#that or he was bleaching that light streak in

[random-blep]

I think it would be really funny if kaeya was lying this whole time and he was dying his hair blue

[keehomania]

act a fool — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, fluff, slowburn, swearing, fast & furious elements, reckless driving, drunk driving, enemies to lovers, gun use, crashout!rafe, kook/pogue dynamic, eventual smut, minors dni, drop! 2 fast, drop! 2 furious

there was a world on the island that went beyond the surface-level rivalry between the rich and the poor, one that thrived off something the two tribes both loved, made into a competition. a good alternator, lubrication, a solid engine—things that led to the adrenaline rush they couldn't get from their gas station beer or firing their dad’s gun. it was the wind in their hair and the money they knew they’d get from it if they were good enough.

you had moved to outer banks when you first heard the rumors, striking up your fancy as you pondered finally being able to live up to your father’s name. he had made a name for himself when he was your age, on that very island, and you were determined to honor it as much as you could. he was what the islanders considered a pogue, and so were you. you weren’t ashamed of it—it was just the way things were. and you weren’t ashamed of him either.

“that’s good, guys. right there,” you said, your voice carrying over the low hum of conversation and the clang of tools against metal. workers shuffled around the shop, hoisting equipment into place and unrolling cords across the smooth concrete floor. the building was nothing fancy—cinderblock walls painted a clean white and a pair of garage doors wide enough to fit the biggest cars on the island—but it stood out amidst the weathered, sun-bleached shops and homes that made up the cut. that was the point. it needed to catch their eye, needed to show them that even a pogue could make something worth noticing.

the smell of fresh paint mingled with the faint tang of oil and grease, scents that already felt like home. a sleek hydraulic lift sat in one corner, freshly bolted into place, while a row of shiny toolboxes lined the back wall. you’d spent months saving for those, cutting corners wherever you could, taking extra shifts at the docks, and bartering favors to make it happen. now, they gleamed like trophies.

your gaze drifted to the wall above the toolboxes, where you’d hung a photo in a simple black frame. it was an old shot, the colors slightly faded—a younger version of you standing beside your father, both of you grinning ear to ear with a grease-streaked hood open behind you. he’d always said, “it doesn't matter if it's by an inch, or by a mile—winning is winning,” and you’d carried those words like a mantra, applying them not just to the races but to everything else in life. fixing cars, building this shop—it didn’t matter how long it took or how many setbacks you faced. progress was progress.

you smiled faintly as you brushed a bit of dust off the frame, imagining the way his eyes would light up if he saw what you’d built. he’d be proud, you were sure of it.

“hey, boss, where’d you want this?” one of the workers called out, interrupting your thoughts. he was holding a heavy-duty air compressor, shifting his weight under its bulk.

“over there, by the second bay,” you directed, pointing toward the far end of the shop where a workstation was slowly coming together. a workbench stood half-assembled, and you could already envision it cluttered with tools and parts, the heart of the operation.

as they hauled the compressor into place, you moved to another corner where a small office space had been carved out. the desk was secondhand, its surface worn and scratched, but you’d given it a fresh coat of varnish that brought out the grain of the wood. a laptop and a stack of invoices sat neatly on top, alongside a mug that still smelled faintly of the coffee you’d downed that morning.

outside, the rumble of engines drifted through the open garage doors, reminding you why you were doing this. the underground racing scene was cutthroat, a place where the line between rivalries and respect blurred in the haze of burning rubber and roaring engines. you’d need every edge you could get, and this shop was going to be your base, your sanctuary, and your weapon all at once. satisfied with the progress, you stepped back to take it all in. the shop wasn’t finished yet, but it was getting there.

it was hard to snap you out of your thoughts, but an unfamiliar voice had done its job.

“this your shop?”

you cocked your head to the right, meeting the friendly gaze of a man you didn’t recognize. he looked to be in his early twenties, taller than you, with tan skin, sun-bleached blond hair, and arms that suggested he spent more time surfing than doing anything car-related.

“yeah,” you replied coolly, the edge in your tone natural. “getting there.”

he took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the shop with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “no kidding,” he said, grinning wide enough to light up the room. “the cut doesn’t have any good mechanics. shitty parts, shitty people. i was getting my dodge fixed the other day, and the guy was totally drunk…”

he kept talking, his words tumbling out one after another, like he couldn’t stop himself. you guessed it was nerves—the way he kept glancing around, his hands fidgeting in his pockets.

“shit, i’m sorry,” he said abruptly, realization dawning on his face. he stopped in his tracks and ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “i’m jj maybank. sorry for rambling.”

you didn’t know anyone on the island yet, and he seemed harmless enough, with a disarming charm that wasn’t exactly unwelcome. you extended your hand. “nice to meet you, (y/n) (l/n).”

his handshake was firm but friendly, his smile genuine as he asked, “you a racer? mechanic?”

“whatever i wanna be,” you replied with a casual shrug.

jj’s grin widened, impressed by your confidence. “i like your enthusiasm.”

he stepped further into the shop, his curiosity getting the better of him as he started to examine everything. he crouched to inspect the hydraulic lift, nodded in approval at the toolboxes, and paused by the engine stand, where a half-dismantled v8 waited for your attention.

“what’re you doing to this one?” he asked, gesturing toward the engine.

“rebuilding it,” you replied without missing a beat. “block had a crack, so i welded it. now i’m just replacing the camshaft and lifters.”

jj blinked, clearly surprised. “you did the welding yourself?”

“yeah. why?”

he let out a low whistle, his admiration obvious. “most people would’ve scrapped it, don’t you know?”

you smirked but didn’t respond, letting him wander through the shop. he asked more questions as he went, quizzing you about everything from the tuning process to the differences between turbochargers and superchargers. you answered each question easily, and his impressed nods became more frequent. when he reached the back wall, he stopped abruptly, his eyes landing on the photo of your father. he stepped closer, studying it with reverence.

“you’ve met him?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost awed. “dude’s like my hero.”

tension settled in the air as you replied, your voice steady but firm, “well, i’d hope so. dude’s like my dad.”

jj turned to you, his mouth slightly open, his expression stunned. “you’re joking.”

you folded your arms, your gaze steady. “dead serious.”

“bullet?” he asked, his voice rising. “the bullet? your dad?”

you nodded, the weight of the moment pressing down on you thanks to the rather spontaneous topic. but it was gonna come up at some point, you knew that. jj looked back at the photo, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “that’s insane. he was a legend. the races, the cars, everything. i mean, he’s the reason i even started racing in the first place.”

“he’s the reason i came here,” you said quietly, your eyes flicking to the photo. “wanted to honor his name. his legacy. that’s why i started this shop.”

jj was silent for a moment, clearly processing everything. his mind was working—though you could tell it didn’t happen often—until something lit up in his eyes. when jj maybank got a good idea, it wasn’t often, but it was always worth considering.

“what if,” he started, pausing to make sure you were listening. “what if you drove with the pogues?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “drove with you?”

“yeah,” he said eagerly, the excitement building in his voice. “we’re always looking for drivers, and with what you know? you’d be perfect. plus, your dad’s reputation alone would make waves.”

you thought about it, letting the weight of the opportunity settle over you. your father’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you that he’d always been one to take a chance. winning is winning. finally, you nodded. “i’m in.”

jj had spent the next hour perched on the edge of a worn metal table, watching you in silence. his gaze tracked every movement of your hands as you worked on the motorcycle in front of you, the harsh fluorescent lights of the shop casting a sharp glow over the sleek black paint. he was fascinated, though he tried not to make it too obvious.

the motorcycle wasn’t anything special—just a kawasaki with a busted fuel pump you’d been hired to fix. you’d dismantled it with expert precision, the kind that made even jj, someone who lived for speed, pause in appreciation.

“that’s not your ride, is it?” he finally asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

you clicked your tongue in mild irritation at the interruption, but your answer was sharp and clear. “not a fan of anything with two wheels. only use them if i have to.”

“so what is your ride?”

you glanced up at him, smirking. “in the back.”

jj raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “wanna show me?”

you finished tightening the bolts on the fuel pump, wiped your hands on a nearby rag, and straightened up. “sure. why not?”

he hopped off the table, following you eagerly as you wheeled the motorcycle into place and locked up the shop. when you led him to the garage at the back, he couldn’t hide the anticipation bubbling beneath the surface. his mind raced with possibilities. a supra? a skyline? he had already started placing bets with himself. whatever it was, he could already tell it’d be something worth seeing.

the garage door groaned in protest as you unlocked it and slid it open. the smell of oil and gasoline hit him first, but his attention snapped to the vehicle parked in the center of the space.

“no fucking way,” he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer. his hands hovered over the car, reverent, before finally making contact. “camaro?”

you nodded, leaning casually against the garage wall, watching him with amusement. “z/28,” you clarified.

“but the z/28 isn’t supposed to be out yet,” he said, his voice full of disbelief. “not until next year.”

you shrugged, smirking. “rules don’t apply to everyone, maybank. what’d you think?”

jj turned to you, his eyes wide and pleading, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. he didn’t have to say a word for you to understand what he was asking.

“you wanna take her for a spin, don’t you?” you teased.

he nodded furiously, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you tossed him the keys. “don’t wreck it,” you called after him as you slid into the passenger seat. “you’ll owe me an eight-second car if you do.”

he didn’t need any more encouragement. the engine roared to life as he turned the key, the deep, guttural sound filling the small garage. he gripped the wheel with a wide grin, barely containing his excitement. the camaro tore out of the driveway and onto the street, its tires screeching as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. the car was smooth, powerful, and perfect—a beast on wheels.

“holy shit,” jj breathed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “this thing is unreal.”

“told you,” you replied, smirking as you leaned back in your seat, your eyes on the road. “handles like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“more than a dream. gotta be in heaven or some shit.”

he shifted gears with practiced ease, the camaro responding to every command as though it was an extension of himself. the wind whipped through the open windows, and the sound of the engine reverberated in your chest. the drive to the pogues’ shop didn’t take long, though jj seemed to savor every second of it. when he pulled up, the building came into view—a far cry from your setup.

the shop was rough around the edges, just like the pogues themselves. the walls were made of weathered wood, the roof patched in places where time and storms had taken their toll. a rusted sign hung crookedly above the door, reading “outer banks auto parts.” the front yard was littered with old car parts and broken tools, a makeshift graveyard for vehicles long since stripped for parts.

jj parked the camaro carefully, as if it was made of glass, before jumping out and grinning at you. “welcome to paradise,” he said with a laugh, gesturing toward the shop. you stepped out, taking in the scene. it was rural, gritty, and undeniably pogue, but there was something charming about it. something real. something your father would have respected.

yoy let your gaze drift over the pogues’ shop, taking in its rough exterior and cluttered front yard. the place had character, you’d give it that—old wooden walls bleached gray by the sun, mismatched patches on the tin roof, and rusted car parts scattered around like they were part of the decor. it was the polar opposite of your shop, but it felt honest in a way that was hard to ignore.

“this is nice,” you said after a moment. “real earthy.”

jj rolled his eyes, smirking. “it’s okay, you can be mean. i can take it.”

you shrugged, letting a sly grin play on your lips. “alright, it’s pretty shitty. but it’s practical.”

“damn straight it is,” he laughed, walking around to your side of the car and gesturing for you to follow him inside.

the moment you stepped into the shop, you felt like you didn’t belong. the interior was as mismatched as the outside—a haphazard mix of tools, parts, and personal touches that somehow worked. it wasn’t the mess that made you feel out of place, though; it was the dynamic. you could tell right away that these people were a family, and you were the outsider walking into their world.

“guys!” jj called, his voice echoing in the small space. “got someone you need to meet!”

the group turned toward you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and friendliness.

“this is john b,” he started, clapping a hand on the shoulder of a tall guy with messy hair and an easy smile. “our fearless leader, or something like that, kind of glazing him.”

the man grinned and offered you his hand, “nice to meet you.”

“and that’s sarah, his girlfriend,” jj continued, gesturing to the blonde girl beside john b. she had a warm, welcoming smile that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she said, stepping forward and giving you a quick hug. “it’s great to meet you.”

“over here, we’ve got pope,” jj said, nodding to a guy who was leaning over a disassembled engine, his hands covered in grease. “he’s the brains of the operation. technical genius.”

pope looked up, wiping his hands on a rag and offering you a firm handshake. “nice to meet you. you a racer or a mechanic?”

“both,” you said with a small smile.

pope raised an eyebrow, impressed. “good to know. we could use someone with your skills around here.”

“and this is cleo, pope’s girlfriend,” jj said, pointing to a girl with short, dark hair and a sharp, confident demeanor.

“finally, another girl around here,” cleo said with a grin. “it’s a relief, i tell you. what’s your pick?”

before you could answer, jj jumped in. “that’s the best part. she’s not just a racer or a mechanic. her dad, dude? her dad was bullet.” the room fell silent.

“that’s not funny, j,” john b said after a moment, running a hand through his hair in disbelief.

“it’s true,” you said, your voice steady. “he’s the reason i’m here. wanted to honor his name and his legacy.” the weight of your words settled over the group, their expressions shifting from shock to admiration.

kiara, who had been quiet until now, smiled and crossed her arms. “well, it’s a good thing you’re here, then. our cars are busted to hell, and we don’t have enough hands to fix them.”

pope nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “think you’re up for it?”

jj scoffed, rolling his eyes. “what kind of question is that? did you see the babe she rolled up in?”

sarah exchanged a glance with pope before turning back to you, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “okay, i have to ask. what do you ride?”

you pointed to the camaro parked outside, its bright orange paint gleaming in the sunlight.

“no way,” john b said, walking to the door to get a better look.

“bless your heart,” sarah said, pulling you into another hug.

the guys crowded around your camaro like kids at a candy store, their voices blending into an excited buzz. they ran their hands over the sleek orange paint, marveling at the flawless bodywork and muttering about its specs. you let them admire it, knowing the car deserved every ounce of awe it was getting. instead, you leaned back against the shop wall, folding your arms as the girls joined you.

“that’s some ride you got there,” kiara said, her tone more genuine than envious. her sharp features softened slightly as she looked between you and the camaro.

“thanks,” you replied, watching the boys from the corner of your eye. “seems like it’s already making an impression.”

she laughed lightly. “you came at the perfect time. we’ve got a big one coming up tonight.”

her words piqued your interest immediately. “big one?” you echoed, tilting your head.

sarah and cleo exchanged knowing glances before sarah leaned in slightly. “the kooks,” she said with a mix of irritation and anticipation. “we’re supposed to race them again tonight.”

you furrowed your brow, intrigued by her tone. “tonight?”

“yup,” kiara answered, a flicker of disdain crossing her face. “they’ve got their shiny cars and their squeaky-clean reputations, but they’re dirty as hell when it comes to racing.”

“they can race up front,” cleo added, nodding toward the shop’s door, “since they’ve got the cops under their thumb. us?” she gestured around dramatically. “we’ve got to be more lowkey. hence the shop.”

your gaze wandered to the garage’s cluttered interior and then back to them. “what’s the winning streak like?”

the girls shared a look that told you everything you needed to know before sarah even said, “not great.”

“not great?” you pressed, arching a brow.

kiara let out a frustrated sigh. “the kooks have everything. better cars, better drivers, and they don’t play fair. we’re lucky if we finish a race without something going wrong.”

“or someone crashing,” cleo added pointedly.

sarah’s expression darkened slightly. “especially when rafe’s involved.”

“rafe?” you repeated.

“my brother,” she admitted reluctantly, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

“wait, hold on,” you said, straightening up. “your brother races against you?”

she nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “some people call him crash. others go with crashout. he’s—let’s just say he’s a dirty racer with a good car.”

the nickname didn’t ring any bells for you, and you shook your head. “never heard of him.”

sarah looked both relieved and mortified at the same time. “well, consider yourself lucky. he’s dangerous, and not just on the track.”

“not to mention a total asshole,” cleo muttered under her breath, earning a small laugh from kiara.

“where’s this race happening?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, intrigued.

kiara stepped in to explain. “figure eight. there’s a parking lot on prairie avenue between a few streets. that’s where everyone meets up. people bring their cars, check each other out, and if they’re feeling bold, they race.”

“and the problem?” you asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“our cars are in the worst shape imaginable,” kiara admitted, her voice heavy with frustration.

you couldn’t help but grin. “well, good thing i’m here.”

the three girls looked at you, surprised by the confidence in your tone. “you’re really gonna help us?” sarah asked, her voice tentative but hopeful.

“yeah,” you said with a small nod, letting your eyes drift back to your camaro. “bring your cars to the shop tomorrow, and i’ll see what i can do.” the relief on their faces was evident, but you weren’t done. you hesitated for just a second, then added with a smirk, “but on one condition.”

cleo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “what’s that?”

“we race tonight,” you said firmly, your gaze fixed on your camaro as the sun glinted off its polished surface.

the heat was relentless, even as the sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow over the dusty road. you could feel it seeping into every fiber of your clothing, making the denim of your shorts crease uncomfortably against your skin. the humidity clung to you like a second layer, and you tugged at the flap of your tank top, attempting to let even the smallest breath of air cool you down.

your thighs stuck together with every shift of your legs against the seat, and you found yourself leaning forward slightly, hoping the breeze coming through the open window would offer some relief. it didn’t, not really, but you were too focused on the directions pope was giving you to care too much. “left up here, then just keep going straight for a bit,” he said from the backseat, his voice steady and sure.

your hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as you nodded, your eyes scanning the road ahead. each turn brought you closer to the meeting spot, and the thought of the race waiting for you settled like a heavy weight in your chest. jj sat beside you, his elbow propped against the window as he stared ahead—or at least he was supposed to be staring ahead. instead, his eyes kept darting to you.

he knew he should be focused on what was coming: the race, the cars, the adrenaline of it all. but sitting this close to you, he found himself completely distracted.

the way your tan lines peeked out from under your tank top, hinting at just how much time you’d spent in the sun. the way your shorts seemed to live up to their name, riding up just enough to make his throat dry. and then there was the sheen of sweat on your neck, trickling down to disappear under your shirt, making him lick his lips absentmindedly as he tried to focus on anything but how good you looked. It wasn’t working.

“you sure you’re cool with racing?” sarah’s voice broke through the tension, her words directed at you from the backseat where she leaned comfortably against john b’s chest.

you glanced at her briefly in the rearview mirror before returning your focus to the road. “why wouldn’t i be?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

she shrugged, though the concern in her voice remained. “they could put you up against rafe, for all you know. he doesn’t exactly play fair.”

your stomach churned slightly at the thought. you weren’t afraid of racing—not in the slightest. losing didn’t scare you either. but being humiliated by someone like rafe cameron? a dirty racer with too much confidence and too little morality? that was a whole other story. you swallowed the knot forming in your throat and shrugged one shoulder, keeping your gaze firmly ahead as the scenery began to shift. the buildings thinned out, replaced by open stretches of road and the occasional cluster of trees.

“we’ll see,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the unease twisting in your gut. it was all you could manage.

as the city gave way to open roads, you began to notice a shift in the atmosphere. people, crowds. they were scattered along the sides of the road, gathering near the parking lot pope had mentioned. the thrum of engines filled the air, a low hum that vibrated through your chest and sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. there was no turning back now.

the meeting was unlike anything you had imagined. cars were everywhere, of all makes and models, their glossy exteriors illuminated by the flickering streetlights overhead. the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber mixed with the salty tang of the sea breeze, a stark reminder of the island setting. music blasted from several vehicles, creating a chaotic symphony that drowned out the distant crash of waves.

people milled about in groups, leaning against cars or crouching near open hoods, talking shop or simply passing time. they ranged from sun-kissed surfers in board shorts to mechanics with grease-stained hands, and even the occasional tourist drawn in by the allure of rebellion. this wasn’t just a car meet—it was a full-blown spectacle. you had never seen anything like it on such a small island.

guided by pope's directions, you navigated the camaro into an open space, sliding it neatly beside a sleek motorcycle. the rumble of the engine ceased, leaving an almost deafening silence in its absence. you exhaled deeply, your fingers lingering on the steering wheel before glancing over at jj, who was already grinning like he owned the place.

“let’s go, hotshot,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

with a roll of your eyes, you pushed the door open, stepping out into the crisp night air. it was a relief against your overheated skin, instantly making the effort of the journey feel worth it. you stretched your legs, groaning softly as the ache from sitting too long set in. leaning against the hood, you extended one leg at a time, trying to shake the feeling back into them.

“my legs are killing me,” you muttered, leaning back as you let your body relax against the car’s warm surface.

jj chuckled, already fishing something out of his pocket. a small flick of a lighter revealed the joint he’d pulled free, and he tucked it between his lips with practiced ease. he took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around his lips before catching the look on your face.

“what?” he asked, his grin lazy. “cops won’t be here for a while. might as well relax.”

you narrowed your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. when he passed the joint to you, you didn’t hesitate, taking it between your fingers and mimicking his earlier drag. the burn was sharp, and the faint haze that followed was just enough to steady your nerves. as you passed it back, you began to notice the shift in attention around you. whispers spread through the crowd, heads turning toward the camaro with curious gazes. it wasn’t just because of the car—it was because of you.

the pogues showing up at a meet like this wasn’t exactly uncommon, but showing up in a ride like this? that was unheard of.

one gaze, in particular, lingered longer than the others. it belonged to a tall, lean man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow under the streetlights. his stance was rigid, his jaw clenched, and his expression was a mixture of confusion and unbridled fury. you met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a subtle smirk as you passed the joint back to jj.

“whose ride is it?” the man’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter like a knife. conversations died instantly, leaving the air heavy with tension. “whose fucking ride is it?”

john b and jj exchanged a glance, both clearly ready to jump in and defend you, but you weren’t about to let anyone fight this battle for you.

“why?” you called back, your tone laced with casual confidence. “you like her?”

the man’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he stepped closer. “enough to know no damn pogue should be driving her,” he spat.

he stopped just a foot away, his presence looming. the girl clinging to his arm tightened her grip, her gaze flickering nervously between the two of you.

“that might be an issue,” you mused, feigning worry as you stepped away from the car. your smirk only deepened. “she’s all mine.”

the murmurs around you grew louder, and the man’s scowl deepened. he scanned the camaro like it was something out of place, something that didn’t belong—much like you.

“never seen you around before,” he said finally, his tone low and clipped. “yet here you are, driving a car that shouldn’t even be out yet. what’s your game?”

his question hung in the air like a challenge, his blue eyes boring into yours with an intensity that demanded submission. for a split second, you wavered, but then your gaze caught sarah’s in the crowd. her wide eyes and subtle shake of the head told you all you needed to know. that was him. that was rafe cameron.

“i’m here to race,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “what about you?”

gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, the shock obvious. someone challenging rafe—crash—was a rare sight. doing so with such blatant confidence? absolutely unheard of.

rafe’s smirk returned, cruel and condescending as he turned to glance at his friends. “shit, almost feels mean, y’know?” he drawled. the smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cold, predatory look. “but i guess you’re asking for it, yeah?”

you shrugged, refusing to let him see even a hint of the unease simmering beneath your calm exterior. pulling your wallet from your back pocket, you thumbed through the bills inside before pulling out a neat stack.

“three grand sound okay?”

jj and john b’s heads whipped toward you, their expressions a mix of disbelief and panic. “dude, you sure she’s not a dealer?” john b muttered under his breath, earning a smirk from jj.

rafe’s eyebrows shot up, surprised but clearly pleased by the amount. he reached out to take the cash, his smirk returning. “just kissing your minimum wage money goodbye,” he taunted.

you held his gaze, unflinching as you replied, “we’ll see.”

the moment the crowd began to gather around your camaro, a sense of tension hung in the air, thick and uneasy. every movement you made felt magnified—your every touch, every glance, being scrutinized by dozens of curious eyes. it was as if the crowd held its breath, watching not just the car but the story unfolding before them. some whispered to each other, eyes flicking between you and rafe, while others simply observed, waiting for something to happen.

kiara, standing off to the side, looked at you with concern etched across her face. her usually cool demeanor was cracked with worry. “you don’t have to do this,” she said softly, stepping closer to you, her voice filled with an unmistakable sense of care.

john b, leaning against the door, chimed in, his tone casual but tinged with unease. “yeah, seriously. this could just be a waste of money, and we don’t even know if it’s gonna be worth it.”

you could feel their eyes on you, the quiet insistence that you step back, that maybe this was too much. the worry in their voices almost made you hesitate, but you brushed it off. this wasn’t about money or the risk—it was about proving something. not to them. not to rafe. but to yourself.

without saying another word, you ignored their concerns, focusing on the task ahead. the crowd had thickened around you now, the murmurs of awe growing louder as the sleek camaro stood at the center of attention. it wasn’t just the car; it was you, the girl who’d shown up on the island with something the pogues rarely ever had—something new, something bold. you popped the hood, and the sound of the latch clicking was a signal to the crowd. you stepped forward, your fingers brushing the cold metal of the engine, making subtle adjustments as you moved with practiced ease.

“she’s really good,” sarah said from behind you, her voice laced with admiration.

rafe, standing with his friends and glaring at the scene before him, overheard the comment. he scoffed, trying to mask the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “good? please,” he muttered under his breath. in his mind, this was just another way to put the pogues in their place. if you could make it to the starting line, he figured, you’d be an easy target.

the kooks watched, standing in a small huddle, exchanging glances. but it wasn’t just the kooks you had to worry about. the crowd itself was becoming more animated, murmuring louder with every adjustment you made under the hood. jj, watching closely, exchanged a look with pope, both of them speechless at first. they couldn’t believe it—not in a million years. they thought they knew you, thought they’d seen every side of you. but this?

“you’re kidding, right?” pope said, eyes wide with disbelief. he took a cautious step forward, clearly in awe.

jj exhaled sharply, his eyes locked on what you were doing, his voice low as he tried to comprehend what was unfolding. “that’s good thinking.”

cleo, standing off to the side, seemed confused. she glanced between the three of them, wondering what they were seeing that she wasn’t. “what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.

but it wasn’t until you clicked something into place, securing the small device under the hood, that they all saw it. your hands wiped against your thighs, brushing off the excess grease from the engine.

“nitrous oxide,” jj finally spoke, a slow grin creeping onto his face. the pride in his voice was unmistakable, his confidence swelling as he looked at the sleek system you had just attached with ease.

pope's eyes were wide with shock, the realization dawning on him. “nitrous oxide,” he repeated, his tone almost reverent now. “you’ve got nitrous in there.”

jj chuckled, his grin broadening as he leaned back slightly, watching the reactions around him. “told you she was a pro.”

the camaro’s engine thrummed under your fingertips, the steady hum vibrating through your hands as you gripped the wheel tightly. you kept your eyes darting between your friends, who were standing by, watching the tense scene unfold with a mixture of nerves and excitement. each of them looked different, their faces reflecting their worry and disbelief, but they weren’t going to stop you. not now. the three grand, all of it, was in pope’s hands, and you were past the point of no return. then there was rafe.

he sat in the blue skyline beside you, the car that seemed like it was built for something other than street racing—a car that was sleek, dangerous, and made your skin crawl just by being too close to it. the paint job was dark, almost black in the night, with a glossy sheen that made it look like it was alive. the grill at the front, sharp and angular, gave the car an aggressive stance. the rims gleamed under the streetlights, and the custom body work screamed money and power—a car meant for someone who never had to worry about getting caught.

rafe leaned back in the driver’s seat, his smirk irritatingly smug, his eyes gleaming with the confidence of someone who knew he could win. the kooks, standing on the sidelines, weren’t giving him the same level of attention they’d given you. they didn’t see you as a threat, not yet. rafe was everything they believed in—money, power, status.

he rolled down his window and glanced at you, eyes filled with disdain, the condescension oozing from his every movement. “you can still quit, walk away with some dignity,” he called, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. his smirk only deepened as he waited for your response.

you gripped the wheel harder, ignoring the slight tremor in your hands. “i’d rather walk out with three grand,” you shot back, trying to sound steady, your voice not betraying the nervousness you felt in your gut.

rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment before morphing into something darker, more sinister, like a predator sizing up its prey. he didn’t respond. the air between you thickened, charged with the bitter taste of impending tension. you couldn’t back down now.

the countdown began, and the sound of the crowd intensified, murmurs flowing like a wave through the crowd. you adjusted your grip, eyes locking on the red lights ahead, each second stretching on forever. rafe’s skyline revved beside you, his engine purring in a way that sent chills down your spine, the sound of it cutting through the night like a warning.

three.

two.

one.

the lights flickered green.

without hesitation, you slammed your foot on the pedal, the camaro lurching forward as the engine roared to life. your heart hammered against your chest as the world blurred around you, the rush of adrenaline flooding every inch of your body. you didn’t even think—your focus was singular, your vision narrowed to the street ahead of you.

but rafe wasn’t just racing. no, he had something else in mind. he took the lead, his car shooting ahead with the kind of precision that came from years of practice. you could hear the engine of his skyline growling as he sped ahead, his tires gripping the pavement with ease. his technique was flawless—he was smooth, cutting through the curves with a level of control that made it seem like he had done this a hundred times before. but you weren’t out yet.

with a fierce push, you hit the button for the nitrous, the world around you instantly transforming. the sudden surge of speed jerked your body back into the seat, the force of the gas shooting the camaro forward in an explosive burst. the crowd gasped, eyes widening as the car roared past rafe, cutting through the air like a bullet.

the street blurred past in flashes—streetlights, dark corners, distant buildings, all a streak of color and light as you shot forward. the world felt like it was moving in slow motion while your heartbeat raced to match the speed of the camaro. rafe’s skyline was already fading into the distance, his once confident smirk now replaced by the flash of surprise that barely registered before your car overtook him.

you were ahead. you could feel it, the surge of power under the hood, the tight grip of the steering wheel as you maneuvered through the streets with precision. the sounds of tires screeching, engines roaring, the shouts of the crowd—it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. you were in the zone. the finish line was in sight. the end was near. but then you heard it. the sirens.

your heart lurched as you glanced in the rearview mirror, your pulse spiking. flashing lights flickered in the distance—red and blue dancing in the rearview mirror. the cops. you dared a glance to the side, your eyes catching rafe’s face. his smirk was back. of course it was. he knew exactly what was coming. the kooks got away with everything. you knew that. they always did, but you? you were just a pogue. the rules didn’t apply to them.

without thinking, you swerved sharply, the tires screeching as you turned hard onto a side street, your hands working the wheel with a frantic precision. you had to get away. you couldn’t be caught. not now. not when the finish line was so close. you pushed the pedal down harder, your foot practically cemented to the accelerator as you raced down the dark streets. the cops were gaining on you, but you couldn’t afford to let them close.

a sharp turn ahead forced you to slide the car sideways, the tires barely catching the slick pavement as you shot through the intersection, narrowly avoiding a crash. the camaro’s rear end fishtailed, and you gritted your teeth, feeling the car fight against you as you struggled to regain control. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t.

you could hear the sirens growing fainter as you swerved back onto a familiar street, the one where the race had begun. your friends were still there, waiting, watching in shock as you came into view, just barely ahead of rafe, whose skyline was left trailing behind you. you pulled up, the camaro skidding slightly as you came to a stop. your heart was still pounding, but the adrenaline rush was starting to wear off. you barely had time to catch your breath before you yanked the door open, your legs unsteady as you practically fell out of the car.

the sound of sirens was growing distant now, the cops lost in the maze of streets behind you. but you were here. you made it. and you’d won.

the cheers from the crowd echoed in your ears, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. you didn’t have time to celebrate, not when the unmistakable wail of sirens grew louder behind you, chasing you down like a relentless predator. the victory you’d earned so hard, the three grand, the rush of taking down rafe—it was all slipping away as quickly as it had come.

