her eyes. That much she was sure of.

“I-” Ellie hadn’t thought this far. What was she doing here? “I’m just looking for a place to stay.” 

Your eyebrows creased as you gave her a once over, looking for any sign she was trouble. It was in your nature to search for danger, but she wasn’t raising any red flags. Except the fact that she made it here alone and unscathed, and was missing two fingers. 

“What happened to your hand?” you asked, tipping the gun slightly to her hand. A pained expression crossed her face, it was almost like she forgot that two of her fingers were quite literally bitten off, but that fight was somewhere shoved deep inside her mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember.

“Lost them in a fight,” she replied simply, there was no point in telling the full story. It’s not like you had the time. 

“You can’t stay here if you’re going to be trouble,” finally you put the gun down, resting your hands on your hips, giving her a firm look. Ellie would hand it to you, you were absolutely scary. In her mind, she knew she could take you, but she also wasn’t so sure of that.  

“I’m,” she sighed, lowering her hands slowly, “I’m done with that. I won’t be trouble,” and for the first time in Ellie’s life, she meant that. She was ready to start over. She knew the fighter in her would always be there, itching to come out but she had been fighting her whole life. It was time to give up. She had already lost everything. Or so she thought. 

Your face softened slightly before firming up again, your empathy peeking through like it always did. You looked her over again, sighing, as you signaled for someone at the gate to come. A man with short blonde hair trotted over, a leash in his hand. He looked kind as he offered a smile to Ellie.

“Old girl here is just gonna check to make sure you’re not infected,” he smiled, dropping the leash. Ellie’s heart rate picked up again as she watched the German Shepherd approach her slowly, sniffing around her as it circled her. You stood behind the blonde guy with your arms crossed across your chest. The dog found nothing and returned to the man, sitting down next to him, “Looks like you’re all clear!”

“Welcome to Mono City,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you turned back towards the gate, walking in that direction. You were halfway there when you realized Ellie wasn’t moving. Turning on your heel again you stared at her, hand on your hip again. You had an attitude, Ellie thought, cute. “You coming or what?”

The small town sat on a large lake, glistening as the sun's rays bounced off the surface. Buildings were built close together, trees without leaves scattered on the walkway, and about a hundred people out on the street as she trailed behind you, earning dirty looks from half of them. Ellie scowled back. Ellie smiled when you introduced yourself to her, telling her your name and a few key details about yourself. She learned you served as some sort of mayor here, keeping everything in order, and that you were the person that people came to. She would be lying if she said that didn’t intimidate her. But all Ellie did was give you her name again and tell you that she was from Jackson, anything else she said would fall short. 

“How are you with your hands?” you asked, voice flat and simple. Ellie choked on her words, stuttering a response. 

“I’m, well,” she coughed, “I’m just okay with them now, since,” she shrugged gesturing to what she now called her ‘bad hand’, “you know.”

A wave of guilt crossed your face as you composed yourself, somehow already forgetting your previous interaction. You shook your head solemnly, cursing quietly under your breath as you stopped. 

“Shit,” you turned to her, eyes squeezed shut, “sorry, I’m so used to asking the same questions, I didn’t even think.”

“It’s fine don’t worry about it,” she gave a tight-lipped smile. Now, with the illumination of the buildings, she could see your whole face. You were pretty, that she was sure of, but it was a more down-to-earth pretty. A type of pretty that you had to take in. You had scars around your face, and a pretty big scar down the side of your neck. It almost looked like the one Ellie had on her arm. But still, scars and all, you were just nice to look at. 

“Well, just for that reason we probably won’t have you be on guard duty,” you stated, eyes flicking around her face, “do you have any other strengths?”

“Uhm,” Ellie had to think for a minute. She had never really been asked anything like this before. What were her strengths? Did she have any at all? She used to be good at guitar, but now she couldn’t play, and that probably wouldn’t be useful at all to anyone here. She was good at art still, something she couldn’t take for granted anymore. It was all she had. The scratched-out drawings of Dina, JJ, Jesse, and Joel were stuffed deep into her bag.

“I’m good at art,” she shrugged, “and writing, maybe.”

