#tattoo gun buy

[customirons]

Things You Need To Buy For Tattoo Aftercare

Having a tattoo is not enough. If you don’t care properly, it will not look how you want. In this blog, we will discuss the basics of tattoo aftercare and the things you need to buy for it. You can consult with an expert or read the full write-up carefully to learn about them.

You must look for a reliable online shop to help you get items like tattoo aftercare products, inks, cartridges, rotary tattoo machine in Australia and many more. You can get all the items you need when you have a tight space.  

Prepare To Get A Tattoo

If you want to have a tattoo design, you must prepare for it. Without preparation, things can go very wrong. Always consult a professional before getting a tattoo; it will help you in the long run. Here are some tips that you can follow before getting the tattoo.

1. Always choose a reliable tattoo shop to get the tattoo design you want. You can get any design you want when you have an experienced tattoo artist.

2. Drink water and keep your body hydrated throughout the process.

3. Don’t smoke, drink or do drugs during the process, before or after, to avoid complications.

4. If you have any major health issues, you need to consult with a medical person beforehand.

Following these simple tips, you can get the tattoo without any hazards.  

Tattoo Care You Need To Take Initially

Once the tattooing is complete, your tattoo artist will provide basic care. He will most probably do a bandage around your tattoo to avoid infection. Don’t peel off the bandage before a couple of hours. Your tattoo artist is the best person to suggest tips to follow. Try to tattoo gun buy from a reliable online shop for better results.

Washing A Newly Made Tattoo

If hours have passed by, you need to clean your freshly made tattoo design. Cleaning a tattoo is not that simple. You should take time; to have clean water and antiseptic lotions to clean your tattoo design.

Use a warm, clean towel to puff all the extra water from the surface. Remember not to use chemical soaps, as that can worsen things. Consult with an expert to learn more about them.

How To Do Tattoo Aftercare?

Here are some tips for you that will help you during tattoo aftercare.

1. Don’t get outside in direct sunlight, which can affect your tattoo.

2.Try to avoid swimming during the tattoo aftercare.

3. Chemicals are not good for tattoos.

4. Buy numbing creams and ointment gels to have some relief.

5. Always consult with an expert if you have any confusion.

6. Get a reliable shop where you can get all the items and more.

When you follow these simple tips, you will eventually get the tattoo design you want and more.

[againaweasel]

I actually really dislike the notion that Sirius tattoos are “prison tattoos” that he got in prison.

Who the fuck was tattooing him? The dementors?

He doesn’t get yard time, he’s not forming a prison gang with Barty Crouch JR’s mum and his extended family. Bellatrix wasn’t running the best tattoo parlour in the North Sea out of the girls bathrooms. Azkaban is solitary confinement. 12 years of solitary confinement whilst his happy thoughts are leeched out of him. Not prime tattoo getting time.

Even if you wanna say he did them himself, bastard didn’t even have access to the newspaper where is he getting enough ink for all those?

If Sirius has tattoos he got them all before Halloween 1981 and that’s very iconic of him.

[cowsabungus]

my baby brother just came into my bedroom (2am!!) and asks if I want some sweets

yes of course i do. stupid question

then he sits on my bed, as I'm chewing a toffee penny from a bag of quality streets

says "i'm saying this in confidence"

which is NEVER a good sign

and then presented me with a problem, one of his OWN MAKING mind, and now im the fucker who's gotta work shit out to undo his mistake!

like im glad the kid sees me as safe to come to with his stupid decisions, but dear god, it's literally going to cost me £700+ to sort it out

anyway im saving this one for his fucking wedding that's for sure

[pigeons-with-jello]

fake nose piercing my beloved <333

[fkyb]

[zouffle]

sometimes you go on a year long spree of tattooing your body in every place you can reach with your dominant hand and then you stop giving yourself any tattoos for a year and then suddenly start tattooing yourself again with what appears to be the same ferocity. and that's ok

[tumble-tv]

ICE raids are happening.

Any immigrants, no matter how long you have been a citizen of the USA, is at risk of being deported either out of the country as a whole or into what are basically concentration camps. Raids starting in Chicago, Illinois. and spreading to other major cities with high POC and Hispanic populations. The US Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) have started raiding homes and families in California.

There are no "protected locations" as of January 21, 2025. Hospitals, schools, and churches are all at risk of being raided, where before these places were deemed safe and off limits to raids.

When it comes to spotting an ICE agent, look for these:

Weirdly neat/well kept hair (shaved heads, side parts, military burs for men; low buns, high ponytails, close cropped bobs for women)

Oversized jacket (long and bulky outerwear makes it easier to hide tools/equipment without being suspicious)

Both hands in pockets

Many undercover agents/cops buy cheap plain clothes off the racks so they aren’t seen in their own clothes. This can make their outfit seem awkward

Sweatshirts with the hood up

Sports apparel (warm up jacket, sweats, etc) with non-sports clothes (jeans, cargo shorts)

Cargo pants/shorts (usually full of items like their badge, flashlight, taser, pepper spray, backup handcuffs, zip ties)

Military or hiking style boots, sometimes chunky sneakers (extra points if none of it matches anything in their outfit)

Outline of a gun in their pants/shirt (easy to see when bending, leaning, or raising arms) (NO NOT SAY ANYTHING)

Overly friendly

Overly inquisitive

“How old are you” and “what do you know about this happening” are both red flags, along with generally odd and personal questions

Don’t fit in

Mismatched pairs in public spaces (usually cops do these things in pairs. They don’t talk to each other or acknowledge each other much, if at all)

DO NOT SAY ANYTHING UNTIL YOU ARE 100% SURE

YOUR BEST BET IS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL THE SUSPECT STARTS ACTING OFF AND GETTING PUSHY

COPS ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO TELL YOU THAT THEY ARE UNDERCOVER

COPS CAN AND WILL LIE TO YOU

SCREAM “LA MIGRA” AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS

For protesting:

N95 masks

Respirator/gas mask if you have access to one

Water water water water water (I hate to say it, but disposable one use bottles are best here. If it comes to it, you need to be able to drop and run.) Use for flushing wounds, flushing eyes of tear gas, and of course drinking.

Snacks! You'll be doing a lot of walking and/or running and need to keep that energy up. Trail mix, dried fruit, nuts, granola bars, crackers, jerky/meat sticks, fruit snacks, candy, etc. Think of it like packing your lunchbox for a field trip.

Eyedrops (teargas is a bitch)

Goggles (I bring my old snowboarding goggles)

If you are wearing a t-shirt or have exposed skin, put on fake/temporary tattoos. If you are brought into something and they say you were there, showing a picture of you with the tattoos, show them where that tattoo would be and how there’s nothing there. How would you get rid of a giant flower on your forearm in 2 days anyways?

Wigs fall under the same category as tattoos. The person they're claiming to be you has a blonde bob and you have green hair past your shoulders.It also makes it possible to go with a completely different color without the use of hair dye. This means if they try to arrest you later and try to prove it was you by taking your hair and testing for dye, it won't come back the way they hope. (Thank you @violetrosepetals for this addition!)

Hide your hair. I tuck my hair into my beanie since it’s short. If you have longer hair, try to do the same or tuck it into your shirt. Balaclavas are also a good choice, as they cover both your face and hair.

Power bank

Chargers

Helmet. Any is fine, my personal choice is a skating helmet since they’re rounder and can take more damage, but tactical is also good

Hand sanitizer

Gloves with hard knuckles (tactical gloves). These pack a good punch even if you don't have the correct form. Don't have those? Wrist guards for roller skating/skateboarding work kinda like that too. More of a slapping motion, but still hurt like a bitch. Extra points if they're all scuffed up from use and falls.

Bandanas. Somebody might need one for their face or hair, maybe you need to get dirt off somebody’s face, maybe somebody got injured. They’re great for anything and everything.

Cash (try to stick to cash, your card can be tracked)

Medications if you take them. If you get arrested or happen to somehow be away for longer than expected after the protest, it’s always good to have emergency meds

FIRST AID ALL THE FIRST AID (Tourniquet, Quikclot, chest seal, trauma shears, gauze, bandages, duct tape, and all the usual stuff you’d have in there)

Good shoes. Boots and sneakers are your best choices. Not heels, not platforms, not sandals. Good boots or shoes that won't come off your feet too easily when you run. Steel toed shoes are a great option. Your toes won't be squashed, but also it'll hurt someone a lot more if you start kicking.