“get in!” you shouted, your voice sharp as you cut through the noise of the crowd. you didn’t have to say it twice. kiara was already jumping into the backseat, followed quickly by the others. their faces were a mix of exhilaration and concern, realizing that the win wasn’t enough to guarantee freedom. the sirens were closing in, the lights flashing bright and blinding in your rearview mirror.

the rest of the crowd was scattering now, some of them cheering as they saw the drama unfold, while others realized what was happening and fled in fear of the cops. but you weren’t going to stop. not now. not after everything.

with a quick glance at your friends, you slammed your foot back onto the pedal, the camaro roaring to life as you surged forward, the engine growling under the strain. the car seemed to leap forward, the tires screeching against the pavement as you floored it, the gas pedal an extension of your will.

jj’s voice broke through the hum of the engine, his words barely audible over the chaos. “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he repeated, his voice cracking with disbelief as he held onto the door, clutching anything he could find to keep steady. you could feel his body jerking with every sharp turn, the force of the acceleration pulling everyone back into their seats.

none of them had ever felt anything like it. the rush was unlike anything they’d experienced, the car’s power and the nitrous giving them a surge of speed that was intoxicating. the scenery blurred into streaks of light and dark, the world outside narrowing into a tunnel as you pushed the camaro to its limits.

“you won,” kiara said, her voice filled with awe, trying to catch her breath from the sheer force of the ride.

you didn’t respond right away. sweat dripped down your temple, stinging your eyes as you focused on the road ahead, trying to block out the flashing red and blue behind you. it didn’t matter that you’d won. not when rafe had pulled every dirty trick in the book to make sure you wouldn’t get away unscathed.

“he rigged it,” you scoffed through gritted teeth, eyes darting to the rearview mirror again. “called the pigs.”

a heavy silence washed over the group. kiara’s breath hitched in the backseat, and pope’s expression hardened, the weight of the truth sinking in. they all knew what it meant.

“he knew he was gonna lose,” sarah spoke up, her voice tinged with disbelief, though she didn’t sound surprised. she knew how rafe operated. “he called them in advance.”

your fist slammed against the steering wheel, the impact reverberating up your arm as frustration bubbled over. you should’ve seen it. you should’ve known. your victory didn’t count when the police were already on your tail, and the realization stung more than the heat of the engine. you forced yourself to focus, to block out the anger and the regret. you had to get away. the sirens were almost unbearable now, but you couldn’t let them catch you. you needed a plan, a way out.

“where to now, pope?” you asked, your voice sharp but steady, trying to keep the panic from creeping into your tone.

he leaned forward from the backseat, his face illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard. “where they won’t expect it,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension. “tannyhill.”

the sound of loud music and laughter echoed throughout the expansive, chaotic mansion, but inside the game room, a tense silence hung heavily in the air. rafe’s anger was palpable, his fists slamming onto the pool table with such force that the glassware and ashtrays scattered in all directions. his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, his eyes narrowed in pure frustration, as beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

“dude, what the fuck’s your problem?” topper asked, leaning against the doorframe, his brows furrowed in confusion.

rafe wiped his forehead roughly, trying to shake off the burning anger that seemed to radiate from every part of him. “got the cops on her,” kelce reminded him. “she didn't win.” he could see his friend was losing it, and he wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that rafe had been outsmarted by a pogue, or that he was pissed off enough to go on a rampage.

“nah, man,” rafe growled, his fingers trembling as they pressed against the surface of the pool table. “you don’t get it.” his gaze sharpened, cold and menacing as he continued, his voice low and barely contained. “she's a pogue. shouldn't have had to call the cops in the first place.”

topper and kelce exchanged a concerned look, clearly aware that rafe’s pride had taken a hard hit, but unsure how to deal with it. kelce raised an eyebrow, pushing himself off the chair and giving rafe a sideways glance. “what’d you expect, man?” he asked, his voice carrying a touch of disbelief. “you know who her dad is.”

rafe’s attention snapped to his friend, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “what’d you say?” his voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with tension.

kelce didn’t flinch. “her dad, y’know? king of the road. bullet. you know, the one who used to run shit back in the day.” his words were casual, but there was a sense of finality to them. “word travels fast, bro. she came back, opened up her own auto shop, all for her pops.”

rafe froze. his fingers, still trembling, gripped the edge of the pool table, but his attention was now fixed on kelce. “bullet,” he muttered, a cold realization creeping into his voice. his mind began to race, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

topper and kelce exchanged another glance, this time more wary than before, as they watched the slow burn of recognition in rafe’s eyes. kelce leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly as he clarified. “that bullet. not a different guy, the one you’re thinking of. the same bullet that faced ward twenty years ago.”

he paused, letting the weight of that sentence sink in, “the one who won.”

rafe’s jaw tightened, his muscles visibly tensing as the name echoed in his mind. bullet. his father’s old rival. the man who had humiliated rafe's father in a way that still stung to this day. now, the realization that your father—bullet—was the one behind you, fueling your ambition, was like a slap to the face.

rafe muttered something under his breath, a guttural sound that barely left his lips. the anger that had been boiling over now shifted into something darker, more dangerous. his eyes narrowed to slits as he dug a small bag of white powder from his pocket, the crinkling of the bag sounding too loud in the tense silence. he flipped open the bag, spilling the powder onto the pool table, his hands shaking as he used his black card to cut thin, meticulous lines.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath as he stared at the lines. his hand trembled slightly as he rolled up a dollar bill, preparing to snort the powder. as he did, his mind began to focus, the fog of rage lifting ever so slightly, replaced by something more methodical. “i think we should,” rafe trailed off, his voice low and still shaky, the tremors not just from the drug but from something far more sinister.

he paused, his eyes fixed on his friends, who were both watching him closely. “well, rafe?” topper asked. “tell us, what's your great idea?”

“i think we should kill them all.”

the bass of the music hit you before you even stepped through the door, the pounding rhythm vibrating through your chest. it was the kind of house party that could only be thrown by someone who had too much money and too little to lose. the walls seemed to pulse with the sound of voices and laughter, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the tang of spilled drinks. people were scattered around, some lounging in the living room, others crowding the kitchen, while a few shady figures lurked in the corners, eyes darting around like they were waiting for something to go wrong.

pope, walking beside you, couldn’t help but notice the way your hands shook. it was subtle, but enough for him to notice. he glanced at you, concern written across his face. “on second thought,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, “i don’t think this is a good idea,” but you didn’t stop. it was too late now, the moment you’d stepped foot into the lion’s den. rafe was here, and the race might’ve been over, but this was far from finished.

jj trailed behind you, already making his way to the cooler in the corner, grabbing a beer. you noticed the smile on his face, the way his lips curled as if he was already relishing the thought of watching rafe squirm.

“what’re you smiling for?” you snapped, trying to steady yourself against the wave of tension that was crawling up your spine.

he shrugged, cracking open his beer. “not every day you get to see rafe cameron lose,” he said, his words carrying a hint of truth, but you knew it didn’t change the fact that rafe had played dirty. he’d made sure the victory didn’t feel real.

you barely had time to dwell on that before you heard a familiar voice. “hey!” john b called out. you turned to see him and sarah standing at the top of the stairs, grinning like they were in on some private joke. he had his arm wrapped around sarah's waist, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“we’re gonna—well, there’s something i gotta show sarah upstairs,” he said, his voice laced with playful mischief.

jj raised his beer and threw a wink their way. “you crazy kids have fun,” he called out, his voice dripping with enthusiasm.

the two of them disappeared up the stairs, leaving you to continue through the crowd. the house was a mix of people—some familiar, some not. there were a few faces you recognized from the high school halls, kids who never seemed to do much more than party and live off their family’s money. but then there were others, people with sharper eyes, a bit too much grit in their demeanor, lurking in the shadows. you could feel their gaze flicker over you, sizing you up like prey.

but you didn’t stop walking. you pushed forward through the mass of people, not caring if you brushed against anyone. not caring about anything except the feeling of knowing exactly where this was heading. and then you saw him.

he was standing near the back, surrounded by his usual crew—kelce, topper, and a couple of other people you didn’t know. rafe’s eyes met yours the moment you stepped into his line of sight, and for a split second, the room seemed to pause. it was as if everything else faded, and you were the only two people in the house.

you didn’t hesitate. without even a thought, you walked up to him, your steps sure, your anger driving every movement. without warning, you grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. the world seemed to blur around you as you smacked him across the face, the sharp crack of skin on skin echoing in the room. the crowd around you went silent for a split second, but it didn’t matter.

“you stupid, cheating son of a bitch,” you snarled, voice dripping with rage. “hurt that bad losing to a pogue? you had to cheat?”

rafe didn’t flinch. his expression remained cold, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. his jaw tightened, his lips curling into something cruel. and then, just like that, his hands shot up and wrapped around your neck.

you gasped, struggling against the sudden pressure as his fingers dug into your skin. “don’t you ever call me that again,” he whispered, his voice cold, deadly. you tried to pry his hands away, your vision starting to swim as you fought for air.

“my old man might’ve lost to your dad,” rafe continued, his grip tightening even more. “but i sure as hell won’t lose to a dirty fuckin’ pogue like you.”

and it hit you. the words, the venom in his tone—it wasn’t just about the race. it was about something much deeper. his father had lost to your dad, bullet—the man who had earned his reputation in a way that rafe’s father could never match. the history between the two didnt run deep, but the animosity was thicker than blood.

you struggled harder, but the more you fought, the tighter his grip became, the pressure on your throat making it harder to breathe. your thoughts began to blur, your fingers clawing at his wrists, desperate for freedom.

but then, out of nowhere, you felt rafe being yanked away. jj, who had appeared from the crowd, threw his weight into the pull, dragging rafe off you with force. he stumbled back, hands still twitching as he tried to regain control, but jj wasn’t letting go.

“just you wait, pogue,” rafe called out, his voice hoarse from the force of his own words. “see what happens when you act a fool.”

jj didn’t respond. he didn’t need to. he shoved rafe back, and you staggered away from the chaos, breathing deeply, trying to recover from the shock of it all. as you made your way out of the fray, you glanced back to see rafe sitting back down at the table, his gaze empty. his body trembled slightly, his fingers still shaking. it wasn’t just about the race. it wasn’t even about you. his father didnt think he was good enough, so he wanted to be better.

the next morning, the smell of oil, metal, and grease filled the air as you worked in your shop. sunlight streamed through the garage’s open doors, illuminating the chaos within. it was shaping up to be a long day. your friends had brought their cars in, and calling them “in bad shape” was an understatement. each vehicle had its own set of unique, stubborn problems, from mechanical issues to cosmetic disasters. and on top of all that, jj’s dirt bike sat propped on its stand in the corner, waiting for a fresh coat of paint and some mechanical tlc.

you were perched over jj’s dirt bike, one leg swung lazily over the seat as you carefully sprayed on a bold blue coat of paint. the color shimmered slightly under the sunlight, and you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction. jj had insisted on something flashy, claiming he wanted it to “blind anyone he left in the dust.”

nearby, sarah’s car sat on a lift, its underside exposed. it was a sleek white coupe, but the suspension was shot to hell, the front bumper barely hanging on, and there was a mystery rattle that drove her crazy.

“you could do a lot more with it if you had a v8,” came a voice, smooth and cutting through the sound of your wrench.

your heart jumped. tense, you turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they locked onto rafe cameron standing at the edge of your garage. he was dressed in a crisp button-up, shorts, and boat shoes, a golf club casually slung over his shoulder like it belonged there.

“typical boys,” you quipped, recovering quickly, a smirk forming on your lips as you straightened. “always worried about whose engines bigger.”

rafe’s mouth twitched into a wry smile, though his eyes still held that unnerving sharpness. “what’re you doing here?” you added, your tone turning sharp. “came to trash my stash?”

he scoffed, taking a slow step forward, the metal head of the golf club clicking lightly against the cement floor as he walked. “got a garage more expensive than these rides,” he replied coolly, eyes scanning the cars around you. you rolled your eyes and turned back to sarah’s car, wiping your hands on a rag.

“the rumors are true,” rafe continued, a hint of amusement in his tone. “cut’s got its first shop run by a woman.”

you scoffed, glancing over your shoulder at him. “and if you open one, it’ll get its second.”

his smile faltered for a split second, irritation flashing across his face, but it didn’t stick. instead, he stood there, watching you with an expression that was equal parts frustration and intrigue.

“listen, pogue,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you can call me out for calling the cops, but i know about your nos tanks. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

you set your wrench down with a loud clang, turning to face him fully. “any real racer knows you can use as many tanks as you want,” you said, stepping closer to him, your tone unwavering. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, rafe?”

for a moment, his annoyance shifted into something else, something almost predatory. his gaze flicked over you, and he tilted his head slightly, as though trying to figure you out. how could a pogue talk to him like this—fearlessly, no less—after what had happened last night?

“i can handle a lot more than you think,” he responded, a sly grin creeping onto his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat stack of bills. “how about you set it up for me? i’ll make it worth your while.” with a sharp motion, you pushed his hand down, forcing him to lower the money.

“bring your ride in and put your money away,” you said, your tone low but steady. “you’ll pay me back with a race. a fair one.”

rafe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his smirk growing wider. “sounds fair to me,” he countered, his voice dripping with challenge. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, (y/n)?”

you tilted your head slightly, mirroring his grin as you leaned closer. “i can handle a lot more than you think.”

the roar of the skyline’s engine filled your shop as rafe pulled back in, the bright blue paint glinting under the fluorescent lights. the car was immaculate, sleek and modern, with a body that screamed speed and power. you couldn’t help but appreciate it. rafe stepped out, leaning casually against the car, his gaze drifting to the corners of your shop.

“nice place you got here,” he said, his tone almost dismissive, but his eyes were scanning every detail.

“nice car,” you shot back, wiping your hands on a rag as you approached. r34, right? not bad, even for you.”

rafe’s smirk deepened, pleased you knew your stuff. “figured i’d bring her to the best,” he said, his voice dripping with irony.

you didn’t rise to the bait, gesturing for him to follow you. you led him to the closeted section of your shop, a hidden alcove where you kept your stash of tanks. the area was organized chaos—rows of shiny tanks stacked neatly, tools hanging on the walls, and a sturdy metal workbench in the center.

“how’s this shit work?” rafe asked, leaning against the table as he watched you pull a tank from the shelf.

you set it on the bench, grabbed a wrench, and began working. “it’s simple, really,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “nitrous oxide gets injected into the engine. gets the oxygen levels up during combustion. more fuel burns, so that means more power. it’s a burst, though—not something you use all the time.”

rafe nodded, his expression unreadable as he watched you work. you moved with precision, attaching the nos lines to the skyline’s engine, ensuring every bolt and connection was secure.

“got a closet full of this shit,” rafe remarked, glancing around.

you shrugged, not looking up from your work. “guess i like it fast.”

he raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “how do i know you’re not screwing me over?”

you straightened, wiping your hands on your shorts with a smirk. “take her for a spin,” you said simply.

he scoffed, crossing his arms as his gaze flicked between you and the car. “yeah, right. and if it blows me up?”

you rolled your eyes, already fed up. without a word, you opened the passenger door and climbed in, settling into the seat next to him. rafe hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were planning something, but eventually slid behind the wheel. you were immediately impressed by the interior—sleek, modern, and meticulously maintained.

he pulled out of the shop and onto the main road, driving casually until you reached a long, empty street.

“how’s it work?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

you pointed at a button near the gearshift. “press it,” you said, your tone almost mocking. “unless you’re scared.”

rafe’s gaze snapped to yours, his jaw tightening at the challenge in your voice. he wasn’t going to back down. slowly, deliberately, he pressed the button.

the effect was immediate. the skyline surged forward with a ferocity that pressed you both back into your seats. the engine roared, the world outside becoming a blur as the car rocketed down the street. rafe’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“keep your eyes on the road, playboy,” you said, your voice steady despite the speed.

rafe smirked, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. “why? think we’re gonna crash?”

you didn’t blink, your gaze locked on him. “don’t know,” you said calmly. “haven’t decided yet.”

taking that as a challenge, rafe shifted his focus back to you, his blue eyes burning with determination. he kept the car hurtling forward, the engine screaming, his gaze never leaving yours. the tension in the air was evident, every second stretching into eternity as you stared each other down. the red light came into view, and rafe hit the brakes hard. the car skidded to a stop, tires screeching, the force jolting you both forward slightly. but even then, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“i could’ve killed you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

you held his gaze, unwavering. “you wouldn’t.”

the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as you parked the last of your friends’ cars at their usual spot. each vehicle gleamed, repaired and polished. you stepped out, expecting gratitude and maybe a few jokes, but instead, you were met with silence. they were all there, standing stiffly in front of their shop, their expressions grim. you could feel the tension radiating off them as you walked closer, the quiet pressing against your chest.

“guys?” you called out, slipping from the driver’s seat and approaching cautiously. “what’s wrong?”

no one answered. the explanation came into view soon enough.

their shop was a disaster. broken glass littered the ground, the walls were defaced with cruel graffiti, and the door hung off its hinges. the words scrawled across the front made your stomach churn: “pogue trash,” “deadbeats,” “just like your daddy.” your breath caught in your throat as you took in the scene, each insult like a punch to the gut.

“what the fuck happened?” you asked, your voice tight with anger and disbelief.

jj ripped his cap off and hurled it to the ground, his face flushed with fury. “those fuckin’ kooks, man,” he spat at no one in particular. “those fuckin’ kooks.”

you stepped closer, your boots crunching against the broken glass as you stared at the hateful words. the damage was extensive—tools missing, shelves overturned, and a pile of broken parts in the corner.

“they didn’t even try to hide it,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

pope sighed heavily beside you. “don’t take it personal,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe his own words. “at least they didn’t touch the cars.”

kie nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “yeah, thanks for fixing them for us,” she said softly, though her gratitude was muted by the weight of what had happened.

but their words barely registered as you stepped closer to the shop, your hands curling into fists. “who was it?” you asked, though you feared you already knew the answer.

jj scoffed bitterly. “who do you think?” he shot back, his voice dripping with venom. “rafe and his buddies.”

your stomach sank. you’d gone out of your way to help him, to level the playing field, and this was how he repaid you? it wasn’t even about the shop—it was about principle. he had crossed a line.

without another word, you grabbed a broom and started cleaning. the others joined in silently, the air thick with anger and frustration as you worked together to sweep up the glass, scrub off the graffiti, and salvage what you could. every stroke of the brush, every shove of the mop, only fueled your resolve.

by the time you finished, night had fallen, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air. you handed the broom to jj, your jaw set as you turned and made your way back to your car.

“where’re you going?” sarah called after you, her voice laced with concern.

you didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. the sound of the car door slamming shut was your only response as you started the engine and drove off into the night, your mind racing with one thought: rafe cameron was going to answer for this.

the engine hummed beneath you as you sped toward figure eight, the north side of the island, where the kooks played their games and looked down on people like you. your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a steady rhythm that betrayed the pounding of your heart. the streets were quiet, eerily so, but you scanned every shadowed alley and empty corner, searching for him. or, more specifically, for his stupid skyline.

your knuckles whitened against the steering wheel, tension coiled in your chest. rafe cameron. of course, it had to be him. the golden boy with a mean streak a mile wide, hiding behind wealth and privilege while wreaking havoc for fun.

as you turned onto another desolate road, your eyes caught the glow of a parking lot up ahead. slowing down, you squinted, scanning the lot as you passed by—and there it was. a skyline, much like his, sat tucked in the farthest corner, its polished body gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“there you are,” you muttered, a sharp edge in your voice as you pulled into the lot.

you drove straight toward the car, parking directly across from it, headlights glaring like a spotlight. the engine idled as you stepped out, leaving the car on as a statement. across the lot, the driver’s side door of the skyline opened, and out stepped rafe. he didn’t look pleased.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice dripping with disdain.

you didn’t answer. Instead, you marched toward him, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. “have a busy night, kook?” you spat. “steal some parts? trash some shops?”

rafe scoffed, recovering his footing as he stepped closer. his smirk was infuriating, his air of nonchalance calculated. “you’re out of your mind,” he muttered, but when your hand shot up to slap him, he caught it mid-air, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that made you wince.

“what’re you gonna do? arrest me?” he taunted, his voice low and biting. his grip tightened, making you clench your teeth. “you said you liked it fast, but you’re still not up to speed—this is the way things are here, pogue.”

he let go of your wrist, and you shoved him again, this time harder. his reaction was swift, his hands grabbing the front of your top and yanking you forward, slamming you against the hood of his car.

“let go of me, you son of a bitch,” you growled, struggling against him. but then your gaze locked onto his, and your tone turned razor-sharp. “what’re you gonna do next, rafe? choke me again? hit me? gonna hit me, rafe?”

his jaw clenched, his expression darkening as he stared down at you. he knew you were provoking him, pushing him toward the edge—but the hit never came.

instead, it came in the form of cold metal pressed against your temple, sleek and unyielding. your breath hitched as you realized what it was. a pistol, pulled from his waistband, now trembling slightly in his hand.

“come on, rafe,” you murmured, your voice soft but deadly. “do it, pull the trigger. let me see you do it.”

his hand shook, his grip faltering as his body trembled with barely-contained rage. the air between you was electric, charged with tension and unspoken words. finally, with a roar that made you flinch, he pulled back, stepping away as he spun around and shouted into the night, his voice raw and guttural.

“don’t push me,” he hissed, turning back toward you, his expression twisted with anger and something else—something almost like regret. “you know i’ll hurt you.”

you stayed frozen, stunned as he climbed back into his car and slammed the door. the tension still buzzed in the air as you staggered back to your own car, fury boiling in your veins. you didn’t look at him as you started your engine, but you knew he was watching.

as you pulled your car into reverse, you didn’t stop. you turned, aiming your headlights straight at him, and accelerated, tires screeching as you sped toward him. rafe’s eyes widened, but only for a second before his expression hardened, glazed with anger. you could see him mutter something to himself, though you couldn’t hear it over the roar of the engines.

“come on,” he whispered, his voice almost a growl. “see if you have the fucking balls.”

neither of you slowed. the distance between you closed rapidly, your gazes locked, unflinching, as your cars raced toward each other like bullets. it was a game of chicken, and you weren’t about to lose.

at the last second, rafe was the one to swerve, tires screeching as his skyline drifted to the side, narrowly avoiding impact. your own car skidded in the opposite direction, drifting towards the opposite sode, and for a moment, the lot was silent again, save for the low rumble of idling engines.

“i told you you wouldn’t,” you whispered under your breath, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ached.

the gym was barely lit, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the space as rafe paced like a caged animal. the heavy bag swung idly, a testament to the beating he had given it earlier, but his fists weren’t satisfied. his knuckles were raw, bloodied, and split, but the rage in his chest burned hotter, untamed.

kelce leaned against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, but the tension in his posture gave him away. topper sat on one of the benches, a water bottle in hand, his expression hovering between amusement and concern.

“she got you good, man,” kelce said, trying to lighten the mood. “never seen a girl get you this mad.”

rafe didn’t respond. his chest heaved as he muttered to himself, words too quiet for anyone else to catch. his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body taut with frustration.

“hard to find a girl who knows how to drive,” topper chimed in, a smug grin on his face as he leaned back. “but a hot one? needle in a haystack.”

it was the wrong thing to say. rafe’s roar echoed through the gym, a guttural sound that tore through his throat, making both kelce and topper jump. before they could react, rafe’s fist slammed into the wall with a sickening crack, leaving a jagged dent in the drywall. his knuckles followed suit, blood smearing across the pale surface as he pulled back.

“dude, you need to calm down,” kelce said, stepping forward cautiously, his hands half-raised in a placating gesture. he exchanged a nervous glance with topper, who was now sitting upright, the humor gone from his expression.

but rafe wasn’t hearing any of it. his breathing was erratic, his gaze wild as he turned away, pacing again. he ran a trembling hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if the pain might distract him from whatever was boiling inside. what was it with her? how could someone so infuriating, so goddamn pogue, crawl under his skin like this? she was everything he despised—defiant, reckless, unpredictable—and yet she was all he could think about. the way she stared him down, the way she challenged him, dared him even, as if she knew just how far to push before he broke.

was it the hatred that fueled him? the way she made his blood rush, his heart race? lr was it something else, something he couldn’t put into words but that kept him coming back, like a moth to a flame?

“i hate her,” he finally hissed, his voice low but venomous. his chest rose and fell rapidly as he turned to face his friends, his knuckles still dripping red. “i fuckin’ hate her.”

the bonfire blazed brightly against the inky night sky, crackling and sending sparks into the air as the party raged around it. the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the scent of burning wood and the faint whiff of spilled beer. laughter, shouting, and the deep bass of a playlist made the beach feel alive, every corner buzzing with energy. people crowded around coolers, passing drinks, leaning against cars, or dancing to the music. shadows flitted across the sand as groups clustered closer to the fire, the light flickering across their faces.

you pulled into the makeshift parking area, your headlights briefly illuminating the crowd before you cut the engine. the hum of the party immediately filled the car, but you stayed seated, your hands still on the steering wheel. the adrenaline from earlier hadn’t worn off, but it had simmered into something heavier, something confusing.

how could someone be so insufferable? how could he manage to boil your blood and make your pulse race all at once? you hated his entitlement, his smirk, his stupid blue eyes that always seemed to hold a challenge. he wasn’t worth the energy, and yet here you were, your grip tightening on the steering wheel as if trying to ground yourself.

“you okay?” jj’s voice broke through your thoughts.

you turned your head slightly to look at him, his blue eyes filled with concern. he noticed the slight tremble in your hands but didn’t push.

“yeah,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “yeah, it’s a party. i’m great.”

he didn’t believe you, not entirely, but he nodded anyway. jj knew when to let things go.

stepping out of the car, you were immediately hit with the cacophony of the party. the bonfire cast an orange glow that danced across the sand, illuminating faces both familiar and unfamiliar. the crowd was thick, packed with kooks and pogues alike, though the latter were clearly outnumbered. as you walked toward the fire, someone approached you, his voice loud and filled with enthusiasm.

“camaro!” he shouted, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “too cold for cameron.”

you blinked at him, startled, unsure how to respond. the race had clearly made an impression, and word had spread faster than you could’ve imagined. it was an uncomfortable kind of notoriety, but jj took it in stride.