“Okay,” you smiled, showing off your teeth, making her warm a bit, “that we can work with. Maybe you can teach at the school.”

“You have a school here?” Ellie gawked. Jackson had a school but it was small and had maybe two or three teachers. 

“Yeah,” you turned to keep walking, making Ellie stumble behind you to keep up, “we have three. An elementary, middle, and high school.”

“Wow,” Ellie was in awe, “It’s not like a military school or anything?” 

“No,” you answered quickly, your voice tight, “It’s not like any of that shit. We don’t fuck with FEDRA here.”

Ellie would be lying if she said that wasn’t music to her ears.

“It’s just like a normal school except we teach a lot more practical things. Things we can use like, cooking, science, and English. Like reading or writing. Since you’re new you will probably start with the elementary school. We also have little extracurriculars and we’ve wanted to introduce art but haven’t been able to find anyone yet.”

“Oh, cool,” was all Ellie said as you both stumbled on what looked like a residential street. There were rows of houses, all that looked the same. There was a road, with cars parked on them and driveways with gates. Most of the houses looked about two stories tall, some had toys lying in the front yards and a few animals were roaming about, small cats and dogs. The porches had furniture on them, little couches and chairs, and as she walked she noticed some people outside with mugs in their hands as if they were drinking their morning coffee. The town looked like something she saw out of a movie, only something she could dream about. Her eyes were wide in awe as you rambled on about something but Ellie was honestly too entranced in everything. Here, in the middle of nowhere was a whole town of people living their lives, as if nothing had ever happened to them. 

“Ellie?” you stopped in your tracks, crossing your arms over your chest. There was your attitude again, “are you even listening?”

“Y-yeah, I am. It’s just-”

“A lot, I know,” you sighed, “but you gotta listen, there are a lot of rules here. Rules that make this place function and if you don’t follow them, you could easily be kicked out.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, genuinely meaning it, “I’m listening, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you gave her a fake smile, turning to push open a gate to a nice house, “This will be your place.”

“Uhm,” Ellie stopped, not entering the front yard, “what do you mean ‘my place’? This is far too big for me.”

“This is the only size our houses come in,” you replied matter-of-factly, “you can just say thank you.”

Ellie blinked as she looked up at the blue house, that looked like it was built yesterday. It had a wrap-around porch and two white columns right by the entrance. The door was a giant white door with a gold handle. This was nicer than any house she’s ever been in, and way too big for one girl.  

“Thank you,” Ellie replied, still awe-struck, “this is just so nice.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled, fishing around in your bag for something. You pulled out a pair of keys, and handed them to her, “Here’s your house keys. You don’t get a car quite yet, that’s something you have to work your way up to, but there is a bike in the garage. Spring is around the corner so it will get warmer and you should have your car by next winter so don’t worry too much. My house is right across the block, but I’m usually in the City Center if you need me.”

She wrapped her right hand around the keys, tightening them in her palm. She watched as you searched through your bag again and pulled out a little device. 

“This is your walkie,” you took a deep breath, “Try to find me before using it. It’s usually only used for emergencies so just be mindful of that. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you to work, so you have time to get settled in today. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ellie smiled, her voice sounding a little bit breathless.

That night Ellie settled into her new home. Well, she tried to settle into her new home but kept shifting around in every seat and couch, like she couldn’t find something to get comfortable on. She examined every part of the house, picking the smallest room for herself and shoving her backpack in the closet. She took a bath for the first time in months, washing all the dirt and grime off of her. Left in the shower was a bar of soap that looked like it had been handmade and unused. It smelled so good she almost took a bite, but instead chose to use it how it was meant to be used.

As the sun began to set she stepped outside, watching the activity on the block and smiling to herself. Everything just seemed so normal, but with the state of this world this town was certainly abnormal. From her window she could see you in your front yard, feeding a pack of cats that slipped through your white picket fence. She smiled to herself as she watched one rub against your leg, and your gentle hand coming down to pet it. She continued to watch as kids passed your house, waving to you and running back to their homes. 