Spare socks. Trust me. You can use them to stop bleeding if it comes to it, but also you can put rocks in there and boom weapon. Also if the socks you're wearing get wet.

As much covering clothing as you can handle. Plain jeans, plain hoodie, plain t-shirt, keep yourself as anonymous as possible. Black and baggy is best.

Photocopy of your ID, not your real one.

Sunscreen!

Make sure your clothes have pockets, even if you have a bag. You want everything to be easily accessible.

Do not wear contact lenses. If tear gas is used, that will make everything so much worse. Wear your glasses or go blind. If you have overly unique or identifiable frames, goggles are your friend here. Get some goggles that will fit over your frames, preferably ones that are tinted.

If you use mobility aids, cover defining features. Logos, brand names, colors, stickers, all of it. Take some old plain t-shirt and tie it around your wheelchair’s backrest. Wrap your wheelchair frame in cling wrap, then duct tape, or plain black self adhering medical tape. Cover stickers on your cane or crutches the same way. Electric chair? You have a little more work, but you can do it. Wrap it up. Same idea. Walker? Same thing. Cover. It. All.

If you are bringing a bag, make sure that bag is as plain as possible. No pins. No patches. No keychains. Except maybe a pride flag so people know which team you're playing on.

Scarf or keffiyeh if you have one. They have many uses!

Write a reliable phone number (of someone who is not at the protest with you) on your body. On the off chance you get arrested, that is your emergency contact.

Pocket knife.

Pepper spray/mace/bear spray

if you get tear gassed, shake around first before using water. Most tear gas is more of a powder and water has a high likelihood of just spreading it around. (Thank you @actually-a-bread-loaf for this addition!)

Tennis rackets also work wonderfully for chucking tear gas canisters back at those throwing them. Anybody asks, you're going out to play tennis with friends later. Baseball bats also work! (Thank you @azul-nova-24 for this addition!)

Anything you can throw. Soup for my family.

IF YOU CAN, LEAVE YOUR PHONE AT HOME

IF YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH YOU, TURN OFF LOCATION SERVICES ON ALL APPS AND TURN OFF BIOMETRICS (FACE ID AND FINGERPRINT) SO YOU CAN ONLY UNLOCK YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR PASSWORD

COPS CAN FORCE YOU TO OPEN YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR FINGERPRINT OR FACE ID

MAKE SURE SOMEBODY KNOWS GENERALLY WHERE YOU ARE

If you see a potential or active raid, take pictures and note the time and location. Post online if you can, as well.

You have the right to remain silent. State that you wish to remain silent. Avoid giving information about anybody's immigration status. You have the right to refuse to sign anything before speaking to an attorney. You have the right to refuse searches of your car, your home, and yourself. Schools do not collect a child's immigration status.

I do not want to scare anybody, but this is what life is right now. That man does not care how long you have been a citizen of this country. If you are not a white, cisgender, heterosexual, Christian male, you are seen as less than by men in power. You are not less than. You are a threat to them, and they are scared. Keep it that way.

Even if you're not currently protesting, it's good to know this just in case. Things are happening very quickly, and there is a very high chance of it changing very quickly within the next four years.

Here's the link to my post on what to bring in terms of first aid.

If you cannot attend protests, that’s fine. Do what’s best for you. Even just reposting information helps.

This is an updated version of this post,

Updated January 27, 2025.

[lxvvie]

Couples shit with Simon Riley, Newlywed Edition:

You and Simon got married, and Price was the Best Man. Kyle stood on your side, and Soap was the flower girl. He blew bubbles instead of throwing flower petals because you and Soap thought it would be funnier. There's a picture floating around somewhere of Simon staring rather concerningly at a particularly large bubble Soap blew, too.

You two swearing you're gonna fuck all night long on your wedding night... only to crash as soon as you hit the bed. You didn't even take your clothes off. The sexathon came later. You two just woke up, looked at each other, happy as a pair of clams, and bloody hell, you made an honest man out of Simon fuckin' Riley.

Getting each other gag gifts as a wedding present. You were serious about getting him that cockring weren't you, love? Well, he has all the time in the world to make use of it.❤️

Noticing how relaxed and settled Simon is after you two start your married lives. Well, as relaxed and settled as Simon could be, all things considered, but he's not as anxious. He's... content. Happy.

Simon still can't believe it though. He's married. He's bloody married. You married him. A right bastard like him, at that. Simon makes a promise to himself and you to never turn what you two have into the shit show that defined his parents' union, promises to never become the asshole his father was, and it gives him all the strength he needs to combat his demons. He'll fight them every day if means seeing your smiling face, luv.

Simon also using the fact that he's married for shock value for everyone other than 141. He doesn't really tell the others but also doesn't bother addressing the news when it gets out. He just lets it be. It's amusing, though, seeing the confusion and shock on the other soldiers' faces when they find out. "Wait, Lieutenant Riley's married? He has a missus?" Correction: "I'm the missus."

He also jokes with the rest of 141 on some, "Sorry, lads, 'm an honest bloke now," which makes the others snort. Will also use a variant for you, too. "No can do, lovie, you made an honest missus outta me." Pfft.

You've also taken to calling him the Hubster ("Pretty cute, eh, Si-bear?" ".........") and you're banned from saying it in public lmao.

Similarly, you use the shock value to troll your associates. Your coworkers were not expecting Simon of all people to be the one you married. You call HIM the Missus? ("Sure do.") The way they see it, you two are polar opposites. Well, they do say that opposites attract.

Simon buying a chain for his wedding band for when he deploys because even with the gloves on, he refuses to wear his ring near his gun. It's a symbol of you, one of the best fuckin' things to ever happen to him, and he'll be damned if he ever lets the two touch.

You jokingly suggest that because Simon has really taken to the missus thing and ran with it, he should get it tattooed on him. This being Simon bloody Riley, he goes and does exactly that. The shock on your face was worth it all. Cheers, darling.

You two holding hands if only to look at your wedding bands side by side and bloody fuckin' hell, you're falling in love with each other all over again.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[customirons]

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[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna’s first tattoo

college!sukuna’s masterlist

college!sukuna’s first ever tattoo was actually the first ever resemblance of a flower yuuji drew when he was 3.

yuuji was a babbling snotty kid, but he shut up when his exuberant energy was quieted with manual activities. back in the day sukuna had just turned sixteen, and he couldn’t afford to put him in daycare. well, most days he couldn’t even afford a decent place to stay at, so he had to be creative. the kid had a thing for dragging the coloured pencils the library supplied on whatever piece of paper his big brother managed to put right in front of his face while doing his high school homework. sukuna had to keep an eye out for an eventual choking-on-pencils problem, but he could do it. everything was better than his former home. he’d do it for yuuji. he’d always do it for yuuji.

one day, the kid just handed him the drawing with his chubby fingers, simply saying, “‘kuna, f’ you.”

the drawing was a little ugly, done with a bright yellow on a stark white sheet, so it was barely visible. sukuna sighed, rubbing his temple.

“what’s this, brat?” he asked, squinting, trying to make out the lines. his little brother peered up at him, big brown eyes wide open, coloured pencil still held tightly between his clammy palms.

“flowy. f’ you.”

sukuna tattooed it himself on his pec that night, right as he got into the rented shabby room, making all the lines squiggly because he'd never held a tattoo gun before in his life. he managed to buy one the week prior, because he came to know a lot of people were good with a half assed tattoo if they had to pay less, and he thought he could make easy money with it.

he sat himself near the broken mirror nailed on the entry door, the soft buzzing of the machine not stirring yuuji from his deep slumber between the makeshift bed’s sheets, put together with the only two covers sukuna managed to find in the room.

there were times when he pressed a little too much and winced, but he never made a sound. he tried to not make noises by holding his breath, just like he did when he realized yuuji drew the little ugly flower with him in mind. not mom, not dad, not a friend, not a little animal passing by which he scurried after. him. and it was the first time he ever drew something besides random scribbles. and he did it for sukuna.

as soon as he had the money, made by the same tattoo gun he used on himself, sukuna immediately went to a professional to cover the tattoo. it wasn’t because he was ashamed of it, quite the opposite, actually: he just wanted to keep it private. yuuji still doesn’t know about the whole thing.

even if you can’t see the flower now, he can still feel the bumps left from tattooing it to this day. he mindlessly traces over it when washing himself up after a particularly hard day at training. he touches it from on top of his football gear when he scores on the field, watching his little brother cheer from the bleachers. his gaze lingers on the spot every time he passes by a mirror.

oh, and the original drawing? still tucked in his wallet.