“the people love you,” he said with a smirk, grabbing two beers from a nearby cooler and handing one to you. “give the people what they want.”

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was clear. everyone was impressed—almost everyone.

rafe was seated by the fire, his legs stretched out lazily, one arm draped over the shoulders of a girl who was chattering away. her friend sat nearby, giggling at whatever she was saying, but rafe didn’t seem to be paying attention. he didn’t even know her name, not that it mattered. just that he was lonely, and she tasted like tequila. his gaze was locked on you. the tension from earlier wasn’t visible in his expression, but there was something in his eyes. his beer bottle hovered near his lips as he stared, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the sight of you.

you weren’t wearing your usual gear—no grease-stained shorts, no leather boots. Instead, you’d chosen a white dress, short and flowy, paired with white heels. it was simple, but it transformed you, softening your edges in a way rafe hadn’t expected. he should’ve looked away, should’ve focused on the girl clinging to his arm or the drink in his hand. but he couldn’t.

you noticed his stare and felt the weight of it, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. quickly, you lifted the beer jj had given you and took a long swig.

“thirsty, aren’t you?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “sober. way too sober.”

the night dragged on, the bonfire crackling loudly as laughter and chatter mixed with the low thrum of music. jj handed you another beer before motioning toward the campfire. “come on, let’s sit,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes lingered on you, searching for any signs of lingering tension.

you sighed but followed, settling into the sand next to him. the heat from the fire washed over you, much unlike the cool breeze that carried the smell of saltwater. you leaned back slightly, the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on your shoulders. every muscle ached, and all you wanted was the sweet escape of sleep. but sleep wasn’t an option, not here, not now.

you sipped your beer slowly, savoring each drop as it slid down your throat. across the flames, rafe sat, his arm lazily draped over the girl he had come with. he wasn’t looking at her, not really, but when she leaned in to kiss him, his lips met hers in a display that felt more performative than passionate. your gaze dropped instantly, your stomach churning. you prayed no one had noticed your reaction, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

“camaro,” topper’s voice cut through the din, dragging your attention back to the group.

you turned your head slightly, your body tense as you met his gaze.

“word on the street says you’re racing our man again,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

jj glanced at you, his confusion evident. “again?” he asked, but you only shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you popped the cap off another beer.

“street doesn’t lie,” you said simply, taking a swig.

kelce and topper exchanged impressed looks, nodding as if to say they approved. but kelce’s smirk widened as you continued, “even when its racers are dirty cheats.”

the air shifted. rafe’s head snapped toward you, his eyebrows raised in challenge. the firelight reflected in his narrowed eyes, adding to the intensity of his glare.

“called street smarts for a reason, isn’t it?” he said, his smirk sharp.

you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the driftwood bench. “let’s see how smart you are without the cops,” you said, your voice steady, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

rafe opened his mouth, clearly ready to retort, but something stopped him. he clenched his jaw, leaning back in his seat with a forced calmness. his breath came in shallow, frustrated huffs as the firelight danced across his features. the tension in the group was uncomfortable, but the silence didn’t last long. you drained your beer, allowing the alcohol to dull the edge of your exhaustion and frustration. the conversations around you resumed, and for the first time all night, you felt yourself beginning to relax.

rafe, however, wasn’t relaxing. his eyes flicked to you every chance they got, watching as your posture softened, as your lips curled into a small smile at something jj said. he watched as jj leaned in, whispering something into your ear, his hand brushing your shoulder. whatever he said made you laugh, a soft, genuine sound that tugged at something deep within rafe. you made him angry. everything you did made him angry.

jj tipped his beer bottle toward you. “we staying here tonight?” he asked, his tone casual.

“yeah,” you replied, pushing yourself to your feet. “let’s just hope they won’t trash this, too.”

your words carried a pointed weight, and you capped them off with a glance in rafe’s direction, your gaze cool and challenging. it was subtle, but he caught it. he always caught it. you disappeared into the tent jj had set up, leaving the campfire and its occupants behind. rafe’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his beer. everything about you, everything you did, made him mad. and he still couldn’t look away.

the tent was suffocating. you’d been lying there for hours, trying desperately to sleep, but it was impossible. exhaustion clung to your body like a second skin, but no matter how much you tossed, turned, or closed your eyes, rest wouldn’t come. your mind was a storm, thoughts swirling violently around one person.

you hated him—every inch of him. the way he carried himself with arrogant confidence, the way his words dripped with disdain, the way he always seemed to have the upper hand. conceited, rude, filthy rich, and far too smug about it. but worst of all? his mouth. it wasn’t just the venom he spat or the smirks that played on his lips; it was the fact, when it came down to putting his money where his mouth was, his mouth went everywhere. you hated it, hated him.

you sighed heavily, leaning back against the soft wall of the tent. your head rested against your pillow, eyes staring blankly at the fabric above you. the muted sounds of the bonfire party carried through the night, distant but persistent. you closed your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose, but peace still eluded you.

your body stiffened at the sound, the slow, deliberate movement of the tent’s zipper trailing sending a chill down your spine. the tent flaps parted, and he stepped inside. you didn’t react.

“come to kill me?” you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any interest.

he didn’t answer. instead, he moved toward you, his steps slow, purposeful. there was something unnerving about his silence, and it made your stomach twist. your head snapped toward him, your breath catching in your throat.

“rafe,” you said, panic creeping into your voice as you scrambled to your feet. “what are you doing?”

he didn’t respond. you glanced around the small space, frantically searching for something, anything, to defend yourself with, but there was nothing. he noticed.

“defenseless,” he murmured, his voice low, almost mocking.

your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your ears that you thought he could hear it. he stopped in front of you, his broad frame blocking the exit as he loomed over you.

“what do you think is gonna happen next?” he asked, his tone dark and taunting.

you swallowed hard, your palms clammy. “i know this story,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “this is the part where we hurt each other, right? where we give in and see who’ll really win.”

amusement flickered across his face, but it was fleeting, his expression hardening as his gaze pinned you in place.

“that’s an interesting way to end things,” he murmured. “but i like my ending better.”

before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours. the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, a clash of emotions too raw to name. hatred morphed into something else entirely as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. your body reacted on instinct, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, just as hard, just as rough.

even as your lips moved against his, the fight never stopped. tongues battled for dominance, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. it wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tender—it was a war, and neither of you was willing to surrender, but this time? this time, you would lose.

without breaking the kiss, rafe sank to the ground, pulling you into his lap. his hands roamed, gripping your hips, sliding up your back, under your dress, as though he couldn’t get enough of you. he lay back, bringing you down with him, his body pressing into yours as his lips trailed away from your mouth. his kisses moved to your jaw, then down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“i hate you,” you whispered, the words escaping through a breathless moan.

he groaned against your neck, his breath hot and ragged, “i hate you, too.”

there was something about playing with fire that everybody loved, ranging from the kids that would play with their mothers’ stoves despite warned not to, and the adults who lit their cigarettes despite knowing that it could kill them. despite being so different, every one of those people had one thing in common—they knew a thing or two about getting burned. the closer he was to you, the more you thought about it—playing with fire. you knew it’d hurt you at some point, but pain was fleeting, temporary. the warmth was what counted.

“show me,” you gasped as your fingernails clawed at the back of his neck. “show me how much you hate me.”

he took it as a challenge, he took everything you said as a challenge. just like that, his lips were on yours, his nose grazing your cheek. he tasted like beer—bitter, with a hint of something that you knew would keep you coming back for more. his lips were chapped from the alcohol, but still found a way to melt against yours. his fingers were long, rough as they crept up the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your body before tangling themselves into your hair, pulling softly.

“look at me,” he whispered, and you’d never heard him so quiet. he pulled your hair downward, forcing your eyes to meet his.

your eyes were hazy, clouded with the same sensation that coursed through his veins. he couldnt have missed it, and he didn’t, a low hum vibrating through his chest as he took in the way you looked at him, unsure if he’d ever get to see it again. he kissed you again, his hips grinding down against yours, eliciting the softest whimper from you as his hard length pressed into the soft flesh of your thigh, separated by the fabric of his shorts.

“feel that?” he whispered, continuously rolling his hips against your thigh, pressing into you, making sure you could feel it—all of it. “that’s how mad you make me.”

you let out a sound, something between a laugh and a moan, biting your lip at the feeling of him like that—so hard, so deluded with lust. “who knew i had such an effect on you?”

rafe’s eyes darkened at your words, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his grip on your hair tightened slightly, and his nose brushed against yours as his lips hovered just inches away.

“you’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

you bit your lip, your body betraying you as you arched against him. his lips were on yours again, and this time it was hungrier, rougher, filled with all the pent-up frustration and hatred that had festered between you for so long. he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue slipped inside, claiming your mouth as his.

his hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your waist while the other stayed tangled in your hair. he pulled you impossibly closer, his hips grinding harder against yours. the friction was intoxicating, drawing a soft, breathless moan from your lips that only spurred him on.

“say it again,” he demanded, his lips moving against your neck now, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“say what?” you breathed, your head tilting back as his tongue traced the column of your throat.

“tell me how much you hate me,” he growled, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed his hips firmly against you.

you let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “i hate you,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling with desire.

he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. “liar,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk before capturing yours again.

you fought for dominance, your nails scraping down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. he hissed at the sensation, his hips bucking against you in response.

“careful,” he warned, his voice husky as he nipped at your jaw. “you’re playing with fire.”

“maybe i like the burn,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

he chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as his lips trailed down your collarbone. “you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his tone both teasing and threatening.

“then show me,” you challenged, your hands gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward.

he pulled it off in one swift motion, tossing it aside before leaning back over you, his bare chest pressing against yours. his hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of your body as his mouth claimed yours once again.

“you make me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered need. “i can’t think straight when i’m around you.”

“good,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from his throat. “i don’t want you thinking straight.”

you ran your fingers down his chest, unable to stop yourself from admiring just how strong he was, how broad he was. he was so lean, tan, with broad shoulders and big arms that he kept hidden. you bit your lip, keeping yourself from being too brazen, too nice—saying something you knew youd come to regret when the time came.

his touch was gentle, feather-like as his fingers slid your dress down, his eyes never leaving your frame as he did so. he tugged it down your chest, down your hips, until it was completely off. he groaned at the sight—the sight going straight to his shorts. you were beautiful, though he’d never say it out loud. with your white bra, your white panties—you looked like an angel.

“fuck,” was all that he managed to utter, staring down at you the way a predator would eye its prey.

“yeah,” you murmured, propping yourself against your elbows. he watched the way your plush thighs rubbed against one another, legs shuffling softly as you brought a foot up to his chest, sliding it down his chest until it was right where he wanted it. he took your foot in his hand, pressing it into the center of his clothed cock, making sure you could feel just how bad he had it for you.

his eyes stayed on you as you reached back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. your tits fell out, sliding out of the comfort of their fabric as rafe tensed up. he leaned forward, bringing an arm around your back as his lips wrapped around one of your hardening buds. cradling his head against your tits, you threw your head back and mewled at his ministrations. he lavished equal attention on each breast, his darkening eyes darting up to take in your face every so often.

you bit back a whimper as your hands travelled up his neck, scratching where you could, leaving red lines he knew would be hard to explain later on. his lips and tongue worked together, travelling down your stomach, past your navel, his hot breath littering goosebumps across your flesh. he grunted, he could practically smell your desire, just inches away from him.

his fingers hooked themselves under the sides of your panties as he looked up at you. you had to bite your tongue, because he's never looked better. his eyes were glossy, drool dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at you from between your legs. and then, he pulled. he pulled until your panties were off, discarded somewhere, anywhere.

rafe only took a second to get a look at you, but it felt like eternity. he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as his fingers trailed down your sopping cunt, over the surface, but never where you needed him to. “rafe,” you sighed with an impatient frown.

“i know, baby,” he murmured, “i know.”

you didn’t get the chance to respond as one of his long, slender fingers slithered into you, curling just right where you needed it, pumping in and out at a slow pace. the cool metal of the ring on his finger grazed your clit each time. you gasped, your hand gripping his shoulder, nails pressing crescent moons into his taught skin. he repeated the motion, suppressing a groan before adding a second finger, much to your delight. his knuckles woulded against you as his fingers bottomed out, the digits sliding out completely, before diving all the way in again. his thumb hovered over your clit, but never made the small reach to press it the way you wanted.

you cried softly, hips moving against his fingers in the same up and down motion as earlier, “rafe, come on.”

“not yet,” he whispered, “not until you surrender, until you beg.”

you shook your head no, head tilting back with your eyes closed.

“bet you beg so pretty,” he murmured as his thumb flicked ever so lightly over your clit, “tell me what you want.”

you had to weigh your options carefully, precisely. you could save what little dignity you had left, and keep you mouth shut, even if it meant losing him—losing the nirvana that was waiting for you. it seemed impossible, especially compared to what you could have, what he could give you. he was so good, so good—and he was gonna show you just how good he was.

“please,” you barely managed to utter. “please, rafe, need you to fuck me.”

it was all he wanted to hear. “that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmured, a condescending edge to his tone as he pulled his fingers, coated in your juices, out completely. “take ’em off for me, baby, come on.”

you nodded as you allowed your fingers to slip below the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down as anticipation coursed through your body. his cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach. he was so much bigger than you could’ve guessed, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his length, his girth. you wrapped a curious, hesitant hand around his dick, before pumping as best as you could. rafe groaned, head tilted back as he bucked up into your hand. he couldn’t get enough of the sight of you, small and defenseless, with a hand around his dick, tracing his pulsing veins with your fingers.

“gonna let me ruin you?” he whispered, his cock aching against your soft fingers. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, baby?”

you nodded, hating how powerless you had really become, as if he had you under some sort of spell. you let go of his cock before lying back down. you watched the way rafe grabbed a hold of his cock, spreading your thighs as he positioned himself with a grunt. you could feel the head of his cock sliding between your folds, lightly teasing against your clit as a moan passed your lips.

“let me hear it again,” he murmured, eliciting another moan from you as his cock brushed against your clit a second time.

“please,” you needed to give in—just this once, “please, fuck me, rafe.”

with that, rafe thrusts his cock forward, and a victorious smile warping his features as he pushed past your wet folds. your walls stretched to their limit, unable to stop the grimace of pain the more of him you took in. you let out a moan as your eyes rolled back, your tight cunt adjusting to his sheer size.

“that’s it, baby. takin’ it so good,” rafe praised through a groan, holding onto your hips and pushing until your clit clashed with base of his cock.

you felt so filled, so dominated, so alive. your nails dug into the sheets, your body writhing beneath him as he began to pump in and out of you. each stroke was brutal, his length stretching your weeping pussy and claiming you in a way that no one else had ever done. your eyes remained closed, focusing on the pleasure-pain as your body fought against the intrusion before succumbing to the delicious feeling of his rhythmic pounding.

the tent grew hazy with the scent of sex and sweat, your breaths coming out in pants and whimpers as he picked up speed. his teeth grazed the side of your neck, making you shiver with every thrust. his tongue flicked against the sensitive skin, tasting your sweetness as he claimed you, making you his. you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing your breasts up, begging for his mouth.

he took the hint, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make you gasp. he sucked, hard, leaving a bruise that would surely be visible in the morning. his hand moved to play with your clit, the pad of his thumb pressing down and swirling around in a way that made your toes curl and your back arch even more.

the pleasure was building, a wave threatening to crash over you at any time. rafe’s eyes were on yours, watching your pupils dilate and your mouth form silent pleas for more. he smirked, his teeth still digging into your neck, feeling your pulse throb under his teeth. he knew you were close, knew he had you right where he wanted you.

with one final, powerful thrust, he swiped his thumb over your clit one more time, and you shattered around him. your orgasm washed over you in waves, making your body spasm and your legs tighten around his waist. you moaned his name, your nails digging into his back as your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.

rafe’s eyes rolled back in his head, his own release barreling towards him like a freight train. he pulled his mouth away from your neck with a wet pop, his teeth marks clear on your skin. “gonna cum, baby,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort.

you nodded, your own orgasm still coursing through you as he drove into you one last time, burying his cock to the hilt. he groaned as he came, filling you up with hot, thick ropes of cum, from the inside to your clit.

when it was over, he collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both panted for air. his cock still twitched inside you, releasing the last of his load, making you feel so completely owned. it was a feeling you never knew existed, but one you were now craving with every fiber of your being. he kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock had claimed your cunt. you could taste the saltiness of your sweat on his lips, feel the stickiness between your legs. it was raw, it was carnal

the first thing you noticed was the warmth. it enveloped you like a heavy blanket, your body pressed against something solid and unyielding. your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of the tent, and your heart stopped. rafe was sprawled on top of you, his arm draped possessively around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

the events of the night before came rushing back in flashes: the kisses, the heated whispers, the way his hands felt on your skin, the way he made you forget every ounce of hatred you harbored for him, if only for a moment.

you felt the cool morning air against your bare skin, the absence of fabric a cruel reminder of just how far things had gone. panic set in as you slowly, carefully shifted beneath him, trying not to disturb his steady breathing. you reached for your dress, crumpled on the floor of the tent, and slipped it on as quietly as you could manage. your hands trembled, the fabric catching on your damp skin as you smoothed it over your body.

you paused, your eyes flickering back to him. rafe was still fast asleep, his features softened in a way you’d never seen before. he looked peaceful, almost innocent, but it only made the bile rise in your throat. what the hell had you done?

your thoughts spiraled as you crept out of the tent, each step feeling like a betrayal of yourself. what would your dad say? the man who taught you to stand your ground, to never let anyone—especially someone like rafe—get the better of you? and your friends? jj? god, jj.

you barely made it a few steps before jj’s voice startled you. “what happened?”

he was standing near the campfire, his hair disheveled, a beer bottle still clutched in his hand. his blue eyes bore into you, concern etched across his face.

“nothing,” you muttered, your voice hollow as you brushed past him.

“don’t give me that,” he said, following you as you made a beeline for your car. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

you ignored him, fumbling with your keys as you slid into the driver’s seat. he climbed into the passenger side, his confusion mounting as you started the engine.

“you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he pressed, his tone sharper now.

you gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you navigated the dirt road away from the campsite. the weight of what you’d done settled heavily on your chest, making it hard to breathe. then it hit you. you were racing rafe tonight.

your stomach dropped as the realization clawed its way through you. he’d done this on purpose. seduced you, distracted you, gotten into your head—all to throw you off your game. the anger came next, hot and unrelenting, burning away the shame and replacing it with a seething fury. how could you have been so stupid? so careless? you’d let him win, not just last night, but the entire war you’d been waging against him.

“jesus christ,” you whispered under your breath, your grip on the wheel tightening as jj looked at you, more confused than ever.

“what?” he asked, leaning forward to study your face. “what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer, your thoughts a chaotic mess as you sped down the road. tonight wasn’t just about the race anymore. it was about getting your revenge.

the rest of the day felt like a blur of heavy, suffocating silence. you spent most of it sitting in your car, parked in an isolated corner of nowhere, just staring into oblivion. the world outside seemed distant, a place that didn’t matter, didn’t exist for you. thoughts swirled in your mind like a storm you couldn’t escape, each one more troubling than the last. what had you done? what was going to happen now?

you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. not yet. not until you could at least get through tonight, at least finish what you had started. you still had a fighting chance against rafe, didn’t you? the race was everything now. it was the one thing left that you could control, the one thing that would keep him from completely getting under your skin.

jj had asked you what was wrong earlier when you barely spoke to anyone. sarah had asked him too, her voice laced with concern, but he didn’t have any answers. nobody did. you barely had any answers yourself.

the hours passed in a haze, and before you knew it, it was time for the race. the drive to the meeting was dreadfully silent. the engine roared beneath you, but it did nothing to drown out the buzzing in your head. every thought was a needle, and each one pricked at you until you were wound too tight to even think straight. every so often, you'd mutter to yourself, trying to reassure yourself that you were still in control, that you could still handle this. but it wasn’t working. frustration built in you like a pressure cooker, and every so often, your fist collided with the steering wheel in sharp bursts of anger.

jj, who had been quiet the entire drive, kept stealing glances at you, but he didn’t ask any questions. he didn’t need to. you didn’t know how to answer him anyway.

the race was worse. even though the cheers of the crowd should’ve fueled you, you felt nothing but dread, a deep, gnawing sickness in your stomach. you could hear your name being shouted, the excitement of the crowd, but it all felt so distant. when you saw rafe’s face in the crowd, that sickening feeling only intensified. he was there, watching you, his eyes locked onto yours with something that twisted your insides.

and then there was her. the girl rafe had been with the night before. you hadn’t missed her, standing there in the crowd, glaring at you with an expression that made your blood boil. her eyes were cold, calculating, and when she met your gaze, she didn’t flinch.

“take it easy on him tonight,” she said, her voice sweet but laced with venom.

the words crawled under your skin. it was too much. you were already so close to the edge, and that was the final push you needed. before you knew what you were doing, your fist was swinging through the air and colliding with the underside of her jaw. she gasped as she stumbled backward, the crowd around you gasping as well.

for a moment, everything was silent, and you took a step forward, ready to finish what you’d started. but before you could, jj was there, his strong arms pulling you back with surprising force. he didn’t even give you the chance to go for her again.

“easy, easy,” he said, his voice low and urgent as he kept his grip on you. you could feel the heat of his hands on your arms, his breath against the back of your neck. he was trying to calm you down, trying to get you to focus, but it wasn’t working. the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of rafe’s eyes on you, watching everything unfold with a look you hadn’t seen before. sympathy? pity? it almost made you want to puke. you quickly looked away, not wanting to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

“look,” jj said, his voice softening, his tone more serious now. “i don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is, you need to pull it together, okay? we’ve got five grand riding on this. you need to calm down.”

his words hit harder than you expected. five grand. that was all that mattered now, wasn’t it? you couldn’t let everything else get in the way. you nodded, your throat tight. you could feel your eyes threatening to well up, but you forced them to stay dry. you couldn’t break now. not yet. not with everything on the line.

the roar of the crowd still lingered in the air as you took your place at the starting line. your hands gripped the steering wheel, the leather cold beneath your fingers, but the heat from the race, from the tension building in your chest, quickly overpowered everything else. you kept your eyes forward, staring at the road, refusing to let your mind wander to anything else. not to the pit in your stomach, not to the fact that rafe’s car was right next to yours, not to the way you could feel his presence from the corner of your eye.

out of the corner of your vision, you caught him tapping on the window, the sound almost too soft against the chaos of the crowd. his eyes were no longer dark, no longer intense with that gleam of challenge. they were something else, something softer, but you refused to look at him. you wouldn’t. you kept your gaze on the road, your pulse racing, the air thick with the impending start of the race.

the countdown began, and with it, your heartbeat seemed to match the ticking clock until they went off. when they did, they came to life, and the world around you exploded into sound and movement. tires screeched as cars shot forward, speeding down the street, their engines roaring like wild beasts. the world blurred into a haze of color and sound, the air whipping past you, the car humming beneath you, and the rubber of the tires grinding into the asphalt as you pushed forward, faster, faster.

every turn, every maneuver felt like a calculated risk, your body swerving with the weight of the car, the grip of the tires, the thrill of the chase. the engine purred beneath you, urging you to push harder, to find the edge that would leave everyone else behind.

but your mind couldn’t help but flicker to rafe, his car beside yours, his presence there like a shadow, reminding you that something was there. you could feel him pushing, feel his need to win, just as much as you needed it. the sounds of the race around you—the screeching of tires, the hum of engines, the roars of the crowd—faded into the background. all that mattered was the road ahead.

but then, something happened. the way rafe’s car surged forward, the way his engine roared louder, faster, harder—it didn’t feel right. the energy shifted. You saw him from the corner of your eye, pushing his car up a steeper incline, his hands tightening around the wheel, his expression hidden behind the visor. it was the moment when you knew he was going too fast, too reckless. and then, you saw it—the press of the button, the one that activated the tank. the flash of light as it ignited.

you knew exactly what he was doing, and the thought hit you like a freight train. he was pushing it too far.

time seemed to stretch as the car lurched forward, the impact of the tank too much for his control. his car surged into the incline, the tires screeching, the engine roaring in a desperate cry. it was too much. the back end of his car fishtailed, and then, with a terrifying screech of metal against pavement, it veered off course.

your heart skipped a beat as you watched, the crash happening in slow motion. his car slammed into the barrier, the impact deafening as it crumpled like paper, and for a split second, all you could hear was the grinding of metal and the screeching of tires. the crowd’s roar became a distant hum, and your world narrowed down to the wreckage of rafe’s car.

your foot slammed on the brake, and the car skidded to a halt, the tires screaming in protest. you sat there, frozen, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. you could keep going. you could race to the finish line, claim the victory. you’d already beaten him in every other way. but your stomach twisted at the thought. you couldn’t leave him like this.

you were out of the car before you even realized it, your legs moving without thought, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. you ran toward the wreckage, ignoring the shouts of the crowd, the chaos around you. when you reached his car, your heart dropped into your stomach. the car was mangled, unrecognizable, the front crumpled and twisted. smoke poured from the hood, and you could barely see anything through the shattered glass.

he was unconscious, his head lolling to the side. his breathing was shallow, labored, but there. it was enough to make you breathe, though the sight of him—bloody, broken—sent a wave of nausea through your chest. you knelt by his side, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your heart hammering in your chest. the familiar coldness of his hand in yours sent a shock through you. his fingers were stiff, and you could feel the weight of his body, his pulse weak beneath your touch.

“rafe,” you whispered, panic creeping into your voice as you shook his shoulder. no response. “rafe, stay with me.”

you didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. you wanted to scream, to curse, to shake him awake, but all you could do was hold his hand and wait.

“help!” you screamed, your voice breaking through the chaos as you turned toward the crowd, looking for anyone who could help. “get the paramedics! now!”

every second felt like an eternity. time seemed to stand still as you knelt there, your fingers clutching his hand tightly, waiting for someone to come. his breathing was still shallow, but he was alive, and that was the only thing you could hold onto. you could barely think through the panic, through the raw, ugly emotion that twisted in your chest. you hadn’t meant for this to happen. you hadn’t meant for it to go this far. but now, all you could do was wait. wait for the paramedics. wait for the help that you knew was coming, but it felt so far away.

the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, a reminder of the countless times you’d been in a hospital, yet never this way. the last time you had been here, you’d watched your father slip away, his final breath taken in the cold, quiet halls of this place. it felt almost uncanny now, sitting next to rafe, your heart hammering in your chest, as you waited for something—anything—that told you he was going to be okay. the memories of your father’s final days pressed heavily against you, making the sterile whiteness of the room feel suffocating.

you sat in the chair next to his bed, gripping your hands tightly in your lap, your fingers aching from the tension. the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic pulse that felt too fragile, too tenuous. you kept your eyes trained on the floor, refusing to meet his face. the fear of seeing him in that state—broken, vulnerable—was too much. your mind raced, torn between the reality of the situation and the weight of everything you had just witnessed. and yet, despite all that, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to do something. anything.

then, something shifted. at first, it was so subtle you thought you imagined it. a slight twitch of his hand, the soft rise and fall of his chest. your heart skipped a beat. you leaned forward, unsure if you were imagining the movement, until you saw it again. a small, faint movement.

“what happened?” his words were slurred, barely more than a breath, but they were enough to make your heart tighten.

“you crashed,” you said, my throat thick with emotion. “you pushed too hard. you used the tank too early, rafe. you lost control of the car.”

“you came back for me?” his voice was small, vulnerable, almost childlike in its simplicity.

you nodded, your hand instinctively reaching for his, fingers shaking as you gripped his palm. “someone had to,” you whispered, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

your voice cracked as you spoke, the weight of the situation bearing down on you like a heavy storm cloud. his eyes shifted away from yours, gazing out the window, but there was something in his expression that you couldn’t ignore. the emptiness in the room, the absence of anyone else who cared enough to be there, was impossible to miss. no one had come for him, not even his family. it was just you. just you, sitting there, holding his hand, praying for him to wake up.

“you’re not the villain they think you are, rafe,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “you’re just hurt. you wanted to make your dad proud, didn’t you? you wanted to win for him because you think no one else could be proud of you. but you’re wrong. you act out because you’re scared, rafe. you won’t open up, because you’re scared.”

he turned his head slowly, meeting your gaze again. for the first time since you’d met him, you saw something in his eyes that wasn’t anger or arrogance. it was vulnerability. it was fear. and something else. something softer.

“you win, rafe,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you choked on the words. “if it means anything to you, you win.”

a tear, just one, slid down his cheek. he never cried. not in front of anyone, not in all the time you’d known him. but there it was, a single tear that betrayed everything he had tried so hard to keep hidden.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the weight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

his hand was shaky as he placed it over yours, his fingers brushing against your skin with an almost desperate tenderness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “for everything. i can’t deal with any of this. i’m not strong enough to deal with anything, no matter how awful i act.”

you shook your head, your chest tightening at his words. “don’t act,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers. “you could’ve lost your life tonight, rafe. and then what?”

his eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again, there was a small, hesitant smile on his lips. “you could never lose me,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “you know how i know?”

you shook your head, not understanding, but you didn’t press him. you simply waited, your heart heavy in your chest, as he gave my hand another squeeze.