The next few days were uneventful. Ellie found herself getting used to teaching young kids, always laughing when they asked about her missing fingers. It was out of her comfort zone, but she was around JJ enough to know what kids liked. Her voice always got so high-pitched when she spoke to them, and they liked being chased around the room. On her fifth day of working, a kid ran in screaming, “Miss Ellie! Miss Ellie!” with a chicken scratch drawing of his family. He was so proud that all Ellie could say was “Good job, bud!” and ruffle his hair. He left with the biggest smile on his face.

But now, Ellie found herself at the city’s most popular bar, with the other teachers who wanted to congratulate her on her first week. Della, who invited Ellie out in the first place, made a toast to her, clinking her glass with Ellie’s and taking a long swig of her drink. Ellie took a sip of hers too and fuck, this shit was strong. 

She felt human again, laughing with people her age in a bar and old music playing. She was almost having a good time until a song came on that reminded her of Joel. It was like her whole demeanor changed and everyone could tell. She excused herself from the group finding a small corner to sit on and finish the rest of her drink, hoping maybe it would make her forget everything. But then, the bell at the front door rang making Ellie look up to see who had entered. 

There you were in all your glory, tight shirt on and hair completely loose. It almost looked as if you were wearing makeup. Ellie must’ve been staring too long because she blinked and you were standing in front of her. 

“See you got yourself a drink,” you laughed, voice making Ellie’s cheeks turn pink. She was… really drunk.

“Yeah, I could get you one too,” she slurred a bit, goofy smile spread across her face. She watched as something odd crossed your face and now she was worried she said something wrong, “I just mean, like.. you know… I mean like as a thank you.”

“Right,” you sighed.

“For my mansion, you know,” she shrugged and you giggled. You giggled and it went straight to her head. What was she doing?

“You haven’t been paid yet,” you smiled back at her, now moving to sit down, “and it’s okay, I don’t drink unless it’s a special occasion.”

“What? Meeting me is not special enough,” she teased, knocking her shoulder with yours. Her eyes scanned your face, your smile reaching your eyes as you giggled again. Her stomach sank again. She wasn’t so sure if this was just the alcohol anymore, she felt like she was 12 and crushing on Riley again. 

“No, it’s special,” you reassured, “Maybe, I’ll drink when you decide to stay.”

“Who said I’m not staying?” she questioned sitting up.

“Some people don’t,” you shrugged, smile fading. Ellie’s brain wanted to make it better, make you laugh again, or shit do anything to put the smile back on your face. 

“Well, I’m gonna,” she said gently, so only you could hear her, “I need to get my paycheck.”

You laughed and Ellie breathed a sigh of relief, laughing with you. 

“I’ll get that to you,” you smiled, “and we don’t use paychecks.”

“What’re you gonna pay me with?” she smirked, “I know some other ways you can pay me.” Then the same look from earlier crossed your face and she cursed quietly to herself, muttering an apology. 

“No, no,” you said, like you were about to let her down gently, “I just try not to get… involved with anyone since…” your voice trailed off.

“Since?” Ellie questioned, but as you opened your mouth to speak the group from earlier made their way over, noticing your arrival and screaming your name. She watched as you got up, hugged everyone and started chatting with them, leaving her with her drink and too many questions. 

There was one thing that scared her though. She knew you needed someone who could stay, and the only thing she was good at was leaving.

[chlmtsdoll]

SHOPPING WITH ART

౨ৎ Summary: it’s in the title ! Ballerina!reader x Art on a shopping date 🤍

౨ৎ Word count: 2k

౨ৎ Warnings: sugar baby! reader, mentions & talk of sex (duh !), semi public sexual acts, age gap (reader early 20’s) dilf age Art, fluff, needy reader, horny Art, mentions of Tashi in between, mutual pinning, petite!reader (sorry tall ppl), reader and Art are all over each other constantly

A/N: don’t know if I should classify this as a blurb or a fic but I’m gonna go with blurb since it’s short and sweet !!

“Dogs ?”

You had scrunched up your nose and shook your head terribly at Arts attempts to guess your favorite animal. He tilted his head as he looked down at you with a grin.

“Cats ?” He probed. You nodded pleased, with a giggle.

“Do I strike you as a dog person at all ?”

“No.” Art had laughed out and it sounded of wealth and pure adoration of you.