[whor3ing]

𝑮𝒐𝒅𝒔 & 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 | 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏

Rafe Cameron x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut with a plot, build-up, mentions of gun! minor gunplay!,consent, alcohol, lots of dirty talk, "who did this to you?", thigh riding, spitting, oral (m receiving/f receiving), fingering, creampie, missionary, usage of "slut"

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

IN WHICH.. you, a pouge and JJ Maybank's sister; find yourself caught up in the dangerous world of Rafe Cameron. A world where tattoos, guns, and shady deals intertwine with magnetic, reckless attraction. With a gun in his hand and a taunting smirk on his face, Rafe pushes you to your limits, causing you to question if you've just made the biggest mistake of your life or if you've found something worth all of the danger.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

word count : 8.5k ♡ (plot heavy)

The music was loud, the lights too bright, and the smell of expensive liquor intertwined with the salty scent of the ocean breeze had lingered through the air the second JJ’s beat up Bronco had pulled up to the mansion.

You stared up at the towering estate, its golden glow spilling out onto the cliff side like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. It was the kind of house that wasn’t just meant to be lived in but meant to be seen, meant to remind people exactly who was in charge.

Suddenly, Kie let out a scoff from the passenger seat, her arms crossed as she stared up at the massive structure. “I swear, these Kooks build their houses as high as their egos.”

JJ grinned, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel before throwing the car into park. “That’s the whole point, Kie. It’s a giant middle finger to the rest of us.” He twisted around to look at you, his grin widening. “And yet, here we are. About to walk right in like we own the place.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Yeah, and if we’re not careful, we’ll be thrown out just as fast," you murmured, tugging at the hem of your dress.

It was shorter than you would’ve liked, a sleek black number Kie had practically forced you into, claiming it had been "made" for you. The fabric clung to you in a way that felt foreign, the deep neckline and thin straps leaving little to the imagination.

You weren’t used to dressing like this—like them. But tonight, the whole point was to simply to blend.

JJ waved off your concern, already climbing out of the car. “Nah, we’ll be fine. Besides, I got a good feeling about tonight.”

Kie sighed, shaking her head as she pulled the visor mirror down to fix her hair. Her fingers combed through her hair, fluffing it up before smoothing it down again as she responded, “That’s exactly what you said the last time, and we barely made it out without getting our asses handed to us.”

JJ smirked, leaning against the car as he waited for the two of you. “Yeah, but we did make it out, didn’t we?”

You pushed open the truck door with a groan, the weight of the decision settling in your chest. The air outside felt cooler than it should for a night like this, the salty breeze carrying the faint echoes of laughter and music from the mansion perched above you.

The Kook mansion had been a spectacle of itself for decades, a proud testament to wealth and success. It stood on a tall cliff above the water, amidst the lush greenery that surrounded it, higher than almost any other point on the rest of the strip.

To anyone other than a Kook, it was ridiculous that a house could hold so much power. That those inside of it could consider themselves elite for receiving an invitation, while those without one were made to feel as though they were less than human.

Like everything in the Outer Banks, it wasn’t just a mansion, it was a symbol. A symbol of immense wealth, a symbol of everything you and your friends could never reach. The kind of wealth that didn’t just buy things, but dictated the rules of the game. The kind of power that made sure you stayed on the outside looking in.

Though, that couldn't stop you from playing pretend.

Kie adjusted her dress, giving you a sideways look. “Ready or not, we’re here. Let’s just get inside before anyone notices we don’t have an invite."

You gave her a dry look. “You really think that’s going to stop them from noticing?”

JJ laughed, flicking a glance at the front doors, through the metal gate where the golden light spilled out into the driveway. Expensive cars lined up like trophies scattered in the front yard, their sleek, polished frames reflecting the shine of the house. “It’s not about whether they notice. It’s about whether they care.” He raised an eyebrow. “And they won’t, not if we play the game right.”

Kie rolled her eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, sure. And if not, we’ll just pretend we’re lost tourists who wandered in.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Right. No one will notice the three of us sticking out like a sore thumb.”

You stepped through the gates, the sound of your heels clicking sharply against the cobbled driveway as the front doors loomed ahead. The laughter and music grew louder, wrapping around you like a thick, inescapable blanket.

As you stepped inside, the shift was immediate, like you were crossing into a world that felt too polished, too perfect. The heat hit you first—the heavy warmth from the bodies packed into every corner, the mingling of perfume and expensive cologne, of freshly popped champagne and the faint scent of something floral mixed with the underlying tang of sea salt. The scent of luxury was almost suffocating, coating the air like a fine mist.

The music played louder here, thumping in your chest as you navigated through the crowd. A thousand sounds hitting you all at once, all in sync. As voices collided, they rose above the murmurs of low conversations, muddling the chatter together. It was as if every sound was immediately amplified, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of blaring cheers. It felt like being in the middle of a painting—everyone moving with the same rhythm, all polished smiles and flawless appearances.

The crowd was absolutely suffocating, the music blaring so loud it felt like your entire body was vibrating. You tried to follow Kie and JJ, but somehow, they slipped away, swallowed by the sea of bodies dancing and laughing around you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself alone, weaving through people who were too caught up in their own worlds to notice you.

You moved through the house, the laughter from the party slowly becoming more and more distant until finally the voices were muffled by the thick walls of the mansion.

Turning a corner, you hope to catch a glimpse of JJ and Kie , but instead, you find yourself in a small, dimly lit room. The air heavy, thick with smoke and the high-end liquor.

The room was dark and open, lit only by a few dim lamps casting shadows on the faces around you. The space felt increasingly lavish and almost vintage, like the room had come out of something from the 1950's. A rich, dark wallpaper lined the walls, patterned with deep shades of gold and burgundy adding to the luxurious fever dream that surrounded you.

In the corner of the room rested a grand piano, the lighting reflecting off of it's keys and a couple sitting on top of the worn bench, their lips intertwined as his hands wandered down her body.

You turned your attention to the far side of the room, where a group of people were huddled together in a tight circle. At first, it looked like any other gathering, casual chatter, some laughter. But there was something about the way they were all so fixated on the center of the group, their eyes wide with awe. And there, at the heart of it, was Rafe fucking Cameron.

JJ had warned you about him more times than you cared to count. His warnings had a way of sticking with you, of hanging in the air even when you wished you could forget them. "Rafe's a loose cannon," he’d said, his tone more serious than you were used to hearing. "Stay the hell away from him, okay?" JJ's face had twisted in frustration, like there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. It wasn’t hard to imagine why.

Rafe had done things to make JJ's life a living hell—a complicated mess of history, unspoken grudges, and bad blood that ran too deep for anyone to fully understand.

But even with JJ’s warnings, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

He was leaning back against the wall, his arm draped casually over the shoulder of one of his friends, a smirk playing on his lips as he spoke. The low lighting of the room cast shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the hardened lines of his jaw, the slight curve of his lip that twisted with a quiet confidence. His messy, sun-bleached hair fell just above his brows, his blue eyes on full display.

But what caught your attention wasn’t the casual conversation, or the curve of his lip, it was the gun. The gleam of metal in his hand, held loosely, as if it was just another part of the game.

His presence was magnetic, you could feel it the moment you had walked in, and you could feel it even now as you quietly pushed yourself to the further corner from all of them, leaning against the wall. You couldn't help but notice how he looked almost bored as he casually twirled a gun between his fingers, showing it off, his smirk never wavering.

The way he handled it made it clear this wasn’t just some toy, it was a statement.

“Don’t worry, man,” one of his friends slurred to someone else, clearly in shock of Rafe's casual demeanor, barely able to keep his eyes open. “It’s just a gun.”