“because you never lose.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: ok guys be skibidi plz bc i had to shorten the ending thanks to tumblrs limit that i didnt even know existed

[elixirina]

# in my prime — jason todd x fem!reader

synopsis — jason gets awoken with a little surprise.

warnings — none just tooth rotting fluff

notes — was just thinking about jason’s white streak so yk

please please please reblog and like 🤍

© elixirina — all rights reserved. my work is never to be reposted, translated, modified, etc, even if i am credited.

the early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow that gently woke you. you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet hum of the world outside the window and the sound of jason’s steady breathing beside you. he was still asleep, his face peaceful and relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world. the way he slept so soundly always made you smile. it was a rare thing, something he didn’t often let himself have—peace.

you turned your head slightly, your gaze falling on him. his dark hair, always messy, was sprawled across the pillow in a way that made him look like he belonged in people's sexiest man alive. but there was something more that caught your attention today—something different, something you couldn’t ignore.

near the front of his hairline, you noticed a small streak of white running through his otherwise jet-black hair. it was subtle but striking. you blinked, sure you were imagining it. maybe it was just the light. but no, there it was—clear as day, like it had always been there.

your heart did something funny in your chest, a fluttering sensation that you couldn’t quite explain. the streak was so... unexpected. it was small, but in that moment, it seemed to transform him. there was something beautiful about it, something raw and real. it wasn’t like any hair dye or accidental bleach job, and it definitely wasn't a grey hair—it felt like it was a part of him. maybe it was a mark of everything he’d been through, a silent reminder of the battles he’d fought, both internal and external.

and you found it... well, you found it perfect. you couldn’t help but love it.

you leaned in closer to get a better look, your fingers hovering just above his hair. you wanted to reach out and touch it, but you knew that would be an invasion of his space. so instead, you just let yourself admire it, that little streak of white against his dark hair, wondering where it had come from. it made him seem so much more... human.

suddenly, jason groaned, his body shifting as he stretched out beneath the covers. his eyes fluttered open, blurry with sleep, and the grogginess in his voice made you chuckle. “mornin’, baby.”

you grinned, the teasing glint in your eyes barely contained. “good morning, silver fox.” you couldn’t resist the nickname now that you had the perfect ammunition. a snicker escaped your mouth, despite your best efforts to stop it.

his brows furrowed as he blinked at you, trying to focus through the haze of sleep. “what? what’re you laughing at?” he muttered, his voice still thick with the remnants of sleep. "what did you do?"

you couldn’t hold it back anymore, your grin growing wider as you gestured to his hair. “i didn't—you might want to look in the mirror, old man.”

jason’s hand shot up immediately, fingers running through his hair as he tried to figure out what you were talking about. his eyes widened in confusion as they found the streak. “what the fuck?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

you bit your lip, trying not to burst into laughter. his reaction was priceless—he was so caught off guard, and it was adorable. you leaned back into the pillow, watching him scramble to get out of bed and rush to the nearest mirror.

“what the actual—?” jason muttered, pulling at the streak like he could just... remove it. “tell me this isn’t real. did you do this?”

you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore and let it burst out, echoing around the room as you sat up on the bed. “no! baby, i swear, i woke up and you were like that,” you teased, your voice thick with amusement. “and honestly? i think it looks good on you. very distinguished.”

jason’s head snapped around to look at you, his eyes wide. “good? angel, i look like—like—” he gestured to his hair wildly, eyes wide in disbelief. “i should be in a nursing home! no! i’m still in my prime!”

you bit your lip to stop your grin before collecting yourself. “you look like jason todd,” you said again, this time your voice softer, more earnest. “you’re allowed to look however you want. and right now? you look...” you paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully as you stared at him. “you look perfect.”

jason froze for a moment, his fingers still tangled in his hair. you could see the gears turning in his head. the way you were looking at him—the soft way you always looked at him—was disarming. he felt it in his chest, that warmth that he never quite knew how to deal with.

he grumbled, not knowing what to say. “still not funny.” he took a deep breath, still trying to act like it wasn’t bothering him, even though the faintest trace of a smile was tugging at his lips. he walked back over to the bed, finding his place next to you once more.

he grumbled, not knowing what to say. “still not funny.” he took a deep breath, still trying to act like it wasn’t bothering him, even though the faintest trace of a smile was tugging at his lips. he walked back over to the bed, finding his place next to you once more.

you shrugged innocently, your grin unwavering. “maybe you’ll learn to love it. i’m pretty sure it’s a keeper.”

his voice softened as he tucked your head beneath his chin. “you think it looks good?”

you nodded, your hand resting on his chest. “i do. it’s... you, jason. just another layer to who you are.”

jason didn’t respond at first. instead, he just lay there, the two of you sharing a peaceful silence for a while. but when you looked up at him, you saw the warmth in his eyes, that softness that only ever came when he was around you.

“thanks, baby,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. there was something vulnerable in it, something rare, and you realized it wasn’t just the streak that was making him feel this way—it was you, and the way you always saw him for everything he was.

“no problem, silver fox,” you teased again, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that broke through. maybe the streak wasn’t so bad after all. and maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind looking distinguished for you.

[dvrcos]

Thinking about the Foxes dying their hair orange for finals. Like it starts with the girls doing orange highlights/Renee dying the tips of her hair orange during death matches

And then Matt and Nicky rope themselves in because they think it’s cool as fuck and they want to be apart of it. So Allison and Renee help them bleach their hair and Dan watches for moral support. They dye the tips of Matt’s hair and give Nicky chunky highlights

They try to convince Neil next and it doesn’t work until Matt asks and then he hesitantly agrees. They give him just a little streak of orange right at the front and it just looks like his normal hair but a bit brighter

Kevin is the next to join in because he’s superstitious as fuck and would think if half the team is already doing it than the whole team has to for good luck. Allison and Renee give him a nice ombré of orange over the tips of his hair

The twins are the hardest to convince by far. Kevin and the entire team hound them for a week. Aaron agrees finally just so Kevin stops bitching at him every spare breath and somehow Neil gets Andrew on board because he’s Neil and “just asked”

Aaron dyes the undercut of his hair orange and Andrew gets little fox paw prints on the shaved part of his head (so he can shave them off as soon as the seasons over). The orange is bright as fuck on their hair too since their natural hair is so light. And they both think it’s obnoxious but are team players

It definitely becomes a tradition after that and if they make it to finals Wymack and Abby surprise them by dying their hair (and Wymack temporarily dyes his beard)

[electronicwitchcollection]

~*Aizawa smut*~

Finally, the result of the jealous poll is written! While I was writing it, I had another Aizawa request and realised that request fit better with what I was already writing 🫠 so I had to rewrite what I had written and then restart this from scratch 🙃

Anyway, here it is! The first thing I’ve written that’s not about Bleach 😂

Being a pro hero was hard. Teaching a class room full of overconfident, stubborn teenagers with quirks was harder. You loved it though, found it incredibly rewarding and your heart swelled seeing those young men and women bloom into the great heros they become under your guidance. But damn, it one hell of a journey to get them to that point. That's why you've found yourself accepting the offer to join the other faculty in one of their impromptu "Let's go to the bar and get drunk before those damn kids make me reevaluate wether or not it is worth not just becoming a villain and blowing up the damn school, children and all" or whatever it was Mic had said to convince you to join them.

After some delicate and calculated persuasion, you had convinced your partner to join you. Shota was a somewhat reserved and apathetic man. His tired appearance and preference to nap above all else gave him a rather cool and unbothered disposition. He wasn't one for social gatherings nor large crowds, preferring his own company or that of a small select few. Despite this, he begrudgingly agreed to accompany you to the gathering, if only to prevent any unwanted attention you may get, given the shortness of the dress you had decided to wear.

For his usual lethargic demeanour, he was infatuated with you. He loved you irrevocably. Shota could be supportive and incredibly sweet, but he had a possessive, jealous streak a mile wide that he hadn't been able to tame in all the time he has called you his. You saw the way his half laden eyes widened a fraction, darkening as he feasted on the unobstructed view of your thighs. Saw his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and remind you that you and your body belonged to him and him only. It had worked though, sighing as he rubbed a tired hand down his face, muttering that he'll go and change.

As the night progressed the alcohol flowed easily, doing its job to help you unwind and relax. Inhibitions lowered, you chatted happily with your co workers, reminiscing over past missions you had participated in before you all became teachers and swapping war stories of the children in your classes. The lights were dimmed, pulsing colours lighting up the small dance floor you could see, housing inebriated strangers sensually moving their bodies to the beat. You could feel the music vibrating through your body, tempting you with its intoxicating melody to sway with the rhythm.

As your hips moved beneath you, you felt a chill run up your spine. Eyes snapping up, they immediately fell on Shota, staring at you from across the room. Sat at the bar between Snipe and Vlad, paying no mind to their conversation, his entire attention was fixed on you. His legs were spread, intoxicatingly so, foot bouncing with restless energy. A small smirk appeared on his lips before he brought the bottle of beer he was nursing up to his mouth. Your mouth went dry at the sight, flush of heat rising through your body that had nothing to do with the alcohol..

"Let's dance!" Nemuri spoke into your ear to be heard over the music, snapping you out of your trance. It felt like somebody suddenly turned up the music, brightened the lights as you broke away from his predatory stare. Nodding happily you accepted her hand and allowed her to drag you from the table. Passing the bar you locked eyes with Shota. You held out two fingers to Nemuri as she turned at your sudden stopping, letting her know you'll join her soon. You slipped between Shots's open thighs, as he raised an amused eye brow.

Laying a hand on his thigh you leaned in, the subtle masculine smell of his aftershave drawing you closer. His hand automatically went to your dress, subtly tugging down the hem to a more appropriate length before sliding up and setting on the swell of your hip. He leaned in close to your ear, gravely voice cutting through the energetic music "Do you want a drink, Kitten?"

You shook your head no, giving him your best smile. You wrapped your hand around his fingers, so much thicker and battle worn than your own, playing with them teasingly "Come dance with me"

"No" 

You pout at the short, blunt denial, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. He was so much more reserved when not at home. Less playful and willing to engage with your energetic whims. Normally you were sympathetic to his uneasiness, understanding of his dislike for situations such as this. But you were well on your way to being drunk and you wanted to dance with your boyfriend. Wanted to feel his hard body move against your own. Using his strength to twirl and bend you to his will. "Please?"

He shook his head with a soft smile at your wide, pleading eyes and the child like reaction to being told no. His hand abandoned his drink to the bar, the chill lingering on his palm as he cupped your jaw, using his thumb to pull gently on your bottom lip, watching as it bounced back to normal "No. I don't dance"  He gently brushed the back of his knuckles over the tip of your nose before leaning in to kiss you. It was sort and discreet, yet it made your eyelids flutter close, your body lean in closer to prolong the grazing contact for as long as he allowed.

His hand sneaked from your hip to the swell of your ass, giving it a possessive squeeze and a dismissive tap "You dance, I'll watch" you just caught the subtle warning in his husky voice, so well disguised in his aloof candour you almost missed it. His eye brow raised the smallest of fractions, eyes deepening the faintest of shades darker . Have fun... but behave.

He'll be watching. Watching to ensure that dress of yours doesn't ride up too high up your shapley thighs. Watching to make sure no one gets too close to what was his. The unspoken promise sent a chill up your spine. A little put out that he denied your request, you turn to make your way to the dance floor, making sure to let your fingers slowly caress their way down his thigh as you parted. You didn't look back, you didn't need to. You could feel the weight of his stare on you, could feel the hairs in your body stand on end at his predatory gaze fixed on you.

You easily spotted Nemuri, dancing seductively in the middle of the dance floor, more than one set of eyes on her. In your absence she had coaxed Mic into dancing with her, an accessory to use to highlight her flirtatious movements. Her eyes brightened when she caught sight of you, beckoning you closer with a curl of her finger. She oozed sex appeal, her confident, hypnotic movements of her hips easily encouraged you  to succumb to the music, letting your body feel the beat,sway your hips to the rhythm.

Grinning widely, you look over your shoulder, catching Shota's eyes already fixated on you. Watching the seductive roll of your hips, the way your ass bounced under that dress threatening to ride up with every sway of your hips. He wanted to watch? Then you would put on a show for him, let him see exactly what your body could do when he isn't pressed up against you to keep you behaving.

Your fingers gently brush against your thighs, slowly dragging them up, caressing the exposed skin. Higher they climb, following the curves of your hips and waist, coming up to twist gently in your hair as your eyes close, body moving to the beat that made your heart thump in your chest. You look through your lashes, a thrill shooting through you at the hungry look on Shota's face, eyes never leaving you. You could see the faintest if smirks on his lips, he was enjoying your teasing.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looked at you, ravenously. You could see his hand flexing on his thigh, itching to get you in his grasp. You were steadily riling him up, with your flirtatious movements, pushing your limits, igniting the embers of passion that burned in every inch of his body for you. Only you. Yet he still wasn't budging. You had yet to entice him from his seat to join you on the dance floor.

You felt a large hand settle on you hip,breaking away your focus from Shota to see who was touching you. Ready to politely refuse their advances. Your eyes lit up upon seeing the cocky grin of your occasional mission partner. Blonde hair pushed back, large red wings blocking the dancers behind him. With an exited laugh, you tip toe and throw your arms around him, an inebriated display of greeting"Hawks! What are you doing here!?" 

He grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him to talk into your ear "I was in the area..thought I'd stop by"  You lean back, flattening your feet to smile at him. It had been ages since you had last seen him, he rarely made an appearance around the school anymore since becoming the second hero in the ranks. He looked you up and down, lip curling into a smirk "you look good, I'm surprised that boyfriend of yours left you all alone looking like that" 

You chuckle, stepping to the side to nod at where Shota was perched at the bar"He's over there."  Hawks leaned closer, sending Aizawa an exaggerated wave. You could see Shota's jaw clench, eye brows furrow in annoyance. Hawks was not his favourite person at the best of times, but the overfamiliar way in which he spoke to you, nonchalantly touched you, made him absolutely murderous. A fact Hawks both knew and enjoyed.

You elbow him softly in the stomach, trying to hide your grin as you turned back to focus on him "Stop trying to wind him up"  the answering grin told you that you were right in your accusation , damn wind up merchant. Leaning down he spoke across your ear, eyes watching Shota as he silently fumed at the close proximity "Isnt that exactly what you were just doing? I saw the way you were shaking that ass, trying to make him jealous?" 

You couldn't deny it. That's exactly what you were trying to do. You knew how jealous and possessive Shota could be, and secretly loved the thrill you felt when he snapped and reminded you just who it was you belonged too. "A little" you admit with a guilty smile and a half shrug "he wouldn't dance with me, I was attempting to seduce him over" 

Hawks straightened up, wrapping his hand around your hip and pulling you closer to him. White teeth on display as he grinned menacingly "Let's see how mad we can make him" Before you could think of all the reasons why that wasn't the best of ideas, Hawks placed his hand in the centre of your back, using it to support your weight as he dipped you back playfully, long hair tumbling back as you laughed. He swayed you in an arch before snapping you back up straight, smirking at the joy on your face. Hands returning to your hips he pushed into you, leading you in a flirtatious to and fro.

Your hips swayed and rotated, flawlessly hitting every beat. One hand gripping his shoulder for stability, the other resting gently on his arm. You playfully flipped your hair, rolling your body into Hawks. He answered in kind, moulding himself to the shape of your body, gyrating playfully into you, eyes flicking over your head to take in the sight of Shota, steadily becoming more enraged at the display, with sadistic glee.

You moved and and swayed easily in accordance to Hawks's lead, giving yourself over to the joy of letting go of your inhibitions, simply enjoying the freedom of dance. Hawks took hold of your hand, directing you into a spin, grinning at your laugh. Spinning you the opposite way a half turn, he pressed himself into your back. Hands on your hips he encouraged you to sway side to side.

Lost in the music you didn't notice Shota's stiffening form, the tightening grip on his beer bottle threatening to smash the fragile glass. Too preoccupied with your promiscuous gyrating to see the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of his jaw. You were unknowingly pushing him to his limit and he was about to snap under the pressure. Hawks was a little more tuned in, lowering his head over your shoulder to hide his smirk so not to provoke that anger his way.

You noticed too late, the drag of Hawks hands going from your hips to your waist, unintentionally dragging up your dress with the movements, aided by your serpentining hips. Feeling the fabric of your dress bunching up too high at the top of your thighs, you quickly tugged it back down, red tinting your cheeks at the unintended, indecent exposure of your body. Hawks squeezed your waist, rumbling chuckle in his chest vibrating through your back as he muttered into you ear

"Seems Aizawa has reached his limit"  You look up to where Shota was previously sitting, only for your eyes to widen and your mouth go dry at the sight of him angrily stalking towards you, eyes flashing dangerously in the neon lights. Shit. You went too far.  "It's been fun," you could hear the amusement in his voice, struggling to contain his laughter " but that's my cue to leave" he tapped your side once in parting before backing away discreetly, mingling into the mass of dancers to avoid Aizawa's impending wrath.

You didn't look back, keeping your eyes solely focused on Shota as he neared, readying your apology on your lips for when he came within hearing distance. You could almost see the heavy waves of irritation pouring from him in droves as he stalked through the crowd, not deviating from the straightest path to you. "Shota, I..." not breaking his stride, his hand encased your wrist, pulling you silently behind him as he carried on walking through the dance floor, your attempted apology falling on deaf ears. He was pissed, and he was going to make you pay.

You teetered behind him, struggling to keep up with his long powerful strides in your heels, but knowing you would be ignored, you kept the complaint to yourself. Breaking through the crowd , Shota opened the dark wooden door that lead the the corridor where the restrooms were situated, pulling you through. The door closing behind you muffled the deafening music, your ears ringing gently with the change of decibels. The sound of your heels clacking on the floor, too soft to hide the angry heavy steps of the one leading you.

Shota walked past both the men's and woman's bathroom, headed straight for an unmarked door at the end of the corridor in eerie silence. Throwing open the last door with the same delicate care he had the first, he pulled you in behind him, turning quick to slam it shut behind you. You heard the click of the lock a mere second before you were pushed up against the rigid door, trapped by his hands planted either side of your head. Your eyes flicked over his shoulder, momentarily checking your surroundings, stacked shelves of alcohol bottles and boxes of crisps was all you could take in before Shota's hot breath brushed against your neck with every frustrated exhale.

You swallowed thickly, dry lips parting as you carefully moistened them with your tongue. The atmosphere around you was thick and tense, suffocating with his barely restrained fury"Shota, I'm... "

"You thought it would be fun to make me jealous? " He talked over your meek explanation, voice dark and thick, like raw honey dripping from his tongue and coating his words. His hot breath landed on your neck, prompting an involuntary shiver "You put on quite the show didn't you? flashing your pretty little panties to everyone in that bar " You whine breathlessly as his teeth grazed over the flushed skin on your neck before sinking in harshly.

You moan, head swimming dizzily at the rush of heat throbbing between his lips. His hot, wet tongue soothing over the mark he had made on your skin, reaffirming his claim of you. Your head lulled to the side, offering him unobstructed access as your eyes fluttered closed. Possessive kisses were pressed into your neck as large hands found your thighs, caressing over the silky skin.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hands increased their pressure, dragging up your thighs, bringing your dress up with them to bunch at your hips, exposing your panties for the second time that night  "Shota.."  he silenced you with a forceful kiss, unkept scruff adding to the sensations driving you needy with desire. He bit at your bottom lip, thrusting his tongue between your parted lips as you gasped. You surrendered easily, giving up the control he desperately craved, blindly following the intoxicating way his tongue brushed against your own, dictating the pressure and speed to suit his tastes.

You could feel his strong hands gripping your hips with bruising force, keeping you immobile against the door as he claimed your mouth. Your breath quickened when one of his hands started to wander, brushing tantalisingly slow over your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When a finger curved against your core, following your panty covered slit, you gasped, groaning in the back of your throat 

"Shota.." 

"You love making me jealous don't you?"  You could hear the strain in his voice, feel the restraint he was exhibiting not to lose it completely. His finger brushed over you again, adding more pressure to demonstrate his intent. "Love driving me wild..." He muttered into your neck, nipping at the skin between husky words. His fingers followed up your panties to the waistline, teasing along the band "Letting another man feel what is mine" Shota pushed his hand into your underwear, slipping a teasing finger between your folds, gathering the moisture dampening your silky skin to ease his entry. You moan at the ripple of pleasure surging through you, gripping hold of his wrist in an effort to not melt into a pool at his feet. His name the only thing able to leave your lips in a breathy whine

"Can he make you feel good like this?"  He dipped his finger deeper into your core, feeling your inner walls clamp around his invading digit. Slowly thrusting it into your depths, teasing against your hidden pleasure spot as you moaned. "Can he make you moan as beautifully as this?"  You whined pathetically, knees weakening with every dirty word breathed hotly against your ear.

His finger stopped its torturous teasing, pulling away from you completely leaving you feeling empty and needy. His darkened eyes captured you in an unbreakable stare, unable to pull away from the intensity in which he held you. His hot breath coated your lips with heavy pants, usual cool demeanour replaced with unrestrained desire. "You love taunting me, don't you?..." his whispered words sent a shiver down your spine, needing no volume or intensity to make your heart rate quicken beneath your breast.

He hooked his fingers into your panties, dragging them down over the swell of your hips to your thighs where the fell down the length of your legs. He kneeled, eyes not leaving your own as he smoothed his palms down your quivering legs, lifting each in turn to remove the underwear trapped around your ankles and shoving the garment into his pocket "...Just so we end up here, with my head between your legs, every ..fucking.. time" 

You watched transfixed as he guided one of your legs to drape across his shoulder, messy black hair obscuring your view as he inched his way towards your core. You heard him inhale deeply, groaning deeply at your intoxicating scent before flicking his eyes up to yours once more to utter a single command

"Watch" 

A strangled moan ripped from your throat at the first drag of his tongue, slowly, torturously licking a wet stripe up towards your clit where he rolled his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Looking down you couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight. Shota, on his knees, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he lapped at your most sensitive area with possessive hunger. Your hands went to his hair, pushing it back from his face to give you an unobstructed view as he tasted you. Using him for stability as your leg started quivering beneath you.

Shota twirled his tongue over your swelling clit, flicking the tip against it rapidly with a grunt as your fingers tighten in his hair. Your breathy moans and quivering thighs feeding his possessive nature. Fingers digging into your thighs, Shota pushed his face deeper, nose pressing into your soft mound as his dexterous appendage traced your bundle of nerves. The smell of your arousal hit his nose, making his mouth water instantly.

Lavishing your clit with a sloppy kiss, Shota couldn't get enough of your sweet whines, steadily increasing their volume, making themselves known over the beat steadily thumping from the bar . Your taste was intoxicating, heady flavour coating his tongue with every deliberate swipe had him yearning for more. Subtly lingering on his tastebuds, Shota sought a thicker coating on his tongue. Parting with your clit with a gentle suckle, Shota kissed his way down to your opening, seeking to drink straight from the source.

Looking through pleasure filled, half laden eyes, you watched mesmerised as he lapped at your folds, delving his tongue deeper with every earnest swipe. Currents of pleasure rippled through your body with every flick of his tongue , pushing you closer to the edge of euphoria you were in desperate need of. Nonsensical moans fell from your parted lips, fingers tightening in his disheveled hair as your thighs quivered.

Shota grunted once at the tug you gave in his hair, not letting it distract or deter him from his intended target. His tongue pushed through your silky folds to plunder your depths. The way he stroked your inner walls was luxurious, slow and deliberate, assuring he tasted every inch of you, capturing every drop of your arousal to claim as his own. Unable to control your reactions in the midst of pleasure, your head dropped back to hit against the door, guttural moan escaping past your heavy pants, giving yourself over to the burning desire.

His movements quickened, slurping obscenely at your cunt, his skilled appendage pistoned into you with vigorous determination to get you to completion. "Shota.." you whined, sensations becoming overwhelming, needing more to push you over the edge you were teetering on. When the tip of his tongue sinfully flicked over your hidden sweet spot you gasped, thighs attempting to close together in a futile effort to halt the breath stealing sensation.

Shota growled between your legs, reluctantly pulling away from his treat to shoot you a stern look, one that has struck fear into the most ruthless of villains, your arousal glistening on his unkept scruff. Fingers tightening on your thighs, he opened them back up, keeping your thigh planted at the edge of his shoulder allowing him the room he desired "keep your fucking legs open . Im not finished"  he warned with a husky growl, leaving no room for argument or objection before eagerly returning to your core.

Quickly resuming his loud devouring, Shota drove his tongue into your depths, wetting his tongue with your arousal, his desire for you unquenchable. His grip on your legs was bruising, fingers digging into the soft plush, keeping you open for him. He could feel you quiver, your body trembling as the surge of pleasure raced through you, heating every nerve that dwelled within.

You were close, he knew the signs, had them memorised. The shuddering way you gasped between strangled moans, the way your hips jerked minutely, unsure wether to retreat or push closer to the source of your pleasure. The way your fingers tightened in his hair, hand shaking as you resisted the urge to push him closer. He wanted your release, your sweet cries, your addicting taste. The knowledge that he was the one, the only one, who could pleasure you this skilfully.

His own erection straining in his pants, protesting being confined by the unforgiving fabric of his jeans only hastened his need to bring you to completion. Eager to to feel your tight walls being split open by his thick cock, squeezing him so tight it was sinful. His calloused hand trailed up your thigh, slipping between your soaked folds as he returned to your clit, flicking his tongue over it relentlessly.

He could feel your juices being pushed out by his fingers, wetting his hand as he thrusted them into you with increasing speed. Your moans left you without restriction , vocalising the pleasure you were feeling. You were burning, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava, incinerating you from the inside out, searching for a way to escape. You could feel your lower stomach tightening, like a band ready to snap and release all the built up tension.

Shota swirled had his tongue around the shape of your clit before surrounding it with his lips and sucking. His fingers curled inside you, beckoning your body to its climax as they brushed over the spongy pleasure point he knew would send you over the edge. And over the edge you went, eyes slamming shut at the rush of release, you saw white behind your lids. Mouth parted in a silent scream, your body jerked and twitched as the orgasm exploded through your body.

Shota groaned as he felt you climax, your walls clamping down tight over his still probing fingers, your release getting pushed out, spraying over his hand. He kept his fingers and tongue moving to carry you trough your orgasm, pridful growl rumbling in his chest. When you were left panting over him, your grip on his hair loosening, Shota finally pulled away from you. Sat back on his haunches, he sucked his fingers clean, dark eyes taking in your appearance.

You were panting, face flushed pink. Beautiful. His. Pulling your leg from his shoulder, Shota shot up to his feet, large hands cupping your face and pulling you into a deep, frenzied kiss. You were pliant in his hands, melting into him as you tasted yourself mixed with the bitter malty remnants of the long forgotten beer he had been nursing.

 "You were beautiful Kitten... perfect"  he whispered huskily against your lips, kissing you again, then one more time "but im not finished with you yet.." his tone turned darker, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. " after that little stunt you pulled.. you're going to be screaming before I'm satisfied you've learnt your lesson.."

Your breath caught in your throat, a chill running down your spine. Shota's hand left your cheek, the sound of his belt buckle clinking soon following. You swallow thickly, tongue darting out to moisten your suddenly dry lips. You couldnt help yourself, at the sound of his zipper being pulled down your eyes drop down automatically, just in time to see his ridgid cock spring free of its denim prison as Shota pushes his jeans down to his mid thigh.

You watch transfixed as he fists himself, squeezing his thick cock as he pumps himself slowly, getting a desperately needed moment of relief. The gravely moan in the back of his throat made your clit throb, pussy aching to have him buried deep inside you. You wanted to touch him, to run your fingers over the vein that protruded ever so slightly, follow it like a road map up to the head of his cock, brush your thumb over the bead of precum. Smeer it down his shaft and wrap your fingers around him, feeling the silky hot skin under your fingers. Pump him slowly until hes thrusting into your hand...

Before you could make a move to fufil your desire to touch him, Shota released the hold he had on himself. He swiftly grabbed your hips, fingers splayed over your ass and lifted you easily, pressing you back against the door. You wrap your legs around his waist, arms circling the back of his neck as you press together. His breath was laborded with need, eyes fixed on yours. He captures your lips once again, hand leaving your hip to guide his cock to your entrance. Sliding through your lips to coat himself in your wettness.

With a rough snap of his hips, Shota sheathes himself to the hilt into you in one fluid snap. You cry out, head thrown back breaking the kiss, hearing his own guteral groan in your ear. Your nails dig into the back of his shoulders, little creaent moon indents left in his skin, proof of your pleasure. Panting lightly as you try to adjust to the thick length stretching you to its shape, you moan up at the ceiling. Not giving you time to adjust he sets a punishing pace, pistoning his cock into your velvety depths as he mouths at your neck.