You two had been walking down Rodeo Drive in the mist of perfect weather on a bright day, Art had offered to take you shopping while Tashi took care of tennis business for the two of you. She requested some space and quietness for an hour or two — so of course you’d never pass up your expectation of basically trying on dresses for Art Donaldson as a living.

It still hadn’t hit you on the full one-eighty your life has taken from going from a lost ballerina to Art and Tashi’s young, beautiful, tennis protégé.

Or shared girlfriend. Whatever you had been.

You loved it. Especially days like this, you’d spend as much time as you could with Art when he wasn’t touring because he made you feel like it had only been the two of you on earth when you were together. You never stopped laughing, blushing, kissing… and a spawn of other things.

But when he’d been actually playing tennis, or doing things for his career like press or photoshoots. You missed him dearly. Even when he’d spend time with his daughter Lily.

It made your mood dim, and you’d find yourself dissociating from conversations or tennis to think about him or ponder when he’d be back to steal you away again. Tashi always caught you in the drift of it, but you’d snap right back to reality when you’d hear her say. “Okay. Art’s gonna take you out.” Your mood and demeanor would shift entirely.

“I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”

“Isn’t that movie controversial ?” Art questioned.

“Aren’t you much older than me ?” You replied as you glanced up at him, giving him every glitter of your wide Bambi eyes. He chucked.

“Oh. So should I walk on the other side of the sidewalk.. if that’s too much for you ?” He looked down at you as he moved from where you walked to the other side of the not so spacious side walk to prove his sarcasm.

“No!” You pleaded with a girlish laugh as you followed him anyways, bumping your shoulder into his arm on purpose not to be separated for another second.

You’d want to hold his hand so badly when you two would be out together, but with his public image being Tashi Duncan’s star husband, it wasn’t exactly the best decision when it came to the press — so even with as much as he wanted to, Tashi always told him to lay low when it came to physical contact with you in the open. Especially somewhere as public as Beverly Hills.

You’d never known where paparazzi had been hiding, lurking and waiting. And it wouldn’t be so easy for them to try and idealize it as Art Donaldson and his exceptionally younger “friend” that he takes shopping and on dates.

Tashi couldn’t control when you had been at home and essentially couldn’t keep your hands off each other entirely. Always hugging, cuddling, fucking. It didn’t matter. You were on him or vise versa, but when you’d go out Tashi would specifically insist “don’t touch each other.” before you’d leave.

But hiding didn’t transpire to you so much when you just completely couldn’t help yourself when it came to the man that made your heart flutter, you’d fought the limitations anyways.

Walking side by side you brushed your pinky against Arts much bigger hand. You saw him look down and a soft grin took upon his lips at the sight of your manicured pink tips grabbing at his hand. He could never resist you. locking pinky’s with yours, your smile had turned bashful but pleased as you’d walk together. Just praying no paps had caught the moment and you’d have to go through Tashi’s wrath later on.

♡

It was dress after dress you’d pick off of the rack, skirts, tops, and more shoes than you’d ever seen at once in person. But you absolutely adored this. Trying not to make another painfully high pitched sound when you’d find another pair that made your eyes go wide in awe.

Art was right there behind you as he chuckled at all of your darling reactions, finding it utterly too cute. You were like a doll and he’d spoil you till you’d probably pass out from exhaustion the moment you both got home from all the perks of shopping till you dropped. Literally.

“I don’t know. I love the waistline, but a deep v neck ? I just don’t see it.” You stepped out of the dressing rooms to where Art had been lounging on a chair since he wasn’t allowed in the actual dressing room area.

Art couldn’t say he didn’t know a thing or two when it came to a sense in fashion. Tennis was a sport based around the most expensive and luxury brands displaying their most fashionable and articulately put together pieces on star athletes like himself. But mainly living with the total of four ladies including the maid, had done his knowledge of the craft wonders.

“I think you look amazing in it, baby.” He implied, crystal blues tracing your perfect body cinched into the tight dress.

It made your breast sit in such a way that Art had to adjust the way he sat in his seat. You looked at yourself in the mirror while your hand ran down your curves. Your heels made you stand taller and your legs showcased eloquently.