Rafe’s smirk only widened, his gaze flicking over to the crowd around him. “It’s all about who’s holding it,” he said, the words low and smooth, almost like a warning. “Don’t forget that.”

His friends laughed, but it wasn't their laughter that made your stomach twist. It was the way Rafe held the entire room, the way everyone seemed to move around him, like they knew better than to get too close, to make too much noise. He was dangerous, and everybody in this room knew it.

You stood there, frozen,something about the weight of his presence made your heart race. He was dressed casually, but the clothes he wore somehow added to the danger he radiated. A black leather jacket hugged his frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the few tattoos that snaked down his forearms.

His hands were bare, the tattoos sharp and stark against his pale skin, and with every movement he made, every subtle gesture, only drew more attention to them.

His jeans were dark, fitted, and the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. His boots were black, worn, and scuffed at the toes; and you couldn’t help but notice the way his tattoos peeked out from under his jacket every time he would move, his black shirt sliding up just to reveal the skin of his lower stomach, hidden tattoos snaking down from his stomach to his v-line, the ink like a map of his past.

From your spot against the wall, someone brushed past you, maybe too close, their hand grazing your hip in what could only be described as an attempt to get your attention. You instinctively took a step to the side, further away from the advance, the unwanted touch sending a jolt of discomfort through your body.

But before you could even process the movement, Rafe’s voice cut through the air, low and controlled but still managing to fill the entire room. His eyes glanced up, for once, to look directly at you and then back to the man who had touched you, the gun in his grasp as he pointed it up at the man's head.

“You touch her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The room fell silent.

Everyone froze, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Rafe didn’t need to say anything more. His eyes, dark and unwavering, flickered to the gun in his hand, the metal gleaming in the dim light.

The guy who had brushed past you seemed to hesitate, the realization of just how serious Rafe was slowly sinking in. Rafe gave him a look, one so cold, so lethal, that the guy stumbled back a step, his face draining of color as he backed away from you.

Rafe didn’t even acknowledge the guy’s retreat, his eyes never leaving you as he shifted his weight, walking over to you, sliding the gun into the front pocket of his jeans. His smirk curled at the edges as he reached you, dark and knowing.

The party around you continued, Rafe's friends continuing to drink and laugh about what had just happened, a few men in the room leaning in to snort a line of some crushed up drug.

“You think you're a fucking kook now, huh?” he asked, the words sliding out with a smoothness that made your stomach churn.

You took a half-step back, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, his words wrapping around you. “What?”

Rafe’s grin widened, though there was no humor in it. “You’re a Pogue. Don’t even pretend you belong here,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, but somehow carrying over the buzz of the party.

His gaze flickered over your outfit, taking in every detail with an intensity that made your skin feel too tight. “But here you are, trying to blend in like one of us.”.

He spoke again, his voice low but sharp. “What’s the plan, huh? You think you’re gonna fool anyone in here?”

You swallowed, heart racing. “I’m not trying to fool anyone,” you snapped.

Rafe took a slow step toward you, his posture relaxed but everything about him screamed danger. “Then why the fuck are you here?” he asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

His question hung in the air, weighty and unsettling. Your chest tightened, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

“I’m here because I wanted to be."

Rafe tilted his head, his lips curling into that same devilish smirk that made you infuriated. “You think you’re gonna get away with this? The whole pretending game?” he asked, his voice low and taunting.

The tension between you was thick, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking what had been eating at you. You stepped closer, more out of instinct than anything else, and shot him a sharp look, your eyes on his.

“Why did you protect me then?” you asked, your voice coming out a little rougher than you intended. “What’s the point of that if i'm a everything you despise?”

“I might not know what the hell you’re doing here, but I'm not gonna sit here and watch an fucking assault happen. It doesn't make you special, would've done it for anyone in that situation."

His words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, the harshness of his usual demeanor seemed to soften, leaving you caught somewhere between confusion and relief. Before you could respond, you heard the familiar voices of JJ and Kie calling out through the crowd, growing louder as they approached.

“Where the hell did you go?” JJ’s voice was sharp, his tone laced with annoyance. His eyes darted around the room before landing on you, and the moment they did, his expression darkened.

He was already walking toward you, his shoulders stiff with frustration. “What the hell are you doing with him?” he snapped, eyes narrowing at Rafe, his eyes finding the gun in his pocket and staying trained on it.

“I’m fine, JJ,” you said quickly, holding up a hand to stop him before he could say anything more. You didn’t need him to make a scene right now, but JJ wasn't having it.

You’re fine?” JJ shot you a glare. “You’re fine with this asshole?”

Rafe stood there, not saying a word, his posture relaxed as if he didn’t care about the fight brewing right in front of him. But you could feel the silent tension building between the two of them, like a storm ready to break.

Kie sighed, her voice softer as she stepped forward to rest her hand on JJ's shoulders. “Come on, let’s just get out of here."

JJ’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his jaw clenching tight as he took a step forward, his voice rising as he began to speak, “You think you can just walk in here and mess with my sister, Rafe? You’ve got some fucking nerve,” he spat.

Rafe didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem to care. His eyes remained cold, calculating as they locked onto JJ. The smirk that usually accompanied Rafe’s demeanor was gone, replaced by an icy calmness that only made the tension worse.

“You’re gonna try and lecture me now, JJ?” Rafe asked, his voice smooth, almost mocking. “You’ve got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s it,” JJ growled, taking another step closer. His anger was boiling over now, and you could see the muscles in his arms tense as if he was ready to throw a punch at any moment. “You don’t get to fuck with me, my sister, or anyone I care about. Not anymore, I'm gonna put you and your fucking family in the hospital."

Before you could even react, JJ launched himself forward, fists flying. The first punch landed square on Rafe’s jaw with a sickening thud, causing the entire room to momentarily quiet down, every conversation sputtering to a halt.

Rafe didn’t stagger, didn’t even seem fazed by the hit. He stood there for a second, the look in his eyes calculating, before his hand shot out, grabbing JJ by the shirt collar and shoving him back against the wall with an insane force.

JJ’s chest heaved, struggling to break free, his hands scrabbling at Rafe’s arm, but Rafe’s hold was like iron, “Get the fuck off me, Cameron."

With a vicious twist of his body, he slammed his knee into Rafe’s stomach, the blow landing with a sickening crunch.

In one smooth movement, he broke free of Rafe’s hold, launching a swift uppercut into Rafe’s chin. The punch landed with bone-shaking force, knocking Rafe back a couple steps, and knocking the gun from his pocket, causing it to spin in circles on the wooden floor. Rafe was met with a punch to the lip as JJ turned him around with his force, pinning Rafe against the wall in the same way he just had done to JJ.

“Damn, Maybank,” Rafe muttered, his voice tight with pain but laced with something almost grudgingly respectful.

JJ’s hands were shaking as he grabbed the gun from the floor, his fingers trembling around the cold metal.

One of Rafe’s friends, a tall guy with messy hair, was the first to make a move. He lunged at JJ, shouting at him to drop the gun, his voice filled with panic and anger. Another guy stepped forward, his fists clenched, his gaze hard and dangerous, eyes locked on the weapon in JJ’s trembling hands.

"Stay the fuck back," JJ growled, his voice low and strained.

He yanked the weapon back, barely managing to avoid the man's grasp. The group was closing in on him now, surrounding him in a tightening circle, but JJ refused to back down.

"JJ, give me the gun," you said softly, "You don’t need to do this."

Kie's voice broke the silence. She glanced at JJ, her voice steady as she spoke, “JJ, listen to her. You don’t have to do this. None of us want this.”

“You think they’ll just let us walk away from this, Kie?” JJ’s voice cracked, filled with frustration and a hint of defeat. “They’re not gonna stop. Not after everything… after what he—”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and gently, you pried the gun from his grip. His hands lingered on it for a second longer, the metal still warm from his touch, but then, with a heavy sigh, he let go.

Within an instant, you drop it back on the floor beneath you, moving it away from everyone.

Kie moved closer to JJ, her hand resting on his arm as she smiled at him, "Come on, JJ,” she said, her voice calm yet firm. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

You watched as she guided him out, her hand holding his as they walked down the hall. Kie turns back to you, her eyes glinting, "Do you wanna stay?"