 "Fuck Kitten.." he growls into your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin "always so goddamn tight.. perfect"

A series of wanton moans and breathless whines fall from your lips as you were repeatedly fucked into the door, hearing it rattle in its frame. Shota's fingers dig into the swell of your ass as he uses it for leverage, slamming you onto his cock every time he drives forward.

"Purr for me Kitten..."  he whispers into your ear, his hot breath making you shiver "let me hear those pretty little moans" 

You oblige, moaning over the lewd symphony of your debauchery, the rhythmic slapping of skin, the sinfuly obscene wettness of your cunt as he hammers into you. "Shota... ngh..." you whine breathlessy, tilting your head down to watch his face. His jaw set in concentration, trying not to blow his load too early. His lips parted with ragged breaths, trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep up with his frenzied pace.

One of his hands leaves your ass to roughly tug down the front of your dress,  cupping one of your perfect round tits, squeezing the weight. He pinches your rosy pink bud between his finger and thumb, groaning at your answering cry. Slamming his hips into your tight heat, Shota watches your breasts bounce. Lured in by the hypnotic sight, he greedily sucks your nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud before suckling. He groans around it, sucking hard before pulling off with a wet pop, pleased with the hardened result. 

His dark eyes are on yours, the heat of his gaze burning your cheeks. You can feel your climax approaching, tetering of the cusp of ecstasy. Pleasure burns through your veins, searing throughout your body, only to pool in your lower belly, a swirling, agonising flood of pleasure ready to breakthrough the dam.

"You're mine Kitten" he growls at you with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep into your sopping cunt ".. say it"

"I'm yours.."  you whimper around a desperate breath, catching in your throat as you moan "..I'm yours"

" Again!" He barks at you through clenched teeth, frenzied thrusts jutting his twitching cock into your gspot with dizzying accuracy "louder Kitten!"

"I'M YOURS!"  You cry out, nails digging into his back, clinging onto him for all your worth as your orgasm floods trough you at a rapid pace. You moan, loud and throatily as searing pleasure rips through you, stealing your breath. Your pussy clenches around his cock, reluctant to free him from your depths. Your release, hot and as sweet as the pleausre you're drowning in drenches his cock "SHOTA!" 

"Fuck, Kitten. That it.." He growls into your neck, breathing hard against your skin. His hips stuttering as he spills himself deep within you, a deep throaty groan reverberating through his throat. He grinds his sputtering cock into your fluttering walls, letting your pussy squeeze him of every last drop of his cum. "Ngh...that it.."

You're both left panting, clenching fingers slowly softening on eachothers bodies. Shota's fingers digging into your ass slowly relaxes, smoothing his large hands over the swell, caressing up to your hips and thighs, peppering soft loving kisses into your neck, whispering sweet words of praise as you come down from your high. 

"You did so good Kitten, perfect...took me so god damn well" 

He pulls up slightly, resting his dampened forehead against yours, your hot breaths synchronising between you. Shifting you slighty, Shota slowly slides his softening cock from you, hissing slightly when your walls clamp around his oversensitive flesh. He gently lowers you to your feet, holding your waist, ensuring your feet can support your weight. 

"You okay, Kitten?" He asks you softly, tenderly kissing your forehead when you nod. After tucking himself away, Shota carefully rearanges your dress, covering your boosm, pulling the hem down over your ass and down to your thighs. Hands smoothing thier way back up to your waist once you were presentable. Putting a finger under your chin, he directs your face up yo his, thumb gently cleaning up your slightly smeered lipstick while staring into your eyes "You are mine Kitten.. never forget that"

"Always" you breath in return, no doubt in your mind that you were well and truly his.

[kitkat13001]

⋆.˚✮ BLUE HAIR

and i guess i’ll just miss her even thought she isn’t even really gone things are just different ever since she cut her blue hair off…

⤷ satoru gojo x reader

⤷ jjk spoilers, set post-hidden inventory (reader and gojo are 3rd yrs), coming-of-age vibes, angsty ending, title n lyrics from tv girl’s “blue hair”

you and gojo got matching blue streaks in your hair the summer of 2007. it was the best summer of your life. 

it was maybe three or four in the morning when you got the idea, staring at his near-radioactive blue eyes and snowy white hair. 

“you won’t even need bleach,” you’d told him with a mischievous grin. 

it didn’t take him two seconds to agree. satoru would have agreed to anything you’d asked of him without question, and you knew that. 

your missions had been especially grueling as of late. it seemed that the more time went by, the harder the missions became. the older you got, the more it seemed like the world was going to shit. 

growing up sucks. growing up as a jujutsu sorcerer sucks even worse. 

that’s what makes you appreciate rare moments like this—blue dye on the white tile, gojo singing off-key, your chipped nail polish against his fair skin where you’re holding his hand. moments where you’re just kids, as you were meant to be. 

satoru’s your best friend. you two have never had any secrets. but he and suguru never did tell you exactly what happened last summer, and you’re not sure they ever will. 

you try to forget about it all, smiling when you look in the mirror and see your matching blue strands. you snap a picture, both of you smiling so wide your eyes close as the flash fills the bathroom with white light. 

you look back at the picture after it all goes down and try to remember the happy students you were before everything went to shit. you try to remember how you felt that night, carefree and rambunctious and wild and infinite.

two months after that picture was taken, geto betrayed jujutsu high. he betrayed you, and gojo and shoko and yaga and utahime and anyone else who ever loved him. 

and then gojo went m.i.a. and it felt like you had really lost everything.

the next time you see him, many months later, his blue is gone. yours is faded to almost nothing. and all you have left is that memory of holding blue-stained hands, and the photograph you keep in your wallet of you and your best friend. 

divider by @/saradika-graphics — satoru my satoru…he makes me emotional

⟢ song recs for this: blue hair - tv girl, wait - m83, dream ivory - dream ivory, my love mine all mine - mitski

[heartfullofleeches]

I Wanna Shoplift sh*t from W*lmart with You

(Title Inspo - 8 Now by Food House)

Shy Male Yan + G.N "Bad Influence" Reader

Content: Shoplifting, small mention of weed. One slightly suggestive scene if you squint, but mostly SFW.

-

The pungent smell of freshly bleached tile. Children screaming up and down isles, guardians mysteriously void from sight. This store...

Is heaven.

"Whatcha think about this one, Mikey?"

Mischievous laughter is all it takes to drown out the screeches. The aroma of your body wash wafts off you from the close proximity, permeating his nostrils as he squeezes ever so closer to you in that secluded neck of the fashion department - accessories spread across the back wall as far as the eye could see.

"Well?" The light shake of your wrist yanks him back to attention; gems decorating the belt dangling from your grasp clicking against the beaded bracelet your partner in crime had made for you some months prior. It warms his heart to see it on your possession to this day.

"These rhinestones match pretty well with your highlights, don't you agree."

"I... I guess so..." Timid fingers course through the lilac streaks in his hair. You're so thoughtful to point out the little details like that.

"I'd love to buy it for you as an early birthday gift, but I don't get paid till the end of the week."

Micheal would offer to pay for it himself- You wouldn't even have to pay him back since he knows how tight you are on cash between checks. He walked into this store knowing full well of your end goals. The sliver of intimacy was all he needed to keep his wallet in pocket - right next to the handful of candy bars you had already deposited into his jeans.

Riding the high of your petty crimes, your smile falls as heavy footsteps pelt the isle floor. Your voice drops to a hushed whisper as you drag your friend in by his collar.

"Shit. Security guard, five o'clock. Act natural."

Micheal freezes in place- His entire body locks up, beads of sweat trickling from his rigid face. Stiff as a plank of wood, his frail figure melts at the soft stroke of your knuckles against his cheekbones.

"Babe- Stop. We're in public, we can't do that here."

Your hands crawl down to his waist, pulling him in as far as your bodies would physically allow as you slip the tip of the belt through the first loop in his pants. Mikey's grateful for the candy in his pockets as they draw notice away from the other mound in his jeans, swelling as you grip his thigh to hold him still. His eyes wander over his shoulder, further distracting himself from the issue.

The security guard half-heartedly scans the area, locking eyes with Micheal for a flicker of a second. Panicking, his hand slams against the vacant wall behind you, pinning you in place as he leans in - lips inches from your own.

"What can I say? Y-you're impossible to resist."

The guard grimaces, mumbling something beneath his breath as he marches off to another section of the store. Time stills for Michael as he stands over you- Gazing into your eyes, breathing the air you exhale. His eyelids flutter shut, lips tingling from the desire pumping through his bloodstream.

"Aaaaand, done! Good thinking pushing me against this wall, Mikey!"

"Wha?... oh...." Michael lifts his baggy shirt, the belt strapped tightly around his waist.

"Y-yeah, no problem."

"Hey, you still got that dab pen I gave you the other day?"

Of course he does- If he tries hard enough, he can almost taste you on it.

"Yeah... Why?"

"I bought a new cartridge with the money you let me borrow the other night. Let's go back to my place and have a little fun, okay?"

Micheal's certain the type of "fun" you have in mind differences from his own, but the idea of getting high as a kite and reaping the day's spoils is the second best ending to an outing with you.

"There's a shopping cart over there- Hop in, and I'll wheel you outside!"

Grabbing your best friend's hand, the world regains that lustrous tint Michael can only step through when he's by your side. Curling his fingers around yours, he'd let you drag him to the ends of the earth if you so wished.

Prison or the unknown, as long as you were there - he'd follow.

[dearkaslana]

𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘- 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗚.𝗡 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (Part 1)

Used to be on @elysiaheaven

This is the request!!

01: Host-Pathogen Interface

Words:4000

Genre: Red Room Reader (G.N) Gore

Summary: A sadistic captor fucking you <33 livestreams their torture, taunting a shackled victim while performing brutal acts for an online audience. They theatrically respond to viewer suggestions, twisted glee, blending dark humor with horrifying violence. The chat eggs them on, turning the view into a grotesque spectacle.

This happens before you meet Ronin! (Basically

Trigger Warnings:

Graphic Violence: Depictions of physical harm, torture, and injury.

Self-Harm: Indirect references to bodily harm or deterioration (e.g., breaking nails).

Psychological Torture: Mental manipulation, humiliation, and emotional distress.

Gore: Detailed depictions of blood, injury, and bodily harm.

Blood: Intense, graphic descriptions of bloodshed.

Trauma: Psychological and physical trauma inflicted on the victim.

Moral Corruption: Exploration of a character’s lack of remorse, twisted logic, and corruption.

Content Warnings:

Disturbing Imagery: Vivid descriptions of torture, suffering, and victimization.

Emotional Manipulation: Using guilt, fear, and despair to torment the victim.

Organ Donation: The idea of using a victim’s organs for medical purposes, which could be seen as dehumanizing.

Dark Humor: The use of dark humor surrounding violence, suffering, and exploitation.

Exploitation: The character finds satisfaction in the suffering of others.

Dehumanization: Treating the victim as an object or tool for personal satisfaction or manipulation.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good!

⟡ The show must go on

Welcome dear viewer, Read the warnings before reading this hell!

"Breaking news! A monster in human skin has committed atrocities beyond murder! This criminal, vile and unrepentant, has torn apart not just strangers but their own family as well. They didn’t stop. They didn’t care."

The reporter extended their hand toward the screen, fingers trembling as though desperate to reach those watching.

"These acts are beyond comprehension. What they’ve done is worse than death itself. If you see this person, don’t hesitate. Don’t hide. Report them immediately."

The screen flickered, and the reporter leaned closer, their hand trembling slightly as they pressed a button. A distorted image appeared—grainy yet unmistakable. A face. Vacant eyes stared out from the screen, their expression hauntingly neutral, as though untouched by the chaos they had wrought.

“This is the face of the devil walking among us,” the reporter whispered, voice low and quaking with disgust. “You won’t find them easily. Authorities haven’t. But their trail is marked by the missing… the abused… the broken. Those they left behind whisper of horrors too ungodly to repeat.”

The screen darkened, leaving a reflection of yourself staring back from the glass. You smiled, slow and crooked, as if the image had shared an inside joke only you understood. With a quiet chuckle, you turned, your steps echoing in the hollow hallway. Not toward the comfort of a home, but to your sanctuary.

Not Your office. It was a special place.

Sliding into the chair, you reached for the camera and flicked it on. The red recording light blinked to life, casting its glow across your desk. The scene you’d prepared came into view.

Ropes. Tools. A backdrop streaked in abstract patterns of red. The room smelled faintly of copper and bleach, but it didn’t bother you. Your stream began with a soft, almost gentle giggle. But it grew, morphing into something jagged and unsettling. The sound of it filled the small room as your viewers began flooding in, the chat bar rolling with their messages:

“What’s tonight’s special?” “The Pathegon's back!” “Are they still alive?”

You leaned in close to the lens, your breath fogging the glass as your giggle shifted to a low, manic whisper:

'Let's start the bloodbath!"

The first thing they noticed was a pounding headache.

Clicking… sharp, deliberate, like nails tapping against glass.

Their eyes cracked open, blurry shapes bleeding into focus. Kneeling on the cold, unyielding floor, arms wrenched above their head, they tugged instinctively—only to hear the heavy clatter of chains.

You stood in front of them.

"Right on time," you said, your voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "It’s 9 p.m."

They flinched, jerking against the restraints, but the chains held fast.

Their gaze flickered to you, wide and desperate. You tilted your head, watching them with a cool detachment, like they were a bug caught under glass.

"Where—?" Their voice broke, trembling.

"Try to remember," you interrupted, your tone as lifeless as the expression on your face.

"It hurts… You said you’d help me," they rasped, panic rising in their throat.

"I did," you replied, calm and matter-of-fact. "I took you away from the police, didn’t I?"

"But…" Their voice cracked. "I saw the news! It said I ran away!"

You smiled then, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes.

"You did." As you spoke, they darted frantic glances around the room, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Their eyes locked onto the cold glare of cameras, all pointed directly at them.

"Don’t worry," you said, voice unnervingly casual. "We’re going live in two minutes. You don’t need to worry about the police—they won’t catch you."

Their mouth opened, a protest forming, but you had already turned away, your attention fixed on the array of equipment surrounding you.

Their stomach twisted as they took it all in: monitors, wires, and blinking red lights.

"What the hell! Are you filming me, you sick—"

"Shh, shh!" you interrupted, a finger pressed to your lips as you glanced over your shoulder. "We’re starting."

You turned back to the screen, your tone shifting to something unsettlingly cheerful.

"Hello, everyone! How’s the feed?"

You weren’t talking to them anymore.

Their confusion turned to horror as your voice softened, addressing a live audience.

"Hihi! Everyone’s here! Oh, Goreboy, play nice in the chat, no bullying tonight!" Your fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping rapidly as you giggled, the sound high-pitched and unnerving.

"Yes, yes! We’ll pull this guy’s guts out!" you typed, glancing at the screen with glee. "Oh, Goreboy, that’s perfect! Love the creativity, even if you’re not donating. Your ideas for gore? Chef’s kiss."

The person on the floor thrashed against their chains, a strangled scream tearing from their throat. You looked over your shoulder at them, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Relax, it’s a metaphor," you said with mock reassurance. "We’re just going to do something… small. Don’t worry."

"What the fuck is this?!" they shouted, their voice cracking with panic.

You tilted your head, the grin slipping into something colder. "Radio silence," you said sharply, holding a finger to your lips. "You’re ruining the vibe."

"This isn’t a fucking show!" they cried, their voice trembling with hysteria.

You crossed the room in three deliberate steps, crouching down to their level. Your hand reached out, gripping their face tightly, forcing them to meet your unyielding gaze.

"What you did," you whispered, your tone venomous, "was justice, wasn’t it? You made choices—choices that led you here. So, tell me…" Your grip tightened slightly, enough to make them wince. "What the fuck makes you think you deserve anything better than this?"

Their breathing came in ragged gasps, their eyes wild with fear and disbelief.

You smiled then, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips, and released them, standing up and brushing your hands off like you’d just handled something filthy.

"The show must go on," you announced brightly, spinning back to the camera. "Alright, chat, who’s ready for the main event?!"

You turned back to the camera, fingers dancing over the keyboard as you laughed, a sound that sent a chill through the room.

"Chat, you won’t believe this one," you said, voice dripping with giddy malice. "Our guest tonight? Oh, they’re not just anyone. No, no, no! They’ve got a history. You wouldn’t think it, looking at them now, but…"

You spun around to face them, your eyes glittering with a deranged light.

"Should we tell them, hmm? Should we talk about how you snapped and tore your own family apart? Oh, I bet chat would love the details—the blood, the screaming, the mess you left behind."

Their face drained of color, their chains rattling as they thrashed. "Shut up!" they yelled, their voice cracking.

"Shut up?" you mimicked, tilting your head like a curious predator. "Why? Is it because you remember? You remember how it felt, don’t you? The rush, the heat, the way the knife felt in your hand as it went in again, and again…"

" "Stop it!" they screamed, their voice breaking into sobs.

"Oh, but why should I?!" you barked, your voice rising with manic energy. "You did it, didn’t you? You made sure they’d never stand in your way again. Your own family. And for what? Some twisted idea of justice? Some self-righteous, pathetic excuse for power?!"

They shook their head violently, tears streaming down their face. "I didn’t—I didn’t mean—"

"‘Didn’t mean to’?!" you interrupted, a sharp, mocking laugh escaping your lips. "Please. Save it for someone who cares, because here’s the thing—chat loves this shit. They eat it up. You? You’re a goldmine. The more depraved you are, the more twisted your story, the bigger the payout. And trust me, I’m going to milk every single second."

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Oh, and let’s not forget the other things you’ve done. The theft, the blackmail, the drugs…" You giggled, pulling back with a theatrical flourish. "You’re an all-star of illegal shit, aren’t you? Chat! Can we get a round of applause for our guest here?"

"Good evening, everyone!" you chimed, your voice bright and saccharine as you gazed into the camera. "I’m so glad you could join me on such short notice—Oh? Oh, Goreboy! Missed me, huh?" You let out a soft, teasing giggle. "Chat! Can you believe it? Goreboy’s being sweet tonight! Usually, they’re my harshest critic. What’s that, darling? Missed my streams that much?"

You laughed again, high-pitched and lilting, the sound dancing unnervingly in the air.

"Yes! Yes! My delightful patrons of exquisite taste, welcome back!" you said, raising your voice theatrically, your arms spreading wide as if to embrace your audience. "The block is gone, babies! I’m back and better than ever."

Your expression shifted subtly, a crack in the cheerful mask, though your tone remained syrupy sweet.

"And boy, do I have a treat for you tonight!" you cooed, spinning dramatically toward the camera. "Rottenlings, meet our fresh face! Please give a big, warm hello to Victim No. 66!"

You stepped aside and gestured mockingly toward the chained figure behind you.

"I plucked this one straight from the hands of justice itself," you announced with a flourish. "Oh, the police? They think they ran away. Poor, clueless idiots! But don’t worry, chat. I’m here to make sure justice gets served properly."

The person on the floor squirmed, their eyes darting toward the glowing monitor. Their heart sank as they realized what they were seeing: a live video feed of themselves, surrounded by a scrolling chatroom full of excited, laughing messages.

People were watching.

"You sick fucks!" they screamed, straining against their chains. "Why aren’t you calling the police? What’s wrong with you?!"

Your sharp, manic laughter sliced through the air like a knife.

"Oh, you poor, stupid thing!" you sneered, turning back toward them. "Do you think they care? Do you think anyone in this room—" you gestured at the screen, the chat still buzzing with twisted excitement— "is on your side?"

You leaned in close, your grin wide and predatory.

"This is Goreboy’s arena, sweetheart. Big win for them tonight, huh, chat?!" You shot a playful wink at the camera, then turned back to your captive, your expression mockingly soft.

"You’re begging them? Them?" you laughed, louder this time, your voice echoing around the room. "Oh, honey. You don’t beg for mercy here. You entertain."

The person trembled, their voice breaking into raw, desperate sobs. "Please! I’m sorry! Just call the cops! I’ll do anything!"

You tilted your head, feigning pity.

"Another one for the beg bucket, chat!" you teased, your voice sing-song. "Honestly, I don’t know why any of you bet on these fools. Mr. Duck, sweetie, let’s see how your other bets fare tonight, hmm?"

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

"Oh, Goreboy!" you said, giggling as you typed. "That’s disgusting! Hahah! Maybe later, hun. One day we’ll meet, but not now. Patience, my dear!"

You hit send, then turned back to your captive, the grin fading into something colder, sharper.

"Now," you said, crouching down to their level, your tone like ice. "Let’s see if you can make this interesting, Victim No. 66."

They tried to pull away, but their hands were bound—shackled together and chained tightly.

"Alright, my lovely audience! Place your bets! What should I do next, hmm?"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Their scream echoed sharply as you yanked their finger back with a brutal, deliberate twist. The sound of bone grinding against itself cut through the air, sickening as always—but you didn’t falter.

"Oh? Should I fix it for you?" You teased, your voice lilting with mock concern before grabbing the mangled finger again. Without hesitation, you forced it back into place. The wet crunch of it snapping back made bile churn in your stomach.

But you laughed—loud and cruel. "Hah! Just kidding!"

And then, with a merciless twist, you snapped the fingers holding the knife they’d dared to wield.

Screams. Screams. A melody sweeter than any you’d ever heard.

Turning sharply, you faced the computer, a smirk splitting your face.

"Well, well! A donation like that deserves my full attention! Fingers again, madam? Oh, you know me so well."

You chuckled, eyes narrowing on the username. "Ah, Goreboy suggested that one? You always know how to make me smile. You should visit me more often, you know—I’d love to see you in my streams, but you never act on it. Tsk, tsk. Let’s not skip ahead, shall we?"

With a theatrical flourish, you bowed low, a sick mockery of grace.

"Now then, my darlings—let’s see what we can do!"

You straightened up, spinning on your heel as you stalked back toward your captive, menace dripping from every step.

You glanced at the screen again, the bright flicker of another donation lighting up your face. The amount was juicy, and the request? Deliciously cruel.

You giggled—soft at first, then sharper, like broken glass grinding against stone.

“Well, well, what do we have here? ‘A clean slice this time,’ huh?” You read aloud, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “I like the way you think. Quick and clean—but where’s the fun in that?”

The knife glistened in your hand as you turned back toward them. It wasn’t elegant—worn, slightly rusted along the edges—but it did its job. And tonight, its job was simple.

“Don’t squirm,” you cooed sweetly, crouching down to meet their tear-streaked face. “You’ll ruin the show for everyone.”

Their eyes widened in horror as you grabbed their hand, gripping their trembling fingers one by one as if you were inspecting them.

“Let’s start with this one, shall we?”

The blade pressed against their skin—cold, biting. You didn’t hesitate. With a sharp pull, you sliced through the first finger, the knife slipping through flesh and bone like paper.

Their scream ripped through the air, a raw, broken sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Ohoho, there we go! That’s the sound I wanted—don’t be shy, darling, let it out!” You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, giggling as blood splattered across the floor. “Are you all hearing this? Such raw emotion. Truly unmatched!”

Another donation alert flashed. Your eyes sparkled.

“Oh, another request! You all spoil me!” You gripped the next finger tightly, blood slicking your palm as you lined up the blade once more. “Shall we keep going? I think they have a few more fingers to spare, don’t you?”

The knife cut down again—swift, unrelenting. Another scream, another bone snapped, another rivulet of blood trailing to the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, head thrown back as you bathed in their agony.

“Ahhh… music to my ears.”

Turning to the camera, you grinned, lips and cheeks splattered crimson.

"You were always so… predictable," you said, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Begging, pleading… You never even tried to fight back, did you?"

Chop. Another slice, this one to their thigh. The skin split with a sickening sound, a cry of agony escaping their lips as they tried to curl away from you, but there was nowhere to go.

The blade danced in your hand, a fluid motion, as you shifted positions to stand over them. The chains that held them were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to you. They could barely move, their arms and legs bound, while you towered over them, each strike faster, sharper, more merciless than the last.

Chop, chop, chop.

The rhythm of it was almost musical, a cruel symphony played out with the sounds of metal biting into flesh, followed by their pained gasps and helpless cries. Blood splattered, staining the floor beneath them, staining your hands, your clothes.

Their body was slick with blood now, each movement an agonizing reminder of how helpless they were, how trapped they’d become in this nightmare. They whimpered, desperate for it to end, but you weren’t done yet. You never were.

You pressed the blade deeper, feeling the pulse under their skin, the warmth of blood soaking your hands. A twisted smile curled on your lips, but it wasn’t a smile of satisfaction—no, it was something far colder. The silence between the strikes had grown deafening, and now, you spoke again, your voice sweet and venomous.

“Do you know what’s funny?” you whispered, your breath hot against their ear, a cruel contrast to the sharpness of the blade. “You think this will end soon, don’t you? That this... torture, this agony, will stop when you beg enough. But the truth is, you’re not dying tonight.”

Their eyes flickered in confusion, exhaustion, desperation. “What... what are you saying?” they rasped, barely able to form the words through the pain.

“Oh, sweet, sweet fool,” you purred. “You really thought I’d end your misery. No, darling. You hurt them—your family, your loved ones—and now, I’m going to make sure you feel it. You’re going to remember the weight of what you did long after this moment, long after your body is no longer able to fight back.”

The blade hovered above their chest now, drawing slow, shallow cuts along their skin. Each mark was a reminder of the harm they’d caused, the consequences that would never leave them.

“You thought you could escape the aftermath of your choices, didn’t you?” you taunted, drawing out the words as if savoring the slow breakdown in their expression. “I’ll make sure you never forget. Every inch of your body will burn with the guilt you can never outrun. And when you beg for mercy again... remember, I’m the one you’ll answer to now.”

You stood over them, chest heaving slightly from the rush. Their sobs echoed in the room, broken and ragged, as they cradled their ruined hand to their chest. But you weren’t done. Oh no—not yet.

With a casual hum, you stepped back to the computer, wiping the blood-slicked knife against your shirt. The screen blinked again, another donation flooding in. You glanced at it, a wicked grin curling your lips.

“Ah, I see you all are in a particular mood tonight,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with menace. You grabbed a nearby folder—one you had prepared for this moment, knowing it would come. With deliberate care, you fanned the photographs out across the table, one by one, before turning back to your audience.

“Now, my darlings, it’s time to turn up the fun, don’t you think? We’ve had our share of blood—let’s break something deeper.”

You knelt in front of them, holding the first photograph up to their tear-filled eyes. Their gaze trembled as they caught a glimpse—a snapshot of someone familiar.

Their brother.

The photo was crisp, taken in that final, quiet moment before you got to him. “Look at him,” you whispered, your tone a mocking semblance of pity. “He was so peaceful, wasn’t he? Didn’t even scream when I—”

“STOP!” they wailed, thrashing against their chains, tears streaming freely down their face. You tutted, reaching out to grip their chin between your fingers, forcing them to look at the image again.

“Ah, ah, don’t look away. You owe him that much, don’t you? After all, you’re the reason this all started. You really shouldn’t have crossed me, sweetheart.”

You let the photo flutter to the ground and held up the next one. Their father this time—face slack, eyes empty.

“And him? Oh, he fought. I’ll give him that. A real family man, wasn’t he? Told me to spare you if I had to choose. Isn’t that sweet?”

Their sobs turned to screams—raw, desperate. They yanked at the chains, the cuffs cutting deeper into their wrists as they thrashed.

You laughed softly, soaking in their misery like it was the sweetest wine.

“Aw, don’t cry,” you crooned, brushing a bloodstained finger across their cheek. “They’re not in pain anymore. You’re the one who has to live with it now.”

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with venomous glee.

“And when I’m done? I’ll make sure you see each and every one of them waiting for you. Won’t that be nice?”

You straightened back up, turning to the camera with a theatrical flourish, spreading your arms wide.

“Well, there you have it, folks! I’d say tonight’s stream is going splendidly, don’t you agree? Emotional devastation, physical ruin—everything you could ask for!”

A flood of donations pinged on the screen, the sound filling the room as you beamed at your audience.

“Keep those requests coming! After all…” You glanced back at your captive, their broken sobs barely audible now. “We’ve got plenty of time—and I’m far from done.”

The show did go on <3

"Why let a monster's body go to waste?" you murmured, your voice dark and chilling as you circled them, each word dripping with twisted logic. "Why let evil walk away unscathed when their heart could beat inside someone pure? Their lungs, keeping an innocent child alive, their hands, building a future for someone who deserves it. If their mind is corrupted, their flesh... their flesh can still redeem them."

You paused, the sharp blade gleaming under the low light. Their chest rose and fell in erratic breaths, their body shivering from more than just physical pain.

"You think this is torture, don’t you?" You chuckled softly, almost fondly, but the sound was anything but kind. "No, darling. What you're about to experience is... redemption. A form of cleansing that you’re far from ready for. You hurt people. You destroyed lives. Now, we make sure the world can still benefit from the leftovers of your broken, filthy soul."