One of the workers brought you a glass of champagne and you thanked her kindly before taking a sip, then turning to Art with a suggestive unsure look on your face.

“But do I look amazing though ?” You asked puzzled, with mostly sarcasm and art had shook his head, he chuckled as you glided back into the dressing rooms.

He even brought you things to try on as he just couldn’t pull back from his own suggestions of what he thought you looked to die for in.

“Art,” You turned to him opening up the curtain of the small space as you’d been in the mist of changing, just in your bra and panties.

“Put this on.” He passed you a dress and you were taken back by his desperation and need to see you in his choice of clothing. You stood and took it from him, but you couldn’t deny the slight pass of dominance from him turned you on a bit. You smiled at the curtain when he closed it quickly to leave so he wouldn’t get caught.

When you came out in what he had gave you, Art unfolded his leg and sat straighter in his chair as he examined the sight. And was it a sight to see.

The dress was white, a sixties kind of cut as it made your waist look otherworldly. The corset top made your torso extend and it was short enough that if you moved a little too much it would have been quite a show.

“So, what do you think of your outfit choice on me, Mr. Donaldson ?” You asked with your hands on your hips and the look on his face as his eyes graced over you had you blushing terribly.

Art had to take in a breath with an embarrassing place being lost for words, he stood up to walk towards you. His hand touched the delicate straps.

“Turn around.” he instructed.

“Okay. Bossy.” You joked, meanwhile he bit his lip to hold back nearly letting out an audible noise as he took in the way it cupped your ass just right. You were perfection in his eyes, all dolled up just for him. He licked his lips,

“You’re gorgeous, angel. Do you like it ? Because I love it, and I think you need it in your wardrobe. Well, not need, but it would be a nice touch.” He went on and you laughed at his high regard, your face heating up quite quickly now.

“I think it’s really pretty.” Your hand ran across the top that was embroidered with jewels, your smile enchanting as Art watched you.“next one coming up.”

You had walked by to go change again, but as you did you felt a smack on your ass and you turned around quickly to see Art grinning to himself when you gasped.

The responsible side of you would of protested as you remembered Tashi’s words, but you were anything but responsible when it came to your favorite blonde. You shook your head as your sly smile matched his and you went back into your dressing room.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that long before Art had snuck in again and opened up the curtain, this time inserting himself into the room with you.

“Art!” You could hardly stop him before he had moved your hair out of the way and started attacking your neck with kisses, sucking in your sent as hands ran over your body,

“Fuck, you look good.” He breathed out as he kissed you and you’d fallen weak to his trap. Hands running to grab his hair as he groped your tits through the dress and kissed you sloppily. He towered over your dainty figure as he treated your body like clay for him to mold, you let out a whine from the back of your throat as he ran his tongue over yours.

His hands were flighting to unzip your dress while hiking it up your hips at the same time.

“Careful, it’s not mine,” you breathed out as Art peppered kisses anywhere he could.

“Oh, it will be yours. I’m buying it as soon as I’m done with you.” his tone was low and full of arousal as he pushed your front against the wall of the dressing room.

As much as you wanted him to fuck you right there, feel every inch of his need to have you take his cock while he treated you to an entire wardrobe that any girl your age would die for, was enough to make you shed your panties right then. But you had slipped from under his grasp.

“We can’t, we’re in public.” You uttered and Art had backed away from you with a groan as he ran his hands down his face and you grinned at the state you had gotten him in, uncomfortably hard and dick nearly ready to come through his fly at just the sight of you.

“Fine,” he sighed out and got ahold of himself before leaving again, you tried not to give him a mischievous smirk as you adjusted yourself and the dress. “Don’t think I don’t know how much you want it, you little minx, be ready for later because we’re not done here.”

You batted your eyelashes and acted all innocent as he shut the curtain and then you giggled to yourself. You had all the shoes and dresses you wanted ready by the time you exited again, and now with lips shimmering with gloss, you made eye contact with Art as he paid for all your new attire with pleasure. Licking his own lips every time he scanned over you, he carried all of your bags and he walked out with you happily.

Completely forgetting about the paparazzi, Art took your hand in his with ease. leading you down the walkway and you had bitten your lip under a satisfied little smile.

A/N: ugh ! I need that !