You glanced back at Kie, who was already halfway down the hall with JJ. She had given you the choice, and it felt like you could either walk away or take a deeper dive into the mess that was Rafe Cameron.

You made your choice. You straightened your shoulders, meeting Kie’s eyes before giving a nod. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

Kie didn’t say anything more, just shot you a quick, understanding glance before disappearing down the hallway with JJ.

Rafe's presence felt heavier now, more intense. He hadn’t moved, still leaning casually against the wall, though there was a faint smirk on his lips. He watched you approach, his eyes still sharp.

“Not leaving?” Rafe’s voice broke the silence, his gaze flicking to the door where Kie and JJ had just vanished.

“No,” you replied, your tone steady. “But I think you’re gonna need some help.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond, stepping past him toward the back hallway. You motioned for him to follow, ignoring the way his gaze lingered on you, calculating. He pushed himself off the wall and trailed behind, his footsteps quiet.

You led him to a small, secluded room at the back of the mansion. The door clicked shut behind you, and the noise from the party seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of your breaths in the silence.

The room was dark, with only a small lamp casting faint light on the walls. There was an old couch in the corner and a low coffee table cluttered with liquor bottles, glasses, and half-empty cigarette butts.

Rafe stood by the door for a moment, watching you as you grabbed a first aid kit from a shelf nearby. You could feel his gaze on you, intense as he stood against the frame of the door.

“Sit down,” you ordered, your voice sharper than you intended. “I’m not going to patch you up if you’re standing.”

He raised an eyebrow, but did as you said, sinking down onto the couch with a grunt. You moved around him, gathering supplies and perching yourself on the couch next to him, his hand reaching over to rest on your thigh, whether he noticed he did that or not.

When you turned back toward him, his voice sliced through the silence, smooth but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Why didn’t you just let him shoot me?” Rafe asked, his voice low, almost curious, but the intensity in his eyes was undeniable. “You knew what he was about to do. You could’ve let him. Hell, you probably should’ve let him.”

“I wasn’t gonna let JJ go that far,” you said, voice tight. “He may be pissed, but he’s still my brother. He doesn’t need that on his conscience.”

His wounds weren’t too bad—at least, not the ones you’d seen before. His lip was split, blood still crusted at the edges, and the faint bruising on his cheek was already starting to darken. His knuckles were scraped and raw from the fight with JJ, and a few small cuts dotted his arms.

He leaned forward, pulling his jacket off and his shirt to let you tend to his wounds. You couldn't help but notice his abs were sharply defined, each muscle cutting through his skin with precision, like they had been carved, as if he were a sculpture come to life.

The light reflected off his skin in a way that made the muscles look so fucking good, creating shadows and highlights along his chest and stomach. His face and his body was a completely lethal combo, and there was no way to describe him other than perfection.

However, there was something else, there were fresh cuts on his torso, long and shallow, a few looking as if they’d been done recently, barely healed, and they weren’t from the fight with JJ.

“Where did those come from?” you asked quietly, your eyes meeting his. “Those weren’t from JJ. Who did this to you?”

"Does it really matter?" he muttered, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place.

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment, wincing as you bandage up his cuts. Your eyes lingering a little too long at the ink on his skin, dark tattoos that sprawled across his lower stomach, intricate designs that dipped dangerously close to his V-line, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. You couldn’t help but stare, your fingers hesitating over the fresh scrapes on his ribs.

Rafe noticed. Of course, he did.

“See something you like?” His voice was pure arrogance, laced with amusement, his smirk deepening as he caught the way your eyes lingered.

You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the first-aid kit instead of the way your body reacted to him. “I see someone who needs to shut up and let me do this.”

Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you don’t really hate me.”

Your eyes flickered down, at his hand, resting casually on your thigh as you placed a bandage on his torso, close to his rib. But his hand rested on you like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t something completely inappropriate given the situation.

Your breath caught, but Rafe didn’t seem to care. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was enjoying this. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re really making this about me right now?” His voice was thick with amusement as he saw your expression the moment you looked down at his hand,“Kinda cute, though. You worried about me?”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the warmth spreading where his hand touched you. “I just asked a question.”

“And I just gave an answer.” He smirked, fingers flexing ever so slightly, like he was testing how much you’d let him get away with. “Not my fault you’re sitting so close, princess.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, dabbing at the cut on his ribs a little harder than necessary. He barely flinched, his smirk only growing.

“And yet,” he mused, tilting his head, “you’re still here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his other hand lifted, tracing lightly along your arm, his touch featherlight, teasing.

It wasn’t fair, the way he looked at you, like he already knew what you were thinking before you could say it. His blue eyes flickered down to your lips.

“You gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

You hated that he was right. Hated that your pulse spiked when his fingers trailed higher, his grasp interlocking around your throat gently, his hands gliding against the skin there, rubbing at the sides of your neck.

“Still pretending?” Rafe murmured, his voice dark with amusement.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You couldn’t answer, not when his grip flexed slightly, just enough to make your pulse hammer beneath his palm. He watched you carefully, his eyes flickering between yours, reading every reaction, soaking in every shaky breath.

“I should hate you,” you finally managed, though it sounded weak, unconvincing.

“Maybe,” he hummed, tilting his head, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. “But you don’t.”

And then he kissed you, slow at first, teasing, his lips brushing against yours just enough to make you chase him. But when you did, he pulled you in completely, deepening the kiss with a quiet groan, his other hand gripping your waist, dragging you impossibly closer. His tongue slid against yours, the taste of whiskey lingering between you both.

Every inch of him felt so consuming; his warmth, his strength, the way he made you feel like you were both on the edge of something thrilling and dangerous.

Your breath hitched as his hand slid up your side, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your thigh, and it felt like every touch of his was electrifying you, burning you from the inside out.

Rafe’s lips pulled away from yours for a fraction of a second, enough to breathe out a low chuckle. “You’re not even pretending anymore, are you?”

Before you could respond, he guided you to straddle his lap, your thighs pressed around his right leg as his left hand found your neck, grasping it once again. His other hand grasping your hip, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp.

“C’mon, princess. I know you wanna move.”

You swallowed hard, the heat between you almost unbearable, but you didn’t move, not yet. His smirk deepened at your hesitation, like he was enjoying watching you squirm.

“What? You need me to tell you what to do?” His voice was pure arrogance, dripping with amusement as he presses his thigh up between your legs, the pressure making you whimper. “Go ahead. Ride my thigh, baby. Make a mess on my jeans."

The rough denim of his jeans presses against your already throbbing pussy and his hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against him.

“There you go,” he groans, watching you with dark, hooded eyes. “Fuck, you feel good. Look at you—so needy and you haven’t even gotten my cock yet.”

"Keep going,” Rafe murmurs as his lips find yours again, his voice low and dangerous. He smiles into the kiss, his voice raspy as he encourages you even more, “Take what you need, baby. Show me how bad you want it."

"Rafe," you gasp, looking into his eyes.

"Look at you, fucking slut. Can't get enough can you?" He looks you in the eyes, his mouth open smiling as he hears you moan for him. "Yeah? You like rubbing that dripping pussy all over my thigh?"

You nod eagerly, unable to form words as he continues to tease you. Your heart races with anticipation, your body aching for his touch.

Without warning, he slides his hand between your legs, rubbing against your soaking wet pussy through your panties. You gasp, arching your back as a shiver of pleasure runs down your spine.

He holds you still, his fingers rubbing against your folds as he places soft kisses on your neck and your jaw. When he speaks again, his voice is velvety and hoarse, "Oh fuck... god.. you're so fuckin' wet I can feel it through your panties."

His fingers slide inside your panties, finding your clit and circling it gently, he pauses tapping his fingers against your clit as he talks, "I can't wait to be inside of there baby."

You moan softly as he presses harder, your hips bucking into his hand. "Mmm fuck, you're so wet for me already," he growls, his other hand tugging at the waistband of your panties.

He stops touching you instantly, his hands letting go of your body completely. "Let me see that pretty pussy baby," he coos, a smile playing at his lips, "C'mere, get on the couch for me slut."

Your heart races as you climb onto the couch, spreading your legs wide for him. He takes his time, running his hands up and down your thighs, teasing you with his touch before he reaches behind you, unzipping your dress and sliding it off of you, throwing it onto the floor.