With a cruel laugh, you reached for their hand, grabbing their wrist with the kind of brutal strength that matched your words. You dragged them forward, a twisted sort of calmness in your touch despite the violence in your eyes.

"How much would you beg for your own skin to be saved now? Would you fight back if you knew that every piece of you, every organ, could serve a better purpose?" You let the blade hover above their finger, glinting menacingly. "I’ve got no use for your nails, but someone else might. They’ll make a good memory for someone who knows how to truly suffer."

Each breath they took was ragged, desperate for release. But you weren’t done yet.

"You’re not dying, not yet. You’ll live long enough for me to make sure you never forget what you’ve done. Your body’s gonna be stripped of its evil, piece by piece."

You couldn't help yourself. The laughter bubbled up from deep within you, a dark, mocking sound that filled the space with an eerie resonance. It was a sound of triumph, of cruel satisfaction as you watched them break, piece by agonizing piece.

"You really thought you could hide from this, didn't you?" you taunted between fits of laughter, your voice shaking with cruel delight. "You thought you could walk away, escape the damage you caused, the people you destroyed. But look at you now."

Their screams intensified, raw and desperate, echoing off the walls like a symphony of agony. "Please! PLEASE! STOP! I DIDN’T MEAN IT, I DIDN’T—!"

After some time, the air had settled into a chilling stillness, the only sounds being the faint sobs of the broken figure slumped against their chains. You sat back at the computer, fingers dancing over the keys with practiced ease as you typed a single message into the chat:

“Will Send this one off to organ donation. All tonight’s donations will go directly to the little boy’s treatment fund. Isn’t that just heartwarming?”

The chat exploded. Messages flooded in, filled with adoration, awe, and sick fascination.

“You’re an angel!!!” “Saving lives AND giving us a show? King/Queen.” “I can’t believe how selfless you are! This stream is legendary.”

You leaned back in your chair, laughing softly—almost sweetly. Turning to the camera, you rested your chin in your palm, eyes gleaming as you scanned the incoming flood of messages.

“Aww,” you cooed, voice dripping with condescension, “I didn’t know you all cared so much about happy endings. It’s so touching, really. Sick fucks like you still want to feel good about yourselves? That’s cute.”

More comments rolled in, their tone shifting, teasing, and pushing:

“But YOU should’ve taken the organs yourself!” “C’mon, don’t you want to be hands-on with this one?” “We know you’re the real surgeon here. Give us some blood, maestro!”

You sighed dramatically, letting your shoulders slump as if their demands were such a burden. “You all really don’t let me rest, do you? Fine. Fine. Since you’re so persistent…”

You stood, rolling your neck with a quiet crack before grabbing a nearby surgical kit—polished steel tools neatly arranged and waiting, just for this. The captive’s head snapped up, their bloodshot eyes wide with renewed panic.

“No—no, no, no, please—” they choked out, words dissolving into incoherent sobs.

You ignored them completely, addressing the camera instead as you slipped on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex cutting sharply through the air.

“You asked for this. Remember that.” You picked up the scalpel, holding it up for the audience to admire. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ve always been a fan of hands-on work.”

You stepped toward the body—your expression blank, detached, almost bored as you knelt beside them. The cold blade kissed their skin, tracing a slow, deliberate line just below the ribs.

“Now, I’m no doctor, but I do know my way around a body.”

The first incision split them open, and blood welled up instantly—thick, warm, dark. The room filled with wet, sticky sounds as you worked, hands steady and sure, your movements practiced like a grotesque symphony.

You paused briefly, glancing back at the camera, your gloved hands slick with crimson.

“There’s your blood, chat. Are you happy now?”

The chat erupted, filled with cheers, donations rolling in like a tide:

“YESSSSS BLOODDDD!” “This is art. You’re a god.” “More, more, more!!!”

You laughed again, the sound low and breathy as you reached deeper into the cavity, fingers curling around what you were searching for. You lifted the organ slowly into view, the slick muscle glistening under the dim lights.

“Well,” you murmured, holding it up for the audience to admire, “they won’t be needing this anymore, will they?”

Blood dripped onto the floor in a rhythmic patter as you turned to the camera one last time, a triumphant grin splitting your face.

“Don’t forget to donate generously, my loves. After all, we’re saving lives here.”

You worked with deliberate care, gently placing each organ into the sterile metal tray beside you. Liver, kidneys, lungs—each glistening under the dim light as blood pooled around them. The wet squelch of the final piece being set down echoed in the room like the last note of a haunting melody.

You straightened up, gloves slick with crimson, and turned back toward the camera, face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. With a swipe of your forearm, you wiped a streak of blood from your cheek, your grin bright and satisfied.

“And done! There you have it, chat! A perfect collection. Hope you enjoyed tonight’s little… performance.” You gave the camera a theatrical bow, smearing your gloves against your chest. “All thanks to your generosity, of course.”

The chat exploded:

“You’re insane, I LOVE YOU!!!” “This stream was god-tier.” “BYEEE ANGEL, YOU’RE SO CUTE!”

You pouted playfully, tilting your head as you rested a bloody glove against your cheek. “Aw, you all know how to make me blush… if only I wasn’t covered in—” you gestured lazily to the gore streaked across your shirt—“well, this.”

Then, a message popped up that made you pause:

Goreboy69: “What now, darlin’? Gonna leave me hangin’? Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

You squinted at the chat, a half-smile curling on your lips as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Oh? Someone’s feeling bold tonight.” You typed quickly, your tone sharp but teasing:

“Leaving. Bye, Mr. Goreboy. Don’t miss me too much.”

The response was instant, his reply lighting up the chat like a flare:

Goreboy69: “Too late, sweetheart. Already do.”

You froze for just a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing through your expression before you masked it with a sharp laugh. “Well, isn’t that sweet,” you murmured, shaking your head as you leaned toward the camera.

With one final look at your blood-splattered stage, you winked.

“Alright, my darlings. That’s it for tonight. Be good—or don’t. Either way, I’ll be back soon.”

You reached for the mouse, hovering over the “end stream” button as the chat flooded with protests and goodbyes:

“Nooo don’t go yet!” “Byeee CUTIE!!!” “Best stream EVER.”

You grinned one last time, your voice dropping to a low murmur, just for them:

“Goodnight, my loves.”

With a soft click, the screen faded to black.

You thought you will end your life with this.

Then, came a idea to write.

Then came him..

It had been almost a year since you and Ronin had been together, and things had been… comfortable, even in the darker corners of your shared lives. You’d both found your own spaces, with your gruesome world of streaming and his quiet, almost enigmatic nature. You had your gore, and he had his secrets. Neither of you had yet come to know the whole truth about each other. (You were the only one liar) He never suspected you were the streamer everyone in the underground chats adored—and you had no idea that he was Goreboy69, your loyal fan and the one who teased you so affectionately on the livestream

#ur-angel-or-yuor-devil-or writer darlin who's a maneater

[Angelic]- Y/n, you weren't online for some time.

[You]- I was busy ;-; Job was killing me

[Goreboy]- Darlin, There's a Angel Two now. But seriously did your boss made you Overwork again?

[Angelic]- Don't bully them, Ronin.

[Goreboy]- I'm not. I'm Worried Angel, They're My Partner

[You]- I'm fine, even my boss told to rest but I want to work for this case...I need to sleep tooo ahhhh!!!

[Goreboy]- Dm me. Angel. Sorry I'm taking my Lover for sometime.

[Angelic]- Since, when you start saying it that loudly ;)

[Goreboy]- Haha, Don't make me revive-

[Angelic]- Ronin, What the fuck?

After some time...

You settled into your chair, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across your face as you stared at the video call. Ronin’s voice drifted through your headphones—smooth, teasing, always holding that edge of danger and flirtation. He lounged casually on the other side of the camera, the faint hum of his mic picking up the distant sounds of his apartment. His dark hair was mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed, the sly grin he always wore firmly in place.

The server call buzzed with energy. Truth or Dare had turned into its usual chaotic mess, but you didn’t care to play this time. Instead, you just kept pressing him for details about his latest… “hobby.”

“How’d your kill go, Mr. Crowbar?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you swirled your drink in hand.

Ronin’s eyebrow quirked up. He chuckled low and sharp, voice dripping with that same playful tone that always made you pause. “Now that’s new, darlin’. You never ask me about the details. What’s got you so curious all of a sudden?”

You shrugged. “Just in the mood. Humor me.”

Ronin’s grin widened into something sharp, something that tugged at the edges of darkness. He leaned closer to his screen, as if to close the distance between the two of you. “If you insist, sweetheart,” he purred, stretching his arms behind his head as though he were telling you a bedtime story. “Well, y’see, there’s somethin’ so poetic about a crowbar. Personal, messy, and it leaves a mark. You know exactly what did the job.”

“Of course it was a crowbar,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes. “Predictable.”

Ronin laughed—a deep, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You wound me! Predictable? I call it classic. But since you asked so sweetly…” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles before continuing with exaggerated theatrical flair. “Guy was scum. The type of fella whose face just begs to be rearranged. A couple swings later, I turned his skull into modern art. … Abstract, really.”

You tried to mask the way your lips curled upward. You didn’t want to let him know how much his words intrigued you tonight.

“Messy,” you replied simply, voice cool as you leaned into your chair. “But I expected nothing less from The Devil’s Butcher.”

That earned a gleam in his eye. He tilted his head, watching you through the camera like he was seeing something just out of reach. “Hah. You’re full of surprises tonight, doll. Didn’t think my little bedtime stories were your cup of tea.”

“They’re not,” you shot back, fighting the smirk threatening to break through. “But tonight I’m making an exception.”

Ronin hummed, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave you that grin again—sharp, teasing, always bordering on something you couldn’t quite name. “Y’know, you’d make a good audience for my streams, darlin’,” he said offhandedly, though there was a hint of something heavier beneath the surface. “Too bad you’re such a softie. You wouldn’t last a minute.”

You stiffened. For a split second, your heart skipped a beat before you forced yourself to laugh it off. “As if. I could handle your ‘gorefest’ just fine. It’s you who doesn’t know me, Mr. Crowbar.”

“Oh?” His voice dipped lower, amusement dancing in his tone. “Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want,” you shot back, biting back your grin.

Ronin watched you carefully for a beat longer before he leaned closer to the camera, his tone soft but dripping with meaning. “Careful, sweetheart. You might surprise yourself. You never know how much you like the darkness… ’til you’re drowning in it.”

You met his gaze through the screen, your pulse racing in your ears. Neither of you said a word for a moment, the silence between you charged and unrelenting.

You broke it with a casual, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Devil.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and dangerous all at once. “Always playin’ hard to get. One day, darlin’, you’ll admit you’re just as curious as me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words sent a thrill through you. “Keep dreaming, Ronin.”

The call moved on and others rejoined the conversation, you couldn’t shake that lingering feeling—the way Ronin’s words sat heavy in your chest. You didn’t know why tonight felt different, why his details about his kill caught your attention more than usual.

And you definitely didn’t want to think about the unsettling idea swirling in the back of your mind—that maybe he was someone else entirely. Someone whose streams you knew far too well.

But that couldn’t be, right?

Ronin’s voice crackled through the call, that usual teasing tone dripping with curiosity. “Darlin’, you look like you’ve been through hell—what’s with the eyebags? You chasing ghosts or something?”

You groaned, letting your cheek rest against your palm as you lazily stared at the video feed. His smirk was too smug, as always, like he’d already won some game you weren’t playing yet. “It’s research. Even if I became a writer because of you, I’m still a reporter at heart.”

His brow quirked at the mention. “Research? What poor bastard you chasin’ now?”

You adjusted your position, letting out a slow breath. “Shithead of the year, honestly. A hacker who made millions off stolen data, killed a dozen people—including his own wife—and stole drugs. The worst part? He abused her into silence for years, and when she finally came forward, he killed her, too.” Your tone sharpened with disgust, almost venomous. *“He’s scum. The kind of filth that makes even *you* look almost… disgusting.”*

Ronin’s expression shifted at that. His smirk twitched, just slightly. “Almost disgusting, huh? Can’t tell if I should be offended or flattered.”

Your lips curled into a thin smile. “Does this guy make you angry or somethin’, Ronin?”

For a beat, he was silent, his eyes narrowing. Then, he gave a small nod, his fingers drumming against the desk he sat at. “Y’know what? Yeah. I’d say he does. Kinda wish…” His voice trailed off, almost testing the waters before continuing. “Kinda wish someone like Pathegon would grab him first.”

Your heart froze, all the blood in your veins rushing to your face. It felt like you’d been dunked into ice water. Pathegon. That was your red room stream name. No one else should’ve known. Your voice barely left your throat, a fragile whisper. “…How do you know that name?”

Ronin blinked at you, tilting his head with that same casual grin, as if nothing about this situation was remotely shocking. “Huh? Oh—nah, nah. I didn’t mean you, I meant this streamer. Gorey as hell, almost like a twisted love letter to the worst kinds of scum: abusers, killers, lowlifes—name it. Pathegon’s… good. Real good.”

Your body went stiff. You stared at him, pale as a ghost. He kept talking, too nonchalantly for your comfort, but his words were like a blade sinking deeper and deeper.

He's Goreboy69?!

You could barely hold your composure. Ronin laughed then, sharp and loud, like this whole thing was the most fun he’d had in years.

“Wait—no—hold on.” You stammered, pulling yourself together. “Was it you who gave the police intel on that guy? On… him?”

He grinned wider, teeth flashing in the dim light of his camera feed. “Bingo.” He leaned in, voice lowering into something sickly sweet. *“What can I say? I play both sides. Can’t leave *all* the fun for the cops. Someone’s gotta keep the game interesting.”*

You stared at him, stunned, before the anger boiling inside you started to twist into something darker. Something… dangerous. Your fingers curled tightly around your mouse as your lips parted, words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I wish I could kill him myself.”

The room fell silent. For once, even Ronin seemed taken aback. His eyes flicked over you through the screen, studying every inch of your expression, as if trying to see if you really meant it.

“…Well, well.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost like he was savoring the moment. “Now, that’s somethin’ I wasn’t expectin’. You’d make a real good serial killer, y’know that?”

Your face burned. “No, I wouldn’t!”

But Ronin didn’t stop there. His smirk deepened, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he watched you with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Nah, nah. Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’. Picture it: that piece of shit tied up, bloody and broken, beggin’ for a mercy he doesn’t deserve. You’d look real pretty standin’ over him, crowbar in hand, paintin’ the walls red…”

You gawked at him, your mind spinning. “Ronin!”

He laughed—deep, low, and unrestrained. He looked almost giddy, a blush faintly dusting his cheeks as he leaned closer to the camera. “What? Can’t blame a guy for admirin’ talent when he sees it. You’re finally speakin’ my language, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

You threw your head back, groaning, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded at his words, or the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. He was still grinning when you looked back, that dangerous, teasing edge in his voice.

“Careful, darlin’. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might fall even harder for ya.”

You glanced at the clock on your monitor, eyes widening in panic. “Shit! Ronin, it’s almost 9 PM!”

Ronin tilted his head, visibly unfazed. “And? Time’s a social construct, darlin’. You goin’ somewhere?”

“You’re literally gonna show our stream to the whole server. I need to get ready.”

He pouted, slouching in his chair dramatically. “Tch. You’re ditchin’ me? You could stay a little longer. You always bolt the second I’m startin’ to have fun.”

You sighed, trying not to let your voice waver. “I can’t stay. I… have a show.”

Ronin’s brow quirked suspiciously. “A show? You didn’t mention that before.”

You glanced away, fiddling with the edge of your desk. “I just need to sleep, Ronin. That’s all.”

He didn’t argue further, though his exaggerated sigh was loud enough to be heard. “Fine, fine.” He leaned closer to the camera, sticking out his tongue as he smirked—a glint of silver shining off the piercing he had there. “I’ll be nice just this once. Go get your beauty sleep, angel. You’re already lookin’ kinda rough.”

You scoffed but couldn’t help a faint smile.

Before you could hit the end call button, his voice cut through softly. “Hey—before you go.”

You froze mid-motion, glancing back at his face. His tone wasn’t teasing anymore; it was quieter, almost… earnest. “How’s the relationship?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “…Relationship? I’m fine with everyone, I guess.”

Ronin rolled his eyes, leaning forward until the glow of his screen cast sharp shadows across his features. “Not what I meant. I’m talkin’ ‘bout you n’ me.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest, leaving you momentarily breathless. You stared at him, unsure how to respond at first, before a small, stunned smile tugged at your lips.

“…Happy,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All my life, I never thought I’d… date someone like you. A serial killer.” Your throat tightened as the words escaped you. “But I do care about you, Ronin. I really do.”

Ronin didn’t say anything. He just watched you, the usual cocky demeanor softening around the edges.

Your hand trembled as you held it out toward the screen, palm open as if reaching for him, for something intangible. Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re my dream come true, you know that? My wish fulfilled.” Your voice cracked faintly. “I just… hope we can be like Vince and Ai one day, even if we can’t ever get married because of… everything. Because of your past, your trauma, your beliefs. That doesn’t matter to me. I’m just happy I’ve got someone who respects me, even if you play with me sometimes.”

Ronin’s face softened, his cocky grin finally faltering as his gaze locked on yours.

You swallowed, gathering the last of your resolve before whispering, “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.” Your hand stayed raised, trembling slightly, before you quickly ended the call without giving him a chance to respond.

The screen blinked black. Silence swallowed the room, save for the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

—

Meanwhile, Ronin sat there, unmoving, his hand still resting on the mouse as the call screen went dark. His face was frozen in a stunned expression, his mouth slightly ajar as if you’d knocked the wind out of him.

The faint blush on his cheeks deepened as your words replayed in his mind over and over again. “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“…The hell was that?” he muttered under his breath, fingers tapping nervously against the edge of his desk. A crooked grin ghosted across his lips, but it couldn’t hide the flush creeping up to his ears.

Ronin stared at the dark screen, completely still for a moment… and then he burst into a grin—one so wide it nearly split his face. His hand shot up, running through his shaggy hair as he leaned back in his chair, teeth flashing through the growing smile.

“Shit.” He let out a breathless laugh, a giddy, uncontrollable noise that echoed in the quiet room. His shoulders shook as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying (and failing) to smother the wild grin that refused to leave.

“They said they love me…” He muttered it like it was the most unbelievable thing in the world, like he needed to say it out loud just to confirm it had really happened. A giddy warmth spread through his chest, an unfamiliar and exhilarating feeling that left him downright giddy.

He couldn’t stop smiling. His cheeks hurt, but he didn’t care. His hand slammed down on the desk as another breathless laugh escaped him. “They actually said they love me. God—what the hell?”

Ronin tilted his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, face still flushed as pink as his tongue piercing. “They’re so damn cute.” His voice dropped into a low mumble, but the fondness lacing his words was impossible to ignore. “Holdin’ out their hand like that, all teary-eyed. Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack one day.”

His grin only grew as he replayed the moment in his head—you reaching for him, whispering “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“Goddamn, they’re insane,” he muttered to himself, though his voice was dripping with affection. “Insane for lovin’ someone like me…” He paused, his grin softening just slightly as he added, “…but I guess I’m insane for lovin’ them back.”

His eyes flickered to the corner of his monitor, where your last message still lingered. He dragged his fingers through his hair again, his smirk returning but more dangerous this time—like he was plotting something.

“I’m gonna wreck ‘em, one day.” He snickered under his breath, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “They don’t even know what they’re doin’ to me…”

And still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Like crazy. Like he’d just been given a secret that no one else could understand.

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort…”

Those words echoed in his head like a melody on repeat, and for the first time in a long, long while, he actually believed it.

[lalunanymph]

RIN ITOSHI AND DOWN BAD!!!

𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐃 [*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dawn.🕹️ ttpd]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ one breakdown. a sudden realization.

I’m staying at my parents’ tonight. Don’t call me. 

9 hours ago. That was Rin’s last message to you. 

The sky above was turning, grey clouds lingering on the horizon like the thickening of a warning smog. Growing up on this side of town, the smell of asphalt assaulting your nose was a constant, and it mingles with the carnage of your writhing emotions.

Picking up your pace, you try to leave the thought of Rin behind in the dust.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you reach the double glass doors, pushing it aside to be surrounded by the smell of iron, sweat and bleach. 

A run would be the best thing for your mind.

Booting up the treadmill, you stretch across the bars, unloosening the knots in your back; giving your glutes a tight squeeze with alternative leg lift ups. 

The pounding of your running shoe-clad feet on the belt filled your mind with white noise—the music blaring from your earphones helping to drown out the pain clawing its way through your chest.

But, no matter how much you tried to move forward, you could never forget. 

The greasy sensation lingering heavily in your bones heaves and twists, a child in the corner begging for mom to turn and acknowledge it. Throwing plates shattering to the floor; fingerprints drenched in blood red of neglect streaking across pristine white walls.

You lean forward, slamming the pause button. Almost flying off the treadmill, grab the handles and double down, clutching your torso, sweat and tears stinging down your cheeks. 

There was no one to watch your breakdown, the clock showing 2 in the morning; flashing 24-hour neon sign at the doorway blinking apathetically in your teary vision. 

For a long moment, you stayed down on the ground, sniffling quietly.

Once the tears dried up, you picked up your phone, checking your messages. 

Predictably (even if it made your stomach fall to your feet), Rin hadn’t texted you. You stared at his name, at his photo—his pretty teal eyes half-closed, disgruntled shade of amusement at your surprise kiss on his cheek as you ambushed him with this photo.

Never would you have anticipated he would make it his main contact picture.

Loving Rin existed in shades of grey and fractions of light which you tend to miss if you didn’t look fast enough. A fond look, a secret smile.

You missed his every fleeting show of affection. 

But, how long could something so perfect be kept behind the scenes without deteriorating from a lack of light and affection?

I can’t believe you would think I was cheating on you because of some rumour, he seethes from the couch. I come back home to you, don’t I? You’re being too fucking sensitive and unreasonable. If you hate me, you can say it right to my face rather than making this more difficult for me. You’re such a hassle. I’m leaving.

Barely giving you time to take back your words or give your pain more breathing ground for understanding. 

Rin took his keys, wallet and half of your heart out of your shared apartment’s door; unwittingly breaking your entire trust in him in a fell swoop.

You blinked the moisture from your eyes, staring at the carpeted floor. 

Your phone vibrated, and you rubbed your eyes, reading his message over and over again.

I’m sorry. I hate fighting with you. I’m on my way back home. Can we talk? 

You stare at your phone; outside at the inky sky unleashing a deluge of rain which splatters across the high windows. Rin was never this persistent unless he knew he had fucked up big time.

Baby? Are you there? Can we talk? 

The vibration of an incoming call. Without thinking it through, you declined the call. 

If he wanted to tell you what's on his mind, he could do it face-to-face.

(Did you even want to see him again?)

Hey, I know you’re angry at me, but at least let’s talk this out. I know the season’s been hard on both of us. I don’t want us to end like this. 

You read his texts silently, not responding. 

Another call. Another tap of the red button. 

Baby, stop ignoring me. I was stupid with my words. I said some really stupid stuff. Don’t be angry anymore and let’s talk this out.

The pitter pattering of rain fills your mind with static, keeping you on a loop of his last words and the ones you can’t seem to focus on the smeared screen. 

Mechanically, you read through his text, seeing the chat bubble disappear and reappear—never did three dots make you feel close enough to have a stroke. 

Your baited breath follows on the tail of his next message:

I still love you. I love us. I’m so sorry.

A wave of loss overtakes you, the next message you type out with shaky fingers sent straight into the void—blue speech bubbles turning grey once you begin the process of removing Rin bit by bit from your life; clicking on the ‘block’ button to refuse these crumbs of affection you couldn’t starve yourself on anymore. 

I’m sorry, too. Please, don’t come home. Goodbye, Rin.

©️ lalunanymph

[pettypiastri]

gentle hands find tender hearts — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader summary - day 1 of testing leaves Lando sore and seeking comfort word count - 2.2k warnings - language, allusions to reader insecurity, otherwise none! note - first piece for f1, please be nice! basically just idiots in love but they're not in denial and are already dating. blame Lando's yt channel for the brainrot and info i've loosely based this on. drop by the inbox, would love to discuss all your thoughts about your fave vroom vroom boys (anons are on) 🤍 feedback always appreciated!

Seeing the green verification light flash on the hotel room card reader might be the best thing Lando’s seen all day. Decidedly the best thing he’s seen since leaving you, a vision in his shirt, behind in the crisply air conditioned room, a sleepy smile on your face after he pressed a final kiss to your forehead. Which, notably, he’d only managed to find after a two-handed effort to sort through your messy hair swathing your face and neck. He’d traded all that in for the Bahrain humidity that’s somehow made itself a home in the aching in his head and the weight he still feels bearing on his neck. Seeing you now, just as pretty as this morning, he’s certain a ‘meh’ day 1 of pre-season testing did not make up for what he’d left behind at 6:45. Not even close.

You’re perched on the king sized bed, white hotel bedding bleached beyond identity, with a book in your hand and Lando wants to cry. Or maybe huff frustratedly. At the very least kiss you immediately. The smile you give Lando upon seeing his head of deflated curls peek around the wall, the one you always give him that reaches your eyes and consumes his soul, has his shoulders sagging. More than 100 laps and hours of data threaten to finally crush him as he drags himself toward you, items falling from his hands in time with his steps. Bucket hat, wallet, key card until it's just him, drained and pouty, eager to demand your comfort. Blindly you dog ear your page, cataloging his schlumpy movements. 

“What’s wrong gorgeous?” 

A resounding ‘oomph’ leaves your chest as your boyfriend falls against your frame. Strong hands reach under your hoodie seeking soft skin. Even though Lando’s been in the heat all day, it’s nothing like the toe curling, soul unfurling warmth you can provide. These days, he always seems to feel a chill in his chest when you’re not around. 

“Shit day,” he grumbles, fabric sticking to his parted lips as he snuggles against your chest. Overwhelming fondness makes your heart ache, a playful quip is briefly delayed. As a distraction, your hands gravitate to mirror his, wrapping around his broad shoulders and back. One comb of your fingers through his mangy curls has them frizzing up, tendrils reaching out to tickle your nose. 

“Oh, s’that all?” A sharp pinch between your ribs in retaliation has you tightening your grip in Lando’s hair. Your free flowing giggle encourages Lando to elaborate, his traitorous smile hidden against fabric. 

“ ‘M sore. Back, neck… pride.” On instinct, your hand in his hair dips to the natural resting place on the back of his neck. A pensive hum settles on his ears.

“Hmm… Well, suppose you’re lucky you’ve got a girlfriend then.” 

A truly minimal effort grumble of confusion is all you get in response. Lando, tired and grumpy, never fails to make you smile. It’s why, with great effort, you wiggle down the bed with him still on top of you, crumpling pillows and pulling up the bottom sheet in your wake, so you can be nose to nose with him. His beautiful baby blues, with a streak of exhaustion, a fleck of frustration, and a halo of tenderness, crack open to regard you. Droopy lids are held open by a combative fondness that overpowers the weight of unmet expectations. You kiss him languidly, a need to rush nowhere to be found. Despite your initiation, you part your lips easily for him letting him control the moment how he wants. Lando always kisses you like it's his last chance, in a way that makes you feel it from your stomach down to your toes. Sometimes you find yourself crossing your fingers that you make him feel the same. 

Upon breaking apart you coax him gently, “Lay on your stomach for me? Let me take care of you.”

And Lando resigns to let you. Happily. Defenselessly. Completely. Because you always take care of him. After Sochi, after Carlos left, whenever he loses sight of himself. Your unyielding arms are always ajar for him to crash into.

Lando proves to be absolutely no help as you try to shimmy his hoodie off him, his face pressed into one of four available pillows, arms curled above his head. Your level of struggle makes you giggle, then laugh from your chest, a whine of his name mixed in. Half a cheeky smile is visible from Lando as he peeks an eye open to regard you. He lifts one arm begrudgingly and then the other, allowing you to successfully free his torso.

Gently you lay the hoodie to your side and scan his lean back. You watch his shoulders flex as he shifts again to get fully comfortable, the dimples in his lower back popping in and out. His golden skin, a tan you watched bloom over a long offseason, calls for your careful touch. 

One of your thighs raises to straddle the backs of his, finding a comfortable position atop his legs. As if in anticipation of your tenderness, an adorable sigh whistles out through Lando’s nose. Moving just by instinct, your careful hands start at the small of his back, digging in just enough with your thumbs to coax the tension out. Briefly you wonder if the tiny hiss Lando lets out is one of appreciation or if hours in the air conditioned hotel room have left your extremities just on the wrong side of chilly. You’re reassured when a more full chested sigh escapes your boyfriend upon your hands reaching the apex of his shoulders in one long motion of your hands. The look of contentment is already beginning to set in on Lando’s striking face as you continue carefully in fluid, albeit improvised, movements. 

There is a stillness in the room that welcomes the almost inaudible efforts of your hands pushing into his muscles and grants permission for your mind to wander. A dull hum from the air conditioning unit aims to harmonize with Lando’s consistent sighs. On instinct you itch to trace a pattern between his birthmarks, taking a moment to appreciate even the smallest parts of him. 

As now warmed fingers detour from their ritualistic path up his back, you stop at one mole, marveling that it looks the exact same shade of brown as the coffee was on your second date. A cup of which had steamed up between your eyes as you glanced sheepishly over the porcelain rim at him, hoping he couldn’t see you staring. The waitress had led with ‘how cute a couple the two of you make’ before informing you it was closing time. Lando had not corrected her. Instead he’d offered you his jacket before walking you home. You’d kissed him before you even made it to your street. The tableau, illuminated by a dusty streetlamp, saw you pushing him back with a hand on his chest when you realized you wouldn’t be able to stop if you carried on a second longer. Lando had found it sickeningly endearing. 

Another birthmark on your course upwards is a bit lighter, more oval, something like the dirt track he had taken you to watch rallying at with his siblings last winter. You’d shared lip gloss with one of his sisters and been asked for advice on the boy problems of the other. Lando’s brother Oliver realized he didn't even have to ask how serious things were when he’d caught Lando staring at you when he thought no one was watching. Oliver had leant over to ask him a question, only to find Lando didn’t even know who the race leader was as he’d practically not taken his eyes off you. You, just existing. Eager eyes darting around attentively at the flurries of dirt before you, your hand on Lando’s wrist, spinning the bracelet his Nan gifted him with absentminded ease. Later he’d watched Lando take about 30 photos of you as you wandered the merch booths and food stands, all of which you were none the wiser to and Oliver knew you never would be. 

The birthmark just at the base of his neck is the one you noticed peeking out from his t-shirt late one warm night in Monaco. When your eyes yearned to fix on something stable. Something safe. Lando’s hand had reached back for yours as he lead you through the Monaco streets. You’d linked your pinky with his, too shy to feel the warmth of his whole hand in yours. He’d driven the two of you around in his Jolly, for once abiding by the speed postings; he was in no rush with you. You recall being envious of the wind ruffling his hair, wishing it was you instead. The hand he placed on your exposed thigh had you looking the opposite direction to hide your glowing cheeks.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, you scooch to sit over the center of Lando’s back, bringing his strong neck into an accessible range. Your thumbs dig into the sides, freestyling a way to massage such a random part of the body in such desperate need of TLC. His curls that you’ve worshiped, pulled on, and braided for the past years are welcomed into the special treatment with your fingers sliding against his scalp before beginning at the base of his neck again.

Lando had looked at you sideways when you’d once commented on his strong neck being one of your favorite features of his. Refusal to elaborate was betrayed by your full body flush and flitting eyes as he leaned over you, hands settling on the arms of the chair you were sat in. That was just last month; he still makes you nervous. 

Nervous in the way that makes your breath catch and your palms clam up. Nervousness akin more to anticipation than anything else; woven with glee and eagerness. Something like you feel right now, realizing you haven’t kissed him in 15 minutes and your hands are starting to cramp. Leaning down, you press a peck to his exposed cheek, Lando’s cologne filling your nose. For someone you thought was asleep, his eye cracks open the instant your lips part from his skin. 

Lando regards you for just a moment before, with much difficulty given his current position and slight delirium, moving to wrangle you so you’re lying down chest to chest with him. One of his arms drapes over your neck, hand planted behind your head, creating a little bubble made just for your heads. Something unrupturable and uninterrupted where he can stare at you without needing a reason.

The eyes you’re met with are droopy, full of contentment, and overflowing with affection. It’s a look that you used to think you’d never receive from someone else. But Lando’s never been afraid to be loud with his love. It took some time, some proof of dedication from him that the beaming smile and honest eyes were not a fluke, for you to bloom. Now when you’re with him, you don’t care who’s looking. You love who you are in his company, how unafraid to occupy space you become. It draws you to place your hand on his stubbled cheek (that you will not stop teasing him about) and stroke your thumb slowly over his skin. On instinct Lando nuzzles closer, so eager to be doted on by you. His lips find yours in an intimate kiss. 

“Thank you baby,” he murmurs, words meant just for you, so soft they would’ve been mistaken for a flicker of the moonlight had you not been paying attention. 

You assume he means for the massage. He assumes you know it’s for everything else: all the support and love and devotion you show him. It’s bliss with you. Lando had gotten over trying to fight against the never-ending spiral of longing, lust, and love in every moment, word, and movement with you, a long time ago. Now he welcomes drowning in your smile and voice and touch. He yearns for the overwhelming clench in his chest and weightlessness of his body. He’s given himself over completely to you in hopes of his demise at the sight of your warm eyes and the way you say his name.

Lando finds his heart squeezing again just from looking at you, curled against him in a random Hilton somewhere in the Middle East. The only remedy, the only distraction is to kiss you again, gently but full of meaning. It makes you blush, afire under his adoring gaze, feeling so safe but exposed, heart bared fully to him. 

In the sacred hush of your hotel room you scoot just a fraction until your nose skims his, eyes fluttering closed. Upturned lips brush against yours involuntarily. 

A deep exhale leaves Lando’s nose, tickling the peach fuzz of your upper lip. It conveys total peace and comfort. It says somehow, this is all he needs. This is how life looks for him when his mind wanders to years his senior. Maybe there’s more noise around your little bubble, more feet, decidedly smaller than the both of yours, leaving prints on your hearts. But you and him together like this? It’s constant, transcendent of location or hardship or outside noise. You and him together like this, with 'I love you's' as the night's lullaby, is not just enough, it’s everything.

[sluttyten]

Little Shop of Wonders

Kinktober Day 8 | Kun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: sex pollen, free use, consensual free use, fuck toy, shower sex, lots of cum, facefucking, masturbation, bukkake, cunnilingus, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, subspace

length: 5971

The bell over the door jingled as you pushed it open, stepping foot inside the shop. 

You’d never noticed this place before. An old shop with big glass window displays filled with plants and crystals, its heavy wooden door recessed from the street, an old brass lantern hung above the door offering only a small puddle of flickering light over the doormat. 

“Welcome,” the doormat had scrawled across it, “to the Little Shop of Wonders.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, but it was a cool, damp October night, and the shop looked like a dry place to wait for your boyfriend. 

Kun had an appreciation for magic. Usually, he favored card tricks, sleight of hand, but he’d shown you before that he was intrigued by more magical magic. He would like this place, too, so you texted him the address since he was already on the way to pick you up from work. 

From deep in the recesses of the store, you hear a woman’s voice call out, “Welcome! Have a look around, and I’ll be there to help you shortly!” 

The store is very old, if you had to guess. The floors are hardwood, bleached by ages of sunlight, dry and dusty with each step you take. The boards creak, and even when you pass over a thick rug, the floor groans beneath you, belching up dust. Dried flowers and herbs hang from the rafters. Strings of lights drape the edges of the room, occasionally cross-crossing the space in between. You spot more of those brass lanterns hanging at the ends of heavy wooden bookcases, the shelves of which are weighed down with heavy tomes and knick knacks that range from crystals and cute animal carvings to disturbingly realistic wooden figurines of people and a skull with a candle melted atop it. 

This place gives you the creeps while simultaneously pulling you in deeper. It feels like magic. It tingles over your skin, smelling sweet. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking around before you hear the door jingle in the distance. 

You bump into a viney potted plant on the floor, and a cat bolts out of the shadows, streaking through a gap in the shelves. You follow the cat, discovering that it’s leading you back into the center of the store from where you’d drifted to the back edges. You can see the front door, the misty blue twilight sky outside the front windows. 

Kun stands in the doorway, framed by that eerie light, though the light of the lantern glows on his face, radiant. 

“There you are,” he says with a grin, stepping inside the store fully. “What kind of place have you found?”

“Welcome to the Little Shop of Wonders,” says the same woman’s voice as before, although now it sounds as though she’s floating above you. 

You twist around, looking up at the ceiling, and you find her. She’s a wiry older woman, her curling gray hair tumbling around her shoulders, a long skirt and apron swishing around her legs as she very carefully balances and navigates her way across the beams. 

When you look back at Kun, he’s watching her with a bemused expression, which shifts to that of one impressed when the woman leaps down from the beam and lands lightly on her feet. 

She brushes her hands off on her apron, and looks at the pair of you with a wide, warm, inviting smile on her face. 

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Her hands go to her hips, and she looks the pair of you over, her gaze studying the way you gravitate towards each other. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh.” You and Kun glance at each other, and then you say, “We’re just looking around.”

The woman nods her head. “Of course! If you look long enough, whatever you’re meant to have in here will jump out at you.”

You take Kun’s hand, and for a little while you browse the shelves, occasionally coming across a cat or the witchy woman herself, humming as she passes through different areas of the shop. 

Finally, after you feel that you’ve spent nearly an hour together looking at the small oddities and interests in the store, you realize that it’s time you leave so you can get home. But Kun’s interested in the live plants the woman has sitting beside a window towards the back of the shop. He brushes his fingers along a blush pink leaf, lifts his fingers along the stem, and cups one of the curved bloodred petals.

“I’d be careful with that one, if I were you.” The woman appears suddenly at your elbow, nudging her way between you and Kun. She cups the plant’s pot in her hands, lifting it gently. “This one’s a powerful aphrodisiac. Quite a strong stimulant.” 

Kun peeks at you over her head. You stifle a giggle against your hand. 

“Doubt me if you like,” she warns, “But this plant’s pollen is known to cause intense arousal when ingested. Whether that means if the residue is on your skin, or if it’s contained within a bottle of honey.” 

Suddenly she’s lifting a hand, a small vial of glinting golden honey sits in her palm. 

“Are you saying that’s a bottle of sex honey?” You ask, trying to keep from laughing.

The woman’s mouth tightens. “Yes, dear. Essentially. A taste of this honey, and you and your boy would be bound to fall into bed together. THat’s why I have it labeled for sale over in the love and sex section of the shop. Now, if you ingest the pollen directly, say if he were to lick his fingers now after having touched the plant, the effects would be much stronger. Arousal lasting days, possibly.”

Again, Kun catches your eye over the woman’s head, and you watch your boyfriend daringly lift his hand to his lips, and he pops his index and middle finger both into his mouth.

“Oh, darling….” The witchy woman shakes her head while looking at Kun. She quickly sits the plant back down among the others, and she waves her hand towards the front door of the shop. “You should leave now. Good luck. And you, my dear,” she says with a look in your direction, “You may want to purchase a bottle of the honey, just so you can keep up with him.”

“I think we’ll be fine, but thank you.” You wrap your arm around Kun’s and walk towards the door with him, calling over your shoulder to her, “Maybe if this goes as well as you’re promising, we’ll be back for some of that sex honey.”

You swear that instead of swinging gently shut as it had when you opened it, the door slams behind you as you and Kun step out onto the sidewalk outside the Little Shop of Wonders.

“Come on.” Kun slides his hand down into yours, leading you away to where his car is parked. “Let’s get home.”

On the ride home, you both laugh about the woman’s warnings. It just sounds so silly, the things she was saying. Kun keeps sucking on his fingers, saying that he’s still waiting for it to kick in like she promised, that from the sound of it, he’ll need to fuck you as soon as you get home, but it must be slow acting. “I’m not even a little bit hard, yet. Maybe her plant isn’t working right. Not that I need the help, but she’s made it sound like one taste of the pollen and I’m going to be rock hard for days.”

You laugh, tipping your head against the seat to watch as Kun flicks his tongue between the V of his index and middle finger. “Kun, I promise, if you’re rock hard for days, if this pollen truly works as well as she’s said, you can fuck me however, wherever, as often as you want.”

“I have free use of you?” Kun’s teasing, looking over at you as he rolls the car to a stop at a light. “You’d be my little fuck toy?”

“Anything for you, Kun.” You’re playing, but some part of you is actually serious. You love Kun. Since you started dating him, you’ve wanted him a ridiculous amount. It’s only because you can’t constantly be on his dick that you haven’t let on to him how horny you frequently are. You’ve tried to tone it down, but honestly, giving him free use to fuck you however and wherever and whenever he likes is exactly what you’ve needed all this time.

If only the ridiculous notion of sex pollen was real and not just the imaginary creation of some batty woman in a mysterious shop.

When you get home, you hop in the shower while Kun starts to prepare dinner.

You’ve been in there for only about five minutes, when the door to the bathroom opens. You pull the shower curtain back a bit, peeking out into the steamy bathroom. Kun’s right there, already climbing into the shower, yanking the curtain back shut behind him as he backs you towards the wall. 

“What’s this?” You giggle, reaching for his arm. “Did the pollen kick in or something?”

“Yeah,” Kun murmurs, and then his lips are on yours, his hands on your hips. 

You can’t believe he’s really going along with this, playing into it just to have shower sex. You let him spin you around so your chest and cheek are against the wall. Kun pulls one of your arms behind your back, the other you lift above your head to brace yourself a bit. 

“Any time, anywhere, that’s what you said right?” Kun confirms as he grinds forward against your ass. 

“Mhmm,” you moan, rolling your hips back to meet his movements. “Yes, Kun.”

His mouth moves fiery hot over your bare shoulder, his skin hot against yours everywhere he touches. “Perfect.”

And then he’s thrusting forward, driving his cock between your legs, rutting forward again and again until his cock slides inside you.

With no prep, it burns a little, but you like it. You like when Kun gets a little rough from time to time. Like right now, when he just starts plunging into you with these big thrusts, clearly just chasing his own orgasm. His hand holds yours against your lower back.The shower spraying down on you both has your skin all slippery, your bound hands sliding with each of Kun’s powerful thrusts. 

Your moans echo around the bathroom, and Kun’s breaths come hard and fast against your ear. 

Kun presses up against your back, pinning you between him and the wall, his weight bearing down on you as he fucks into you. Each press of his cock inside you, each catch of his breath against your ear, the heat in your belly stirs a little more. But it doesn’t stir as quickly as Kun, he cums with his mouth against your throat, his body flush against yours. 

One of his hands slides around down your belly, down between your legs, fingers against your clit as he thrusts several more times. Kun fucks his cum deeper inside you, gliding against your G spot while stimulating your clit, and you fall apart in his arms, feeling like you’re dissolving into sweet bliss as he keeps rocking his hips forward and tracing his fingers over your sensitive clit.

He keeps going until you’re whining, until he’s spilling inside you again.

Your legs shake as you actually put them into use again. Kun steps back, leaving you empty and on your own two feet. He rinses off quickly, running a hand down his body, over his cock. You twist around to watch him, biting your lip as you watch his hand run along his cock.

“Keep looking at me like that, babe, and I’m going to have to feed you something other than the dinner I started.” He leans in quickly, dropping a kiss to your lips, and then he steps out of the shower, calling back to you, “Shower quickly, dinner should be ready in a few minutes.”

You finish your shower, dry off, dress in a camisole and cotton shorts, then you head to the kitchen.

Kun’s standing at the counter, chopping a few toppings for the stew he’s made. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around him and lay your head against his bare shoulder. He’s only wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips. You run your hand over his bare belly, up his chest, and back down to the edge of his sweatpants. 

Kun sits the knife aside. 

You turn your head, brushing your lips over his warm skin. Kun lets out a shaky breath. You let your pinky finger tuck beneath the edge of his sweatpants.

“It smells good,” you tell him. “I’m ready to eat.”

Kun’s hand trembles as he picks up the knife again, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, watching as he tries to chop up the last few ingredients. And then you notice.

He’s really so warm, his skin flaming hot beneath your cheek.

“Kun?” You take a step to the side, peering at his face, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Are you sick? You feel feverish.”

His eyes are dark when he looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, and he nearly moans at the cool press of your fingers against his warm cheek. “I’m not sick. I feel fine, except I don’t think that lady was lying about the pollen. I’m still so hard, babe, it hasn’t gone down at all.” 

You look down to his sweatpants, at his cock that’s still ragingly hard, tenting the front of his pants.

Your mouth fills with saliva, and you lift your gaze back up to meet your boyfriend’s. You swallow to keep yourself from drooling when you say, “I meant what I said in the car, Kun. However, wherever, as often as you like. I can take it. Use me as your fucktoy.”

“Fuck.” Kun sits the knife aside again, and he reaches for you, twisting his fingers in your hair, and he forces you to your knees. 

Your mouth drops open as Kun uses his free hand to push his sweatpants down. His hard, heavy cock springs free, already wet at the tip, leaking a crystalline thread of precum. You don’t need Kun’s hand in your hair to guide you; you dive forward, catching the falling bead on your tongue and following it up to the source, sucking Kun’s cockhead in. 

That’s when he takes over, hand pressing against the back of your head, forcing you deeper on his cock. His hips jerk forward at the same time, triggering your gag reflex as he hits the back of your throat. Not that that stops him, if anything it encourages him to go harder, faster, and you take it all, hungry for his cock shoved down your throat even as your eyes begin to water, as your jaw and throat ache from the repeated pressure. You slurp around him as he starts to drag your mouth off of his cock. His fingers tight in your hair, Kun allows you a brief breath before he’s fucking back into your mouth.

You’re drooling all over his cock as Kun holds the back of your head, fucking his cock into the deep warmth of your throat. And when he cums, he just keeps going, filling your mouth and shooting down the back of your throat, it leaks from the corners of your lips, and you think you’re going crazy because you want more.

Kun drags you off his cock by your hair.

Spit and cum and tears streak your face, dripping from your chin as you look up at Kun. 

He releases his hold on your hair to run his thumb under your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Get up, here you go.” Kun offers you his hand, and you slide your palm against his as he pulls you up to your feet. “Good girl, now sit down. It’s time for dinner.”

You obediently sit at the table, still a little fucked-dumb, still dripping his cum even when Kun serves you a bowl of the stew he made. It smells heavenly, rich with spices, and you dig in, the flavors of it only made better with the added flavor of Kun’s cum lingering on your tongue.

Kun pretty much inhales his helping of the stew, and he doesn’t even wait for you to finish eating before he’s walking over to you. You’re quite hungry, so you don’t want him to pull you away from the meal, even though you can see his cock still bulging his sweatpants, staining them with a spot of precum. 

“Keep eating, babe,” Kun tells you, reaching out to stroke your hair. “You need to eat to keep up your strength. If what the lady said is true, I’m probably gonna be like this for a few days.” 

You think back to him sucking the pollen residue off his fingers, licking his hands clean. Who knows how much he ingested?

You eat a spoonful of stew, eyeing his erection out of the corner of your eye. Is he just going to stand there and not take care of it? You look up at Kun, and it’s a horny little demon inside you that speaks with your voice, saying, “You don’t have to wait for me to finish eating, Kun. Until this wears off, I’m yours to do what you want with me.”

His cock twitches in his pants. Kun groans.

“Do you mean that, though? Really?” 

You nod. “Anything you want. Within reason. No bringing anyone else into this–”

“I don’t want to share you!” Kun interjects.

You continue, “Nothing that we haven’t talked about before.”

Kun smirks at that. “Well, that pretty much leaves everything on the table, then doesn’t it?” He strokes your hair again. “All I want right now is to cover you in my cum, babe, head to toe. I want to fuck you in every room in this house, fuck you until we both pass out. I want to treat you like my doll.”

You turn back to your bowl of stew. You shrug, “Then do it, Kun.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him draw his cock out of his pants. You watch him start stroking his cock, but you focus on eating your stew, blowing on it to cool it off, taking your time to lick the spoon clean after each bite. You eat the stew like your pussy isn’t throbbing with arousal watching Kun jerk off inches away from your face. 

He cums again when you’ve got your spoon halfway to your mouth. Kun’s cum streaks over your cheek, landing in your hair, across your lips, some of it hits your spoon and your hand. You eat that spoonful too, enjoying the extra salty addition of his cum to it. Kun keeps stroking his length, a few last spurts striping your cheek as you reach for the bowl. You lift it to your lips, quickly draining what little is left because as soon as it’s gone, as soon as you’ve sat the bowl down, Kun is pulling you to your feet.

When he moves you so your ass is on the edge of the table, you expect Kun to push your shorts to the side and slide his cock right inside you.

You don’t expect Kun to sink to his knees, for him to tear your shorts down around your ankles, and bury his face between your thighs. He spreads your legs with a hand on each thigh, massaging them as he licks at your pussy, as he fucks his tongue into you, as he sucks at your clit and licks up your wetness as you’re drenching his tongue, writhing against his face, needing more and more.

Kun moans loudly, eating you out in the most noisy manner he ever has. 

You cum on his tongue, hands knotted in his hair as you ride it out, grinding against Kun’s face.

“If this is what we have in store,” you gasp as Kun licks a strip up your pussy one more time, “I think I could get used to this. You’ve never given better head, honestly. I need you to be this horny all the time if it means I get eaten out like that.”

Kun scatters kisses over your thighs. “We’re just getting started, babe.” 

- - -

For the rest of the night, Kun has you sit on his lap, cockwarming him while you watch a movie together. 

Kun’s hands are constantly moving – stroking along your thighs, dipping to touch your clit while forcing you to sit still on him; he pulls the neckline of your camisole down to expose your tits, and he teases your nipples until you’re whimpering and fighting the urge to fuck yourself on his cock. But as soon as you get desperate enough to beg for it, Kun stops.

He’ll have you sit up, kneeling above his lap with just the head of his cock still buried in your pussy as he jerks off, cumming inside you so he can watch it drip back out of your pussy. Instead of letting you cum, when you’re teetering on the edge, he’ll have you kneel on the floor, cockwarm him with your mouth instead so he can cum across your tongue and cheeks again, adding even more to the mess he’d made at dinner. He edges you again, and then he fucks your tits, cumming across them then taking his time afterwards to clean it up with his tongue, feeding it back to you and watching you swallow everything before he returns his tongue to your nipples, flicking his tongue over the hardened buds until you’re rocking your hips up off the sofa restlessly.

Kun cums more times than you can keep track of, and you take all of the cum he gives you, hungrily sucking his cock, feeling him fill your pussy, spreading his cum across your tits with your fingers, moaning as he shoots his load across your back while he’s got his fingers inside you.

Kun edges you through it all until finally your body can’t take anymore, and you cum around him while Kun’s got you riding him. He’s hugging you to his chest, his mouth locked with yours, and he is once again spilling into you when your orgasm finally explodes through you.

You don’t remember him carrying you to the bathroom, don’t remember Kun rinsing off with you in the shower, or when he carries you to bed. You remember only a brief glimpse of his cock finally going soft when he settles into bed beside you.

And you think that’s it. 

The sex pollen ran its course.

You’re a little bit disappointed at that thought, truly. When you wake in the morning to pale sunlight, you check on your sleeping boyfriend, and Kun is all spread out beside you. He’s kicked away the sheets in his sleep, and although he still feels warm to the touch, his cock is soft against his thigh. 

You know maybe you should feel like you had enough yesterday. The never-ending edging paired with the amount of fucking you and excessive cumming Kun had done should have satisfied you. But you were having fun. You liked Kun treating you like a cumdump.

Maybe you should go back to the Little Shop of Wonders, ask the witch for that vial of honey or maybe purchase the whole sex pollen plant.

You crawl quietly out of bed, pull on a shirt of Kun’s, and you tiptoe to the kitchen to deal with the mess from last night. Neither of you had bothered with the dishes from the stew, which are still spread out on the table. You get to work cleaning, tidying things and doing the dishes. 

It’s probably for the best that Kun’s already gotten over the effects of the sex pollen, you think as you finish the dishes from last night and start making breakfast instead. Kun is supposed to work today. He’s got a deadline coming up, so he needs to get in the studio today, and he’d been complaining to you yesterday morning about a meeting he has this morning. He’s got things to do, people to see, he can’t call in sick today because he’s too busy dealing with a sex pollen crisis, though at least the people he’s working with and having meetings with are some of his closest friends; they just might understand the situation.

“Good morning,” Kun says suddenly behind you, startling you a bit, but before you can turn to him, his arms are around you, and his hard cock is against your ass. “I guess this isn’t over yet, babe.” He kisses your cheek. “I thought when I fell asleep that it must be. I’d gone soft, but I just woke up hard as I ever was yesterday.”

He thrusts against your ass. 

“So I’m gonna fuck you, babe. But you keep doing what you’re doing, hm?” Kun pushes up the back of the shirt you’re wearing, revealing your ass to him. “God, you’re truly unbelievable, you know that? So fucking pretty, my babe.” And then he’s pressing in, cock pushing inside your pussy. 

You brace your arms against the countertop, and you try to keep finishing the breakfast prep you’d been doing before Kun came in. The way that he’s fucking you makes that a little more difficult, but you try, and Kun seems to like that. 

“Yes, babe, look at you. You’re taking it so well, letting me use you like this.” His cock twitches inside you. 

It’s not easy, that’s for sure.

Your focus starts to slip when Kun pulls your hips back, angling you just right so each of his thrusts is nailing against your G spot. He’s moaning behind you, praising how sweet and tight and warm you feel around his cock. Your pussy just keeps growing wetter and wetter as he reaches up beneath your shirt to grope at your tits, as you try to keep on task even as Kun’s fucking you into delirium.

Kun cums, flooding your pussy, pressing in deep a few more times. 

He steps back, and although you try to keep tight, to keep his cum in, you can feel some of it dripping out, sliding down your thigh, dropping to the floor.

Kun pats your ass, then pulls the shirt back down. 

“Good girl.” He kisses your cheek again. 

He sits down at the table, and a few moments later, the breakfast you were making is ready, so he pulls you into his lap to dine together. 

“Kun,” you say after a while, “Don’t you have to go to the studio today? Don’t you have a meeting too?”

His erection is digging into your thigh, unable to be ignored. 

“I do, and I was actually thinking about that.” He brushes his lips over your neck. “What if you come with me? This reaction isn’t going away, so I’m going to need to cum regardless of whether you’re there or not. So I could jerk off every five minutes, or you could come along and we’ll both get something out of it. What do you say?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re in the car with Kun. He’s flying down the streets. 

Even though his eyes are focused on the road, his driving is worse than usual, though that almost certainly has to do with the fact that as soon as he’d pulled onto the road, he’d tangled his fingers in your hair and urged your mouth down into his lap. 

You eagerly sucked at Kun’s cock, stroking him with both hands, leaving kisses along his length, drooling over the tip, choking yourself on him. Kun lays his hand on the back of your head, directing you when he really feels like he needs to. As you draw closer to the studio where Kun works as a producer, he starts taking over, pushing you down around his cock, his hips rising off the seat to drive himself deeper down your throat. 

He cums right as he’s pulling into the parking garage of the studio. You clean him up as he navigates to a parking spot, and you wait patiently in the passenger seat as Kun gets out. He comes around to your side, opening the door and taking your hand like a gentleman, and he pulls you into a kiss as soon as you’re both standing outside the car.

He takes you into his studio, sitting you in his lap while he starts working, though that only works for so long. Soon he’s getting distracted by the pressing need he keeps grinding against your ass, so he has you slide to your knees beneath the mixing board. You pull up the sweater you wore, and Kun has you push your tits together around his cock, and he fucks between the softness of them, cumming across your tits and then immediately dragging your mouth around his cock. 

You’re still kneeling there beneath the mixing board with your mouth full of his cock when his friend, who is also the artist he’s recording today, walks in. YangYang either doesn’t notice you down there or chooses not to say anything. You obediently keep your mouth around Kun, suckling and shifting on your knees. 

YangYang chats with Kun for just a couple minutes, and then he heads into the recording booth. 

Kun drags you off his cock, and you look up at him. “Babe, I really need to focus on this recording session, okay? So I’m gonna need you to take everything I give you, no whining or touching yourself, okay?”

You nod, sticking your tongue out, offering your mouth up to Kun again.

“Good girl.” Kun pushes you back down around his cock. You hear him press a button above your head, and then he says, “Alright, YangYang, go ahead.”

You bob your head on Kun’s cock, working your hardest to get him to cum for you, knowing that if he doesn’t cum, Kun’s going to be distracted. All you have to do is keep him satisfied, and then he’ll be focused. 

He cums within minutes, but you keep going, and Kun tightens his fingers in your hair. You bring your hands up to his cock too, stroking him into your mouth, letting some of his cum and your spit slide down to lube the way. You’re making a mess of him; his cum leaking out of your mouth is pooling on the front of his pants, but you can’t help it. You’re swallowing around him, swallowing the first load of cum, but before long he’s cumming again, letting out a grunt as you choke around his cock.

“Dude, you good?” YangYang asks from inside the booth. 

“Fine. Try that verse again.”

Kun’s hand weighs down against the back of your head, pushing you all the way down around his cock, and you close your eyes, letting him do it. You sink into some kind of state where you’re not asleep, but you’re not fully conscious either. All you know is the weight of Kun’s cock on your tongue, the taste of his cum, the smell of him as your nose is buried at the base of his cock. You can hear his voice, but he could be talking to you or a whole crowd of people, and you wouldn’t know the difference.

Eventually, Kun lets you up again, tugging lightly on your hair.

You gag as you’re pulled off of him, coughing and gasping for breath. Kun’s cum drips from your lips and chin.