Rafe moves from his spot next to you, facing you and instead climbs down onto the floor in front of your spread legs.

He kneels between your legs, his eyes locked on your panties. Within an instant he begins to kiss your thighs, his tongue running along the skin of your thighs up to your cunt. He presses a small kiss to your covered pussy, his hands reaching up to hold your thighs apart, and his eyes trained on your facial expressions as he teases you.

Smiling through his teeth, he slowly bites at your underwear, pulling it from your core before snapping it back, again and again.

"Want me to take these off? hmmm.. love?"

You nod eagerly, unable to hide your anticipation as he slowly slides your panties down your legs, revealing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze.

His breathing becomes ragged as he slowly runs his fingers through your folds, teasing you with his touch. You gasp, arching your back as he finds your clit and starts to tease it gently, as he licks his lips.

"My god look at this fuckin' pussy.."

He smiles rubbing at your clit and looking up at you, his hands reach up leaving your legs to rub at your tits, finding them and toying with your nipples.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. He pushes two fingers into your wetness, finding your G-spot and massaging it gently as he sucks on your clit.

His other hand continues to play with your nipples, rolling and pinching them, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as his eyes stay on yours.

" You fucking dirty girl, you like it when I eat your cunt and look at you like this?" You moan louder at his words, your hips bucking against his hand and his tongue as he works your pussy. His tongue sliding against your clit, flicking against it while his fingers fuck up into you.

"Please," you whimper, your hands gripping the couch as you try to hold yourself back. "Please, I need more." He grins against your skin, pulling back slightly to look at you with lust-filled eyes.

Rafe chuckles, his lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the heat radiating from his gaze. "You want more?" His voice is thick with amusement, and there's an undeniable edge to it. But there's something else there, too, something dangerous. His hand moves to the back of his waistband, and for a brief second, your eyes catch the gleam of cold metal.

He notices your shift in focus and raises an eyebrow, leaning in again, his lips brushing over your ear. "You see it, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a whisper.

His hand rests casually on the gun hidden beneath his jacket, and the simple gesture makes your breath catch in your throat.

He smiles at you, bringing the gun up and resting the barrel against your thigh as he continues to speak, "You like this, don't you?" he murmurs, his lips curling into a grin.

"You know how this game works," he murmurs, his lips curling into a devilish grin. His free hand brushes your cheek, his fingers warm against your skin despite the cold of the handgun.

You swallow, speaking carefully. “I want this. But I need you to hear me—only if you're sure. I need to feel safe, Rafe.”

His smirk falters for a split second, and he studies you closely, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing your words. The gun never leaves your thigh, but there’s a shift, a subtle understanding.

“You’re safe,” he says, his voice quieter now. "It's not loaded."

With slow, deliberate movements, he lowers the barrel of the gun from your thigh. Your heart skips a beat, unsure of what he’s about to do next, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you watch as he opens the chamber.

He holds it up for you to see, the empty slot glaring back at you. "It's not loaded," he says again, his tone absolute.

The cold metal of the gun presses against your skin, its icy chill sending a shiver all the way up your spine. It feels heavier than you expected, the solid weight of it a stark contrast to the warmth of your own body.

As Rafe moves the barrel ever so slightly, you feel it shift, teasing your thigh with its frigid surface as it skims along your skin. He smiles, licking his lips as he keeps his eyes on yours and his hands on your thighs, holding them still.

Rafe groans, "tell me you want me to fuck you like this..please baby.."

"Please.. I want to feel it, fuck me with it." As soon as the words fall from your lips he lets out a moan, the barrel presses against your entrance and slowly he guides it inside.

He smile as the cold metal of the gun enters you, your pussy tingling with sensations of the coldness and also of the newfound excitement.

Slowly, Rafe begins to move it inside of you, fucking you.

"God fuck.. that's so hot," He whines, his other hand that was rubbing your thigh moves to your cunt, his fingers toying with your clit.

You feel your body tense up as he starts to rub your clit in a circular motion, his fingers finding just the right spot. "Fuck yeah, baby," he moans, his voice deep and husky.

"mm.. you're safe baby, don't worry just enjoy it for me slut."

Your head falls back against the couch and your breathing hitches, your moaning becoming erratic. "Fuck, yes," he groans, his fingers never stopping their rhythmic motion.

You feel your body shuddering as the pleasure builds up inside you. You moan loudly, arching your back as you feel your orgasm approaching.

"I'm gonna come," you pant, your voice sounding strained.

Rafe chuckles, his fingers leaving your clit to rub at your thighs again. He smiles, "play with those tits for me baby, rub them when you come for me on this gun."

You reach up and start massaging your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as Rafe continues, making your cunt feel so good.

"Fuck, that's it baby, clench around it," Rafe moans, his fingers rubbing your thighs as he speeds up the movement of the gun inside of you.

"Come on it for me, do it," He groans, watching as your thighs begin to shake, your eyes rolling back as you moan and pant heavily, coming for him all over his weapon.

"Fuck, you're squeezing it so tight.. oh god..baby"

He smiles as you come, his hands leaving your thighs as you finish. Without a word he slides the barrel out of your cunt, his mouth practically drooling as he drops the gun onto the floor beside you both.

"God, you're so fucking good."

You pant, moaning and smiling. "I want more, please Rafe," you murmur.

"You want my cock, don't you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, instead he moves his mouth away, pushing two fingers into your tight heat, curling them against your G-spot as he uses his thumb to rub tight circles around your clit.

"If you want my cock you have to get it as wet as this pussy is."

Without warning, he stands up, pulling his fingers out of you as he goes to sit back down on the couch. You let out a small moan of disappointment, but he silences it with a quick kiss on your lips.

He looks at you, his eyes filled with desire. "Now it's my turn," he says, his voice low and husky.

"Take my pants off for me, baby."

You nod, your heart racing as you reach for his belt, climbing down on the floor in between his thighs.

He helps you by lifting his hips, making it easier for you to slide his pants and boxers down his muscular thighs. His cock springs free, already hard and ready for you. You gasp at the sight of it, unable to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight before you.

He smirks, knowing he has your full attention now. "Now what do you think, baby? Do you like what you see?"

Your fingertips graze over his warm skin, tracing the outline of his erect cock. You can feel how big he is as you trace it with your fingertips, and you can feel your heart racing as you wrap your hand around it, slowly stroking up and down.

He lets out a low moan, his eyes closing as he leans back against the couch, giving you better access to his throbbing cock. You continue to stroke him, moving your hand faster and faster.

Suddenly, he grabs your wrist, stopping your motion. He opens his eyes, looking deep into yours.

"I want you to suck my cock, baby," he says, his voice low and demanding. He smiles at you, his eyes burning into yours.

"Do you think you can be a good girl and do that for me? Suck my cock baby, mm.. let me stuff my cock deep down your throat."

Your hands stroke the base of his cock, your mouth moving to kiss his tip softly, all of his precum falling onto your lips, as if it is a perfect lipgloss.

Rafe moans, his voice raspy as he bites his lip. "Oh god, yeah.." He smiles, chuckling down at you, "wait wait wait.."

He smiles, his hand reaching to push you back a little further. "Stick out your tongue, angel."

Instinctively, you stick out your tongue, it glistening with your own saliva. He smiles leaning forward as he urges your face upward, towards him.

Rafe maneuvers the tip of his cock at your tongue, slapping it on your wet mouth, one, two, three, times.

Precum leaks onto your tongue as he slaps it on their, groaning as you close your mouth around his tip the second he stops hitting it against it.

You feel the head of his cock pushing against the back of your throat, and you gag slightly. Rafe's hand grips your hair tighter, pulling your head back and forth along his shaft.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "You're such a good little cocksucker."

You moan around his cock, unable to form words as he continues to thrust deeper into your throat. Your nose presses against his lower abdomen, as his cock flows into your throat.

He pulls your head back further, pushing his cock deeper, stretching your throat around his thick shaft. He grunts with pleasure, enjoying the tight feeling of your throat as you choke on his cock.

Rafe pulls you off of his cock, his hands grab your face on both sides as he looks into your eyes.

"You're so beautiful, open your mouth up."

Obeying, you open up your mouth, sticking your tongue out again. You watch as Rafe bends forward, urging your chin up and then slowly he spits, it dripping down onto your tongue.