“Are you okay?” Kun asks when he takes one look at the dazed expression on your face. “Babe, are you good to continue.”

You nod, feeling your lips form a loose smile. 

Kun brings his hand up, wiping at your cheeks and chin and lips. His fingers are gentle beneath your chin as he brings you forward into a kiss. His lips leave yours, brushing over your forehead. 

“We’re done with this for now.” He helps you the rest of the way to your feet. “You’re too far gone, you can’t even speak to me right now. If you could see the look on your face right now, my love, you would understand. Don’t pout.” You didn’t realize you were until Kun said that, and you try to tame your expression. He smiles, leading you over to the sofa along the back wall. “Take a nap. You’re amazing, and I love you, and once this all wears off, I owe you something huge.”

You hum, sinking down onto the sofa, laying your head down, and immediately you can feel a tired pull. 

Kun strokes his hand over your head, kisses your forehead one more time, and you’re asleep before he walks away. 

- - -

You sleep it off there on the sofa, waking hours later to go home with Kun. 

He fucks you senseless a few more times that night at home, and when you wake the next morning you stay in bed with him, waiting for him to wake, waiting for him to need to fuck you again, to let you suck his cock again even though you’re pretty sure at this point, your throat is permanently molded to the shape of Kun’s cock.

But when he wakes, Kun just pulls you against his chest. His cock doesn’t grow hard. He just sighs and holds you close, and you’re actually perfectly content with that change of pace too.

But a few days later, as you’re heading home from work, you get the thought into your head to return to the Little Shop of Wonders, to see if that witchy woman will sell you a vial of that sex honey. 

The pollen had been a lot. Your body is still aching days later, and Kun swears his balls are sore from how much he came in such a short span of time. But you’ve both agreed that maybe the honey would be nice to have – a less intense version of that that lasts only a few hours wouldn’t be bad to experience from time to time.

You walk down the side street you’d passed down just a few days ago, and you search the shopfronts for the window displays filled with crystals and viney plants, for the recessed doorway with the brass lantern and the ancient-looking wooden door. 

But you pass up and down that street three times, checking each shop before you finally give up. It’s not here. It’s as if the Little Shop of Wonders was never here at all, but you know you couldn’t have imagined it.

Weeks pass, you forget about it, too swept up in the holiday season closing in around you. Christmas is just days away, winter staking her claim over the city with a snowstorm blowing in this afternoon, ruining your plans to go shopping for Kun a Christmas present and a birthday present, since that’s a week later.

You’re hurrying home from work, bundled up against the chill, thinking about what you can get Kun that he’ll truly appreciate.

And then, from the corner of your eye through the swirling snow, you see a gleam of bronze. You turn your head. 

A brass lamp.

A wooden door.

Large plate glass windows frosted over, but not entirely concealing the displays of crystals and books and a wreath of candles and symbols. 

A new wooden sign creaks above the door, blowing back and forth in the wind. 

The Little Shop of Wonders sits waiting, promising the perfect present for Kun.   

a/n: I could've gone on and on with this one honestly! I was going to write a few more scenes, but it's getting late and I really need to post this.

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

[aweina]

౨ৎ. UNDER HIS HOODIE ( suggestive ) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. possessive + jealous behavior. awkwardness. implied sex + 1.1k words.

mike never let’s you answer the front door, not anymore at least. it was that time when he heard a striking knock on the door — giving your neck a soft kiss before lazily mumbling for you to get the door for him, barely registering the sight of your bare legs and the purplish hues on your skin.

you quietly complied with a dazed smile, rubbing your cold thighs together as you pattered towards the door — halfheartedly tugging at the hem of mike’s hoodie over your bruised neck as you threaded your fingers through the teased strands, rubbing off inky tear stains from your flushed cheeks with another hand.

the door opened slowly, revealing a blonde woman in an officer uniform. the buzzed feeling of after sex transformed into a state of alarm — the aching slouch on your back straightened within a blink of an eye.

it was her. the officer who likes to pry in your boyfriend’s business.

the tapping of her dirty leather boots seemed like she was on a time crunch. arms defensively crossed over her chest, a deadpan look in her face. then her bored blue eyes widened, lingering at your lustrous appearance. the jacket you sported was dark and baggy, blotches of bleach stains dispersed around the thick sleeves and edge of the hood. the smell was familiar too. fresh linen with a hint of herbal cologne. it was his jacket, mike’s.

with the cold zipper pulled down, the peak of your pink bra and cotton underwear was shown beneath the baggy fabric. blossoms of purple and red marking your neck and even sprinkled between the plushness of your bare thighs. your hair was frizzy and tangled, the light smudge of melted makeup painted your face. vanessa couldn’t help but chuckle, her guard faltering.

you looked up and down with a suspicious look, tucking your hands into the warm pockets of his jacket — leaning against the painted cracked doorway. there was an awkward stare down, until vanessa finally spoke up.

“i’ve never seen you before.” she says it like it’s a fact, smiling with a tinge of annoyance.

“neither have i,” you merely replied, shrugging your shoulders with your lips pressed into a flat line.

vanessa raised a brow at that, shifting towards one foot over the other — sensing the tension and maddening heat radiating off your body.

“well … it’s just mike never told me about a girlfriend.” vanessa explains further, a slight strain in her words. you rest your head on the doorframe, a snarky laugh escaping your smudged lips.

“is there any reason he would need to?” if it was possible, your eyes would’ve been glowing with crimson anger.

vanessa shook her head — her blonde locks swaying as she did.

"no, just a little surprised," she admitted, her gaze darting between your defiant stance and your bra strap slowly sliding down.

the silent air hangs thick once again, the standoff between you and vanessa alerting mike from his restless cooking — muttering curses as he wipes his sauce-coated hands before fixing his messy curls.

with an exasperated laugh, mike swoops in between the two of you — covering your exposed form with his clothed body as he tosses an awkward smile to vanessa.

“h – hey vanessa. what’s up?” mike can feel the burning glare on the back of his head, but he simply grasps your hand with a soothing warmth.

“had fun last night?” vanessa quips, watercolor eyes lingering towards the lipstick smudge on his neck and the deep bite marks trailing underneath the loose fitted shirt. she couldn’t even ignore the streaks of red staining his wrists, obviously clawed by your sharp nails.

mike opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed too shy to utter a word. yeah, he’ll admit, it was obvious the both of you had sex.

finally finding the courage to project his voice, mike slowly nods, scratching the back of his marked neck nervously. "uh, yeah, it was ... eventful."

you quietly peered over the tense scene, tugging away from his restraint to wrap your arms firmly around his waist — resting your head teasingly against his shoulder. there was a sly smile plastered on your rosy lips, hearing mike’s quiet groan from your sudden embrace.

“mike is busy, can you please leave officer vanessa?” you added a playful pout to your venom-laced request, casting an exaggerated look of annoyance at vanessa.

mike shifted uncomfortably under the weight of menacing stare down, trapped between your flush, bare body and the half opened door — under the judgment of vanessa’s knowing gaze. he feigns a small cough, an apologetic smile forced on his blushing face, silently mouthing a “sorry” towards the officer.

vanessa nods in assurance, noticing your rogue touches lingering beneath mike’s waistband. he stumbles a bit, holding your hands in place with a firm grip.

“a – alright. i will.” she holds back an amused laugh as she peers up at the blush ridden mike then to your cold glare, immediately turning towards mike. “so mike … i’ll see you tomorrow around —”

before vanessa could finish her sentence, the door was forced shut with a loud slam — your foot being the culprit for the disruption.

mike cringes and turns around, meeting your sparkling eyes and forced smile — the corners twitching with aggression. he cannot help but chuckle at your possessiveness, wrapping his own arms around your neck as he gives your jaw a soft kiss.

mike cringes and turns around, meeting your sparkling eyes and forced smile — the corners twitching with aggression. he cannot help but chuckle at your possessiveness, wrapping his own arms around your neck as he gives your jaw a soft kiss.

“seriously?” mike mumbles as he leans in to add another mark, tasting your honeyed perfume while he tugs your tight skin between his teeth. your aggression seems to melt under his mouth.

“she’s nosey.” you whine in his ear, scrambling to grasp on his curls when he suckles on a sweet spot.

“she’s harmless … i think.” mike mouths against your freshly marked jaw, ogling down at your soft breasts and thighs — spilling out the tightness of your revealing garments, shadowed by the wrinkles of his jacket.

he pulls away, a sheepish look on his face. mike brushes through the thick knots of your hair — a little reminder when it was threaded between his fingertips, every tug sent you whimpering and singing his name through the night.

“but just don’t … don’t open the door without any clothes this time.” he begs, zipping up his jacket to preserve last night’s activity — a little too late to feign modesty. “or answer the door at all.”

you smirked as you turned towards the kitchen, continuing mike’s cooking routine that was luckily not smothered in flames and spiced smoke.

“no promises mikey.” your smug answer left mike grinning, defeatedly locking the front door with a loud click.

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Red Lights

Summary: You're getting manhandled in a motel room 🤝🏻

Pairing: The Demon x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, No Plot Only Porn 18+!, Smoking (Weed), Intoxication Kink, Slapping, Degradation/Humiliation/Praise, Crying (Dacryphilia), Oral (M Receiving), Breath Play, Pet Names/Honorifics (Princess, Daddy, Slut, Whore etc.), Cheating

A/N: So I watched Strange Darling yesterday :>

Tagging: @blueberrypancakesworld

Round and heavy tears pricked at your lower lash line before eventually welling over already-smeared streaks of mascara and eyeshadow and trickling down the sides of your face. The droplets ran past the curve of your ear until they eventually ended up soaking into crumpled sheets that had been washed with cheap chemical bleach a thousand times in the last month alone.

“Oh, look at you…” Your glazed-over gaze shot up, your body suddenly remembering the pressure squeezing down on your ribcage made you gasp for air out of pathetic instinct.

“So mushy and pliable today, baby.” The man who had introduced himself to you as Samuel months ago huffed in a painfully dismissive scoff.

You knew just as well as he did that the name he'd given you was an alias, a cheap cover to keep your lives from bleeding into one another too much. However, you had started wondering how necessary this act of play pretend still was because the two of you had simply skipped the part of slowly growing on each other and instead ended up fused together at the hip whenever possible - or hip to rib cage-like right now.

You stared up at him whilst he looked down, a crooked smile acknowledged how you fought to keep your little sniffles and sobs muffled.

“Need me to make it all better again, yeah?” You nodded slowly, head moving between cuffed arms that were tightly bound to the metal bed frame that was just as lacklustre as this whole rancid motel room.

“Use your words.” Samuel's free hand came flying down, the entire palm slapping against your already reddened cheek with enough force to likely leave an imprint.

“Mhm, need you to make it better, sir.” Your mouth dropped open upon impact, a thick string of saliva spilling over your bottom lip as your head lolled to the side and you winced.

“There you go. Taught you better than that.” For good measure and his sadistic pleasure, he smacked your other cheek as well, forcing your throbbing head back in his direction.

“ ‘M sorry, sir.” You felt the dollops of spit slowly growing cold against your chin; your normal reaction would've been to wipe it away but you knew he wanted you to sit with the uncomfortable sensation.

“Uh-Huh. Yeah, blah blah.” Samuel wrapped his hand along your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to ridicule whilst the other held a thick lighter to the tip of an equally thick joint.

It took but a few gentle puffs until the distinct smell crept into your nostrils, your facial expression pleading for some of it immediately.

With slightly widened eyes, you watched Samuel inhale deeply, filling his lungs with the fragrant smog until he stifled his breath and leaned down, arching his back in an almost impossible hunch downwards.

His plush lips hung in the air, right in front of your quivering mouth as calm, slightly droopy blue eyes inspected you. Quietly, you opened up, burning eyes fluttering shut as the herbal taste spread over a tongue that darted out like that of a dog panting in heat.

“And another one, babe.” Samuel started feeding you hit after hit, the chemical compounds seeping into your bloodstream within minutes and making you giggle as your whole body erupted in waves of comforting warmth.

“There she is.” The striking blue of his eyes got only accentuated by increasingly bloodshot lashlines as he sat back up, saving the rest of the spliff for later; god and he knew that you'd need it after he was done with you.

“That feels much better now, doesn't it?” He asked with a sly grin ghosting over his face and you nodded, your head feeling comfortably heavy and floaty.

“Good girl, now let me help you with that cottonmouth, princess.” Following his fingers, your eyes fell down to his crotch, a significant bulge already pressing against the fabric of tight black jeans.

Samuel palmed at himself through the fabric, shamelessly groaning out as a tide of pleasure washed through his lower abdomen, easily rendering him hungry for more.

“Open up for Daddy.” He pulled at the golden zipper, nimble and slender fingers freeing himself from the staggeringly uncomfortable confines.

It was pathetic, the way the saliva started flooding at the bottom of your mouth, slick moisture pooling from right underneath your tongue as the swollen and soft-to-the-touch tip of his pulsing cock brushed against your bottom lip.

“Such a whore for me.”, In one languid thrust Samuel spearheaded into the wet warmth of your mouth until you gagged just a little, “I know, shhh, I know. Issok.”

“No need to think. Let Daddy fuck your pretty face for a bit.” He'd conditioned you way too good already, it only needed a soft sprinkle of all your very favourite trigger words before you drifted off into comforting subspace, lips closing down around his girth as a new gush tears formed at the corners of your eyes.

“There, there…” Samuel's hips moved against your face.

If it hadn’t been for the layer of fabric, he'd shoves his aching cock down your throat until you'd gargle around a mouthful of curly, brown pubes.

“Gotta pick up the pieces again, don’t I?”, He uttered, watching the spit squelch and smear around your lipstick-stained lips, “Can’t fucking make sense how he can keep ignoring you. Daft bastard.”

You felt your oesophagus constricted around his dick, muscles slightly spasming as he bullied your dangling uvula against the roof of your throat.

“Playing with everything except you, no?”, He clicked his tongue and furrowed his brows, belittling not you but your straying boyfriend, “But don't you worry, sweets. You come to me and I'll give you all the things he won't do for you. Fuck you double and thrice for every time something is more interesting than you are.”

His wretched words dribbled down on you like a perverted shower of affection, causing your oozing cunt to clench around nothing.

“Can't have a pretty thing like you idle and miserable.”, His fingers pinched at your nose, shutting off any airflow, “Come on, suck me off, slut.”

Samuel rolled his waist against your head, his hips snapping back and forth in a brutal pace but the mellowing THC lacing your bloodstream kept the surge of panic at bay. Instead, you gave in to the rising dizziness, your conscience fighting with the aching burn inside your lungs that tried to gasp for air around his throbbing cock.

“Always so fucking good for Daddy, yeah.” He groaned under his breath, sensing how his balls started contracting, white-hot ropes of cum shooting against the back of your throat and right past the root of your tongue.

Samuel wasn't even done unloading himself on your mouth as he pulled back - rather safe than sorry - as he smeared milky droplets along your bottom lip.

“Breathe for me, baby.” To pull you out of your fucked-out trance, he landed a swift smack against your cheek, his spit and cum coated cock twitching underneath your chin.

The brief sting had your ribcage rising with much-needed oxygen but the clarity wasn't meant for you for long: Your blurry sight narrowed down on the halfway naked man towering above you - lighter in hand and the rest of the joint already back at grinning lips.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I see you are open to Ms Spade/Lilia prompts. I am seeing a lot of speculation that Ms Spade might have been a delinquent in her youth like her son Deuce. It would be funny if Ms Spade and Lilia got to talking and the topic turned to the crazy things they've done in their pasts. Who has the crazier story: delinquent Ms Spade or former General Vanrouge?

Referencing this unofficial blog event!

adklbaboiyfyegea It might be hard for me to write stories in headcanon form, so instead I ended up doing general headcanons for delinquent!Dylla and Lilia sharing their experiences with each other!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Dylla is very shy with sharing about her delinquent days. She holds a lot of shame and guilt about that era of her life, especially since she blamed herself for being a poor influence and a bad mother to Deuce when he went down the wrong path. It's only when Lilia talks about his own past as a veteran that Dylla gains the confidence to let him in on her secret.

She's still not that proud to talk about her delinquency, but Lilia lends her the encouragement and the kind ear she needs to truly open up. When things get to be too much and the feelings overwhelm her, Lilia stays with her and holds her until Dylla has stopped sobbing. "There, there," he murmurs soothingly, a hand rubbing her back. "Let it all out. A good cry will set you straight."

With time and practice, Dylla becomes accustomed to sharing her stories. It's hard to believe that she was ever insecure about them to begin with, not when Lilia grants her so much strength.

She's surprised that Lilia fought in a war before--and not only that, was served as a general--because he's so tiny. (Huh, that's odd. Dylla doesn't remember there being a war or major conflicts in recent years. She wonders which war Lilia is talking about, but he doesn't elaborate.) But Lilia reassures her that it's the cutest ones you have to look out for.

He demonstrates a few of his moves from back in the day, each of which Lilia has lovingly granted an overly embellished (almost magical girl-esque) attack name. Moving with lighting fast swiftness, he very adorably chants, "Ora, ora, ora 🎵 Watch out, I'll kill you dead 💞 Take this! Lilia-chan's Super Special Axe-Grinding Roundhouse Kick~!"

He casually talks about all the people he killed--"My, I was quite the reckless roughneck in my youth. If only I could go back now and properly mourn their losses."--while squirting ketchup all over the omurice she made for him. Dylla awkwardly laughs, but only because she thinks he's making a dark joke. (Lilia was, in fact, not making a dark joke.)

One day, Lilia brings his magearm with him to show Dylla. He even encourages her to try swinging it around! ... Which she does, and nearly chops off some of his bangs in the process--but he took it in stride and came out of it unscathed.

Dylla was a self-described speed demon. She loved riding fast on her bike--a hobby Deuce also picked up--but seldom rides anymore. After all, she has to keep her driving safe and smooth, especially when she's on the job! "Oh? I would love to go out on a romantic ride with you someday," Lilia tells her. "Let's do it--and no holds barred, okay? I want to see how fast you can truly take me."

Her fashion used to be a lot more daring. Leather jackets, combat boots, bold animal prints. Now all that remains of that era is the roots and strands of her bleached her. "You should consider experimenting more!" Lilia suggests, fingering his own hair. "I used to have this much longer, up in a ponytail--and I regularly dye my streaks different colors."

Compared to him, Dylla thinks her stories are much tamer. Sure, she committed minor crimes (shop lifting, skipping school, drinking while underage, being a public disturbance, etc.), but the worst she ever did was get into fights with peers. "I think I was just lost," she admits to Lilia. "Lost and mad at the world for not guiding me." He takes her hands and looks at her tenderly, whispering, "... And I as well."

Lilia mentions that he used to have a crush on the person he was sworn to protect. "That story," he admits with a sad smile, "is one that ends in tragedy." Dylla's heart aches--not with jealousy, but for him and the pain he feels. She takes his hands--like he has done for her--and lets him know she's there for him too.

At the end of the day, both Lilia and Dylla understand that they're changed people, and they're so proud of each other for that. They have new lives, new children, new identities--and each other. They aren't lost or mad or alone anymore.

[your-local-simp-writers]

A Little Sunshine and Some Explosions

Word Count: 1692

Warnings: None

Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The vibrant hues of autumn blanketed U.A. Academy as you made your way across campus, the cool breeze dancing around you and rustling the leaves underfoot. The air was rich with the smell of pumpkin spice, and laughter echoed from groups of students sharing their Halloween plans. It felt like everyone was caught up in the spirit of the season, and you couldn’t help but feel that familiar buzz of excitement tingling in your chest.

You approached your dorm, anticipation bubbling inside you as you unlocked the door. The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the room enveloped you. Katsuki Bakugo was sprawled on your couch, his muscular frame taking up a substantial portion of the seat. His signature scowl was set in place as he scrolled through his phone, completely engrossed. The sight made you smile; it was comforting to see him in a familiar environment, surrounded by your own Halloween decorations—a mishmash of pumpkins, string lights, and cheesy ghost cutouts that you had hung up just a few days ago.

“Hey, idiot,” he grunted, his eyes still glued to the screen as you kicked off your shoes and flopped down beside him.

“Hey, Katsuki! Are you ready for Halloween?” you chirped, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. You could practically feel your smile radiating through the air.

He finally glanced over, eyebrows raised, clearly unimpressed. “We’re just picking out pumpkins, right? This isn’t some Halloween parade.”

“Of course! But I thought we could carve them together afterward, and maybe bake some spooky cookies? It’ll be fun!” You reached for a pumpkin-shaped cookie cutter you’d set on the table, holding it up with pride.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but you caught the slight twitch of his lips that hinted he was fighting back a smile. “Why would I wanna bake cookies when we could just order takeout? It’s Halloween; I’m not wasting my time on baking when I could be blowing stuff up.”

“Blowing stuff up is not on the agenda, mister!” you said, shaking your head as you leaned closer to him. “It’s about having fun! And you can’t deny that pumpkin cookies are the best.”

“Whatever. You’re a dork,” he shot back, but his tone was lighter than before, the corners of his mouth betraying him again.

You turned your attention to the assortment of pumpkins on the table, looking for the perfect one to carve. “So, I was thinking about our costumes. You’ll be Bowser, right? I can’t wait to be Princess Peach!”

“Peach? Seriously?” He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled. “You wanna wear a frilly pink dress? Do you even have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Yes! It’ll be adorable! And don’t pretend you don’t want to wear the Bowser costume. It’ll be hilarious!” You beamed at him, knowing you could break through his tough exterior if you just kept pushing a little.

He let out an exasperated sigh, but you could see the hint of interest flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ll look like an idiot.”

“An adorable idiot,” you corrected with a playful nudge. “I have a plan to make it epic!”

Bakugo crossed his arms, still pretending to be uninterested, but you could see the way he leaned in slightly, as if he was genuinely intrigued. “What’s the plan then, oh great costume designer?”

You laughed, moving to your closet and rummaging through your supplies. “Well, since I have curly brown hair, I thought we could dye my hair for the costume! I need to be the real Princess Peach, and that means I need to look the part!”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady. “You think dyeing your hair is gonna make you look like a princess?”

“Of course! I’m going to bleach it first and then add some cute pink streaks!” You held up the bottles of bleach and dye, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “And you get to help me!”

“Help you?” He scoffed, leaning back against the couch with a dismissive expression. “You think I’m gonna sit around while you turn your hair into a rainbow?”

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Plus, it’s Halloween, and you can’t just say no to your adorable girlfriend,” you said, grinning widely.

“Don’t use that on me,” he grumbled, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice that made you feel giddy inside. You knew he was softening, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

With a triumphant smile, you grabbed a chair and placed it in front of your bathroom mirror. “Alright, let’s get started! You can be my dye assistant!”

He begrudgingly stood up, his gruff demeanor still in place, but you caught the slight hint of a smile on his lips as he followed you. “Just don’t get any of this on me,” he warned, crossing his arms again as you set everything up.

“I promise I won’t! Just sit still, and don’t complain too much,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face as you prepared the bleach.

As you began the process, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Bakugo. He was watching intently, and despite his grumpy exterior, you sensed a certain fondness in his gaze. “You know,” you said, trying to fill the silence, “I really appreciate you helping me with this. I know it’s not your usual thing.”

“Don’t think I’m doing this for you,” he shot back, but his tone was less harsh than usual, and you could see the way he fought back a smile. “I just don’t want you to look like a total idiot.”

You giggled as you applied the bleach, careful to follow the instructions. “You say that, but I know you’re secretly enjoying this. I can tell!”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “I’ll enjoy it even more if it doesn’t take forever. Just don’t mess it up.”

After a while, the bleach was ready to be rinsed out, and as you moved to wash your hair, you caught his eye in the mirror. “See? It’s not so bad being a little creative. Halloween is all about fun!”

Bakugo just shrugged, trying to act tough. “Fun doesn’t mean looking like a clown.”

“Maybe for you,” you teased, splashing some water playfully toward him. He flinched back, eyebrows furrowing as a drop hit his arm.

“Hey! Watch it, idiot!” he snapped, but you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

Once your hair was rinsed and ready for the dye, you held up the pink dye with a triumphant grin. “Now for the best part!”

Bakugo crossed his arms again, watching with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “Are you sure this is gonna look good? I don’t want to be the one who has to tell you it’s a disaster.”

“Trust me, it’ll look amazing!” You applied the dye carefully, trying to keep your hands steady as you worked. “And it’ll look even better with your Bowser costume.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, but you could tell he was softening, that glimmer of interest growing as he watched you work.

When you finished, you stepped back and admired your handiwork in the mirror, your hair now a lovely shade of pastel pink with soft curls framing your face. You turned to Bakugo, your heart racing. “How does it look?”

He stepped closer, scrutinizing your hair with a serious expression. “It actually looks decent,” he admitted, his voice gruff but with a hint of something warmer beneath it. “Not that I care or anything.”

You laughed, your joy spilling over as you turned back to the mirror, fluffing your hair with your hands. “See? I told you it would be worth it!”

“Now you just need a crown or something,” he muttered, still trying to maintain his grumpy facade but failing as he watched you with a hint of pride in his eyes.

“Right! Let’s find some accessories to complete the look. We need to make sure everyone knows who you’re dressed as!” You grabbed a bag filled with random Halloween decorations and began rummaging through it.

As you searched, Bakugo leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a relaxed posture that you didn’t often see. “You really like this, huh?” he asked, almost contemplative.

“Absolutely! It’s my favorite time of year. Plus, spending time with you makes it even better,” you replied, your sincerity shining through.

He glanced away, but you could see the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in his words.

You found a glittery crown that you’d made a few years back and placed it atop your head, spinning around dramatically. “Ta-da! Princess Peach, at your service!” You giggled, trying to mimic a royal voice.

Bakugo couldn’t help but chuckle, his scowl finally breaking. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously cute!” you shot back, playfully sticking out your tongue. “Now let’s find your Bowser accessories. I’m thinking something fierce!”

You rummaged through the bag until you found a pair of spiky wristbands. “Perfect! These will make you look intimidating!”

Bakugo took them, inspecting them closely before smirking. “I guess they’ll do. Just don’t expect me to act all goofy like you.”

“Aw, come on! Just a little bit of goofy is good for the soul!” you replied, bouncing on your toes with excitement. “How about a scary roar when we show up at the party?”

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but there was an unmistakable spark of mischief in his eyes.

As you moved to adjust the crown in the mirror, you felt a sudden burst of warmth in your heart. You turned to Bakugo, who was staring at you with an intensity that made your stomach flutter. “Thanks for spending time with me today. I know you could be doing anything else.”

He shrugged, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Don’t think it’s because I like you or anything. I just figured I’d make sure you don’t screw this up.”

“Right, right,” you teased, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll take it! Let’s have the best Halloween ever, Bowser and Peach style!”

[thesummerestsolstice]

Hair Headcanons for Finwe and his Kids:

Finwe: as discussed, Finwe's hair is always perfect. He rolls out of bed in the morning and it's immaculately wavy with no tangles or snarls, even if he left jewelry in it (which happens pretty often). It's also very shiny and iridescent, with his black hair lighting up in all the colors of the northern lights depending on the angle and lighting. The originator of the Finwean Hair Magic™️ all his descendants inherited.

Feanor: iridescent hair that shines in the color of raven feathers– a lot like Finwe, but slightly less shiny. Because of Finwean Hair Magic™️, even though his hair is very long, and often not bound very well in the forges, he's never gotten his hair burned or caught on anything. He keeps his hair even longer than most Noldor so he can do the fanciest traditional braiding styles.

Findis: inherited her mother Indis's blond hair, but it's also very shiny, looking more like actual gold than the Vanyar blond hair her mother has. Under Laurelin or sunlight, it often shimmers a more rosy color. Later in the Second Age, she was given the nickname Andune (sunset) because of how beautiful the pink and orange highlights are.

Fingolfin: during the Years of the Trees, he has his father's black hair, but while it is very shiny (and always perfectly styled) it is not iridescent. After the Helcaraxe, his hair is run through with silver and white streaks, which everyone agrees makes him look very regal and kingly. The streaks stay even after he's reembodied, and become something of a fashion statement among others who crossed the Helcaraxe, who bleach parts of their own hair to match.

Lalwen: her hair is dark brown instead of black, but is nearly as iridescent as Finwe's, with all the same colors. She also continues in his footsteps of wearing it partly down dangerous hikes and hunts, and just like Finwe, she never trips on it or gets it caught anywhere. In Beleriand, she often wears her hair in a crown-like updo, because she knows it's more beautiful than any metal.

Finarfin: also got Indis's blond hair, but through the filter of Finwean Hair Magic™️, he's the first member of the family to have the kind of "treelight" hair Galadriel was so famous for. Under Laurelin or Sunlight, it glows a bright, rich gold, and under Telperion or moonlight it glows silver, with the two mixing during the mingling. He wears it almost entirely loose, in Vanyar fashion, and kind of became an artistic muse for Ingwe's court because of it. There are poetry volumes about his hair, and mentioning one of them in his presence is by far the easiest way to make him blush.