"Now you're gonna take that and you're gonna rub it all on that cunt for me, got it?"

You smile, spitting onto your own hand as he lets go of your face for just a second. Instantly, you move your hand down to your cunt, your fingers sliding the sticky saliva onto your folds.

"good slut," Rafe smiles, praising you as he watches you rub your clit for him from his position on the couch.

Rafe reaches out as soon as you begin rubbing and grabs onto your hair, moving it out of the way so you can suck him off, "God.. you're such a dirty little slut, aren't you?" he growls, his hot breath hitting your face.

You nod eagerly, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting his cock. As you take him deeper into your mouth, he lets out a low moan of pleasure. You can feel his erection throbbing against your tongue, and you begin to bob your head up and down, taking more of him into your mouth.

Rafe's hands find their way to your head, gripping tightly as he guides your movements. "Oh fuck... stay right fucking there, don't you move.." He groans.

Rafe thrusts into your mouth, your saliva sliding all over his dick as he fucks into your throat, causing you to moan against his shaft. As you continue to bob your head up and down, taking him deeper into your throat, Rafe's hips start to buck wildly, his moans becoming more intense. You can feel his cock twitching, pulsing with every thrust, filling your mouth with his length.

"god.. get up lay on this couch for me sweetheart."

You listen, smiling as you stand up from the floor, laying on the couch on your back. Instantly, Rafe is in front of you his cock resting against your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance.

Rafe's hips press closer to you, his tip teasing your entrance, resting right on top of your pussy.

"God, look at how deep I'm gonna be in there.."

You look down, propping a pillow behind your head as you see his length against you. Rafe's cock is so big that fully inside of you, he'll be inside of your stomach.

The thought makes you shudder with need. "Please Rafe, I want you to slide it deep inside of me," You moan, your pussy clenching, "I can't wait to feel you inside me."

Without further hesitation, he positions himself between your legs, his cock teasing your wet entrance. Leaning down, his lips find yours in a passionate kiss as Rafe slowly pushes all the way inside of you.

You gasp at the sensation of his thick shaft filling you up, feeling every inch of him stretch your tight walls. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you arch your back, meeting his thrusts with equal force. The couch nearly creaks under your weight as you grind against each other, lost in the moment.

"You like it rough, don't you.. yeah?" Rafe chuckles, his lips against yours as he speaks, fucking you so good all at the same time. "You know why you like it rough.. You're a fucking.." He groans, cutting himself off, "Jesus... oh , fuckin' slut."

You're eyes close as you moan, feeling Rafe fucking Cameron so deep in your stomach. Something you had never expected to happen.

"I want to look at your face while I fuck you," he moans, "Keep your eyes on me baby."

You open your eyes, your gaze finding his as he pounds into your cunt, so deep. "Look down baby.. look at it go in there.."

You look down at his cock, the space between you just big enough for you to see his dick disappear into your cunt and reappear.

"God, you feel amazing... fuck.." One of his hands reaches up to squeeze at your tits, his fingertip circling on your nipples.

"Oh god, I'm gonna come, Rafe" you moan, your voice shaking with anticipation. You cling onto him tighter, your nails digging into his back as he thrusts deeper into you, leaving marks, leaving him new injuries.

"Come for me again, come all over my cock.. god.." Rafe moans, feeling you spasm around his dick, but he doesn't stop fucking you. "I can feel you trembling on my cock, so close… don't hold back, just come on my cock."

"I'm gonna fuck you through it, baby.." He smiles, groaning as he feels your pussy clench around him, your cum coating his cock inside of you.

Rafe's thrusts become even more forceful, driving his cock deeper into your wet, tight pussy. His hand moves to your chin, lifting your head up to look into his eyes. "God, you're so beautiful when you come like that," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire.

Rafe notices your body tensing and grins, his hand moving from your chin to your throat, caressing your skin softly. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. You nod, unable to form words, your mind consumed by the pleasure he's giving you.

He thrusts harder, deeper, feeling your pussy clench around his cock. The sound of your moans fill the room, mixing with the wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby... god yes I'm gonna come in that pussy."

He leans down, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, tasting you. You moan into the kiss, your body trembling with pleasure. The tension builds up inside of you, your pussy clenching around Rafe's cock, milking him dry.

You moan as you feel his hot come enter you, painting your insides white. You can feel his seed flow into you, dripping everywhere. "God.. fuck yes.."

Sighing, Rafe pulls out of you. His cock soaked with your come and wetness and your pussy soaked in his. Instinctively, Rafe reaches out to slide his fingers into you.

His fingers gently toy with your g-spot as you moan, whimpering because your cunt is too sensitive. "mmm.. look at all of my come in you.."

He smiles, plunging his fingers in and out of you before he pulls them out completely, bringing them up to your clit where he rubs his come that was inside you onto your clit.

"God you're so good.." He chuckles, stopping his rubbing as he leans forward to kiss you. He places a gentle peck on your lips before bringing his fingers that were just inside of you up to your mouth.

"Stick your tongue out for me, one more time angel.."

You listen, poking your tongue out from your mouth. Rafe slides his fingers into your mouth, your tongue licking around them and tasting his come mixed with yours.

"So beautiful, god you took it so good.."

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, still feeling the electricity between you both. He motions for you to stand and he lays on the couch, patting his chest where you immediately come lay, his arms wrapping around you. A small, amused smile tugged at your lips as you glanced up at him.

JJ is going to kill me if he finds out,” you muttered.

Rafe's lips curled into that cocky grin of his. “Just don’t tell him,” he said casually, as if it was the simplest solution. “I’m sure he won’t notice.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “Right. Because JJ’s just going to… not notice?”

Rafe chuckles softly, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Just don’t tell him," he murmurs with a wink. "What happens here, stays here."

"Would've helped if we locked the door," you murmur, sighing as you see the door cracked open.

Rafe laughs, his voice low and teasing. “I thought you liked a little risk,” he says, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he looks over at the door. "Besides, no one's here but us. And if they were, well…" He pauses, his lips curling into that signature cocky grin, "they're too high to remember any of it."

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Did you forget I’m a Pogue?” you ask, teasingly, your voice laced with amusement. “Pretty sure Kooks don’t exactly mix with us, especially not like this.”

Rafe shrugs nonchalantly, his grin never fading. “You sure? ‘Cause, if I remember correctly, you seem to be enjoying this just fine." He leans in a bit, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Maybe you’re just my exception."

thank you so much for reading! sorry for any writing mistakes as always ♡

i had to add in the who did this to you trope, i just had to

ೃ࿐ chratt fic dealers : currently working on

ೃ࿐ chratt fic tutors : currently working on

ೃ࿐ suit & tie — chris sub blurb

[eddies-ashtray]

FLUFF

♡ eddie loses a ring & you find it

♡ eddie clears out a drawer in his room for you

♡ surprising eddie with a tidy bedroom

♡ eddie cooks for you, but burns the food

♡ you bite eddie’s arm

♡ eddie when you have seasonal allergies

♡ eddie draws for you a lot. you get one tattooed

♡ the first “i love you’s” with eddie

♡ best friend eddie pines for you

♡ eddie is sick & you take care of him

♡ you’re each others favourite person

♡ eddie distracts you while doing homework

♡ a perfect moment with eddie

♡ eddie learns a new song

♡ you’re drunk & eddie helps you get ready for bed

♡ eddie holds you after a rough day

♡ eddie’s had a crush on you for years

♡ getting ready for bed with eddie

♡ eddie is finally graduating & you & wayne have a surprise for him

♡ napping in eddie’s room

♡ meet cute

short & sweet (fluffy mini blurbs & thoughts)

• the 30th

• eddie’s jean chain

• your necklace

• eddie says “i love you” first

• horror movies with eddie

• eddie’s love language

• eddie loves taking care of you

• the ring on eddie’s right hand

• eddie when you have insomnia

• there’s something in your teeth, eddie gets it out

• eddie is your weighted blanket

• you paint your nails eddie’s favourite colour

• riding bikes with eddie

• drunk eddie thoughts

• eddie wears glasses; you think he looks pretty

• eddie brushes his teeth after he smokes

• coworker eddie x receptionist reader

• summer nights with eddie

• eddie believes in ghosts (headcanon)

• eddie at the community pool

• eddie buys a mini water gun (hc)

• eddie learns magic tricks

• kissing eddie on street corners

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

random percy headcanons:

wants to be the photographer friend SO bad and he technically is but like 70% of the pics come out blurry or weird bc there was a monster attack in the middle of them. his instagram is truly so chaotic looking.

literally always has seashells on him someone will ask him for a pencil or spare change and he has to empty all his pockets of shells to find it. drops his backpack and a bunch of shells fall out. kicks his shoes off and sand and shells fly out and his mortal friends are like percy What the Fuck

his eyes glow underwater!! bioluminescent king. no one told him though and he didn't find out until he joined his school's swim team and terrified everyone (he managed to convince them his contacts were having a weird reaction to chlorine lmao)

he really likes art!! he doesn't just pretend to for rachel's sake he genuinely enjoys painting with her. he likes splatter paint, collages and pop art styles the best. one day after splitting some edibles they realized percy could manipulate water colors and went CRAZY with it

will ask to be excused during class and comes back like an hour later with scorch marks all over his face bleeding from one of his ears covered in dust missing three fingernails rips in his jeans and a fat lip and the teacher is like percy what the actual hell were you doing in the bathroom all this time and he's just like uhhhhhh I have ibs

the brand from camp jupiter did unfortunately (for sally) Unlock something in him lmfao he keeps getting shitty little tattoos. usually stick-n-poke but someone's friends cousin's girlfriend's brother has a gun that gets brought to parties every now and then. most of them are sloppy but you can tell what they are HOWEVER he has one that was supposed to be a seal that came out looking like one of those shitty ms paint crying memes. annabeth laughed at him for ten minutes straight when she saw it.

he wanted to dye his hair blue but he was too chicken to bleach his entire head so he just did the tips. his hair is curly though so it looks absolutely ridiculous but he loves it

percy and annabeth get a crusty little yappy white dog in college and he carries it around like a baby lmao

back to his chaotic instagram, he's got so many pics of him like, relaxing at the bottom of the mariana trench or hugging a giant squid or riding on a whale shark and his mortal friends all think he's just really good at photoshop and this is a very specific bit he decided to commit to. they're always like lol percy where do you even FIND these pictures are you subscribed to like scientific journals for the laughs? but no he just took them all on his shell phone

has an ongoing prank war with annabeth's little brothers bobby and matthew but like it's Unhinged. they're playing 5D chess and she has no idea whats going on

weird tshirts!!! he loves them! like

shit like this or those 'women want me fish fear me' shirts, anything with a funny or incomprehensible slogan is going in his closet right along with his band tees lmfao

bought estelle a panda pillow pet when she was born 🥺

can NOT bring himself to eat seafood no matter how many times poseidon has told him its fine. he's like NO these are my FRIENDS JONATHAN WAS TELLING ME ABOUT HIS GRANDDAUGHTERS WEDDING LITERALLY YESTERDAY WHY IS HE ON A PLATTER DAD. they had to give up and just start eating normal land food at the palace every time he comes to visit lmfao

gets into horsegirl antics with hazel she NEEDS to know everything the horses have to say. they spend hours gossiping in the stables.

movie nights in the poseidon cabin were 10000% a thing and when he was missing annabeth and thalia and grover (and a few others) would still sleep in there every now and then and talk about how much they miss him :(

percy and beckendorf had the worlds most elaborate handshake

he DOES impulse buy stuff just because they're ocean-themed. stuffed animals, home decor, school supplies, clothes, you name it he bought it if theres like a fish on it

has more scars from crashing off his skateboard than he does from monster attacks

grover is somehow the only person who's ever noticed percy is severely claustrophobic

has a deep passion for adele. I can't explain this one I just feel and know it to be true.

he and annabeth both proposed to each other at the same time and they were SO mad about it they kept yelling over each other's speeches lmao

he can SING but he doesn't know it. sally keeps trying to record him singing to himself but something always happens to the camera and she loses the evidence

called chiron a brony one time and mr d thought it was so funny he was nice to percy for an entire week

the camp keeps trying to convince him to teach sword fighting lessons to the younger kids but he can NOT bring himself to swing a sword at a 9 year old so he keeps getting injured

has the most complicated iced coffee order in the world his go-to local coffee shop finally just put the damn drink on the menu and named it after him

he IS the quiet kid in the back of your math class that always has his hood up to try and hide his headphones and eats increasingly elaborate meals out of his backpack when the teacher isn't looking. one time someone caught him with a rotisserie chicken in the middle of a geometry final.

he argued that he DID have enough to share with the class

currently obsessed with the image of him knocking back a container of sea salt as if it was a shot and his mortal friends being like hey! what the actual fuck! and he's just like uhhhhh anemia kills!

its his birthday<3

[inkskinned]

we were drunk off mezcal and my dog had his paws crossed like he was fancy and we were giggling about it and i told you that with the sun coming back i can feel my fingers again and you grabbed my wrist and jokingly shook my limp hands while saying i have you i got you and i wanted to tell you i love you in that moment but it's actually just that it's spring and love actually seems like something that i can afford once in a while so long as i'm not overwhelmed by the crushing weight of having to do my laundry

i don't get so sad on sundays anymore and part of that is you but also part of it is that i've been watching a bird melodrama in the tree outside my window - first the robins had the run of it, then the doves. most recently a family of sparrows came through. the sky was pink today like a kiss, and i felt the pastel wrap in a warm piebald snake around my chest and hum herself into my bones

thank god for every person that forgives me for the depressive spirals i go on every winter without-fail like i swear there are absolutes in this world and it's stuff like. stoats go white in winter. the sun comes over the east. when it gets cold all parts of my soul go numb and the light can't pass through my iris without a tattoo gun. how many times can i tell a friend i'm sorry i wasn't talking to you, i truly wasn't talking to anyone

thank god i can feel my skin right now and you hold my weak little hand in your hand and then you flip it over so you can read my palm and you're smiling while you run fingertips over lines and read out my fate like it says here you like a good grillcheese sandwich and admit it you make salads by buying the pre-made spring mix and i have all your astrology shit memorized and i read your horoscope first when i'm checking my own even-though-i-don't-believe-in-it (but just in case) and i want to kiss you just to watch the blush spread in a tulip from under your freckles in that way it does, how you pull back and wrinkle your nose in laughter

thank god but today for the first time in a month i finally texted my friends back and actually made plans to hang out (how's that! barring disaster!) and i let my dog put his big muddy paws on my nice sweater and yeah actually when it's bad i always think i can't do that again. i can't crawl back up that mountain

but the sun touched me on the face this morning and we had a nice long talk about it and i said i gotta go the long way again huh and she nodded and shook back her solarflare hair and looked over to her moon girlfriend and she said you can do it. better things on the horizon.

[super-lovely-star]

Summer/Hot Weather Things for Middle Regressors and Dreamers

Make some lemonade and freeze it in molds to make lemonade popsicles. These are super tasty and refreshing after a long hot day!

Water gun or nerf blaster battles with friends. If you’re using nerf or another toy that shoots foam darts, remember to protect your eyes with goggles.

Temporary glitter tattoos! You can get them done at some boardwalks or you can buy a kit online.

Body glitter, now that it’s tank top weather! I bought some at claire’s and it smells like strawberries :D

Just chilling outside in the evenings now that the days are longer. Bring a plushie with you and enjoy the nice weather.

Once it gets dark, you can play games like flashlight tag!

Thrifting summer clothes can be fun and affordable!

Dressing up dolls in summer clothes and swimsuits, or pinning flower hair clips to your plushies’ ears.

Summer playlists! I have to admit I always tell myself I’m going to make one and then forget, but remembering will be worth it.

If you have someone to drive you, take a summer day trip to somewhere you don’t usually go. Now’s a good time for that summer playlist.

Friendship bracelets! You can make kandi, rainbow loom, or traditional woven bracelets and give them to the people close to you.

On that note, miniature friendship bracelets or collars for your plushies.

Make a summer bucket list of all the fun things you want to do this summer, and check them off as you complete them!

Last but not least, remember to wear your sunscreen!

Make sure to keep cool and stay hydrated